Part Six: The head volunteers

 Late that evening a figure crept furtively up to the pavilion, grumbling as it went. The headmaster rubbed his hands together and half-heartedly attempted to bring down a curse on all teaching staff. He’d never seen such a bunch of wimps! It was amazing; he thought bitterly, how quickly someone could contract a contagious disease.  Eventually, he reached the pavilion and cautiously peered in through a knot in the wood. There seemed to be someone – or something – in there, but he couldn’t make it out what it was. That didn’t matter, he would teach the blighter a lesson anyway. Drawing deeply from his courage reserves, he stormed in.  “Come out of there now, you filthy scoundrel!” he cried, with a commanding air that surprised even him. “I know you’re in there!” he added as an afterthought. Suddenly, there was a loud crack from the doorpost beside him as though something had hit it. Whatever had hit it, it then proceeded to hit the headmaster’s leg. “@§%¶¿ªǂɿ!” He yelled, utilising the author’s character set to its full extent. Slowly the pain in his leg turned to numbness, lifeless numbness that spread all through his body. As it reached his head, he gradually slumped to the ground.  “That bounder is going to pay for it when I…” Then a loud thud. Then silence.