Mr Clement (standard:horror, 2622 words)
Author: Lev821	Added: May 06 2008	Views/Reads: 3481/2162	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A bitter ex-pupil meets his old sadistic teacher again. Time for punishment.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

small café with three metal tables and chairs outside. It seemed to be 
one of those places that tried to capture the atmosphere and essence of 
a European establishment by having outside seating, but amongst the 
pollution and encroaching concrete, it looked completely out of place, 
and whilst the gesture seemed reasonable in its meaning, it simply 
seemed to be pointless. 

At one of the tables sat a middle-aged couple, and at another, nearest
the café entrance, sat an elderly man, sipping at a cup of tea. A 
walking stick leant against his chair. Something about the man made Lee 
slow down and look intently at him. There was something about him that 
set his mind in perplexity. He had seen him before, somewhere... 

It struck him like a lightening bolt on his cerebrum, and he stopped.
“No” he said aloud. “It can't be”. He realised he was standing and 
staring, then spun on his heel and stepped across to lean against a 
post-box, his back to the café. He looked over his shoulder, and saw 
that the man, and the other customers were unaware of him. He looked 
away and dry washed his face. 

“Mr Clement”, he muttered. “Mr bloody Clement”. He felt his face flush
red, and a surge of fear, masquerading as adrenalin shot through him. 
Mr Clement had been an old school teacher of his from the age of nine 
upwards. Lee's parents had moved into the area, and placed him in a new 
school, where Mr Clement ruled with an iron fist, and a sturdy wooden 
cane, a cane which he certainly put to use. It seemed that only the 
most normal of teachers were forgotten. The dull and boring ones were 
remembered because they were precisely that. There were those that 
could not control a class and were reduced to tears, and there were 
those that ruled through absolute fear and violence. Mr Clement 
epitomised it, and Lee had experienced his hostility. He could not 
remember a time when he saw Mr Clement in anything other than a bad 
mood. Some teachers it seemed were in a constant state of depression 
and resentment. He was quite literally, the last of the ‘old school' 
teachers that wore a cap and gown, and wielded the cane with such 
natural ease it seemed that they would practise at home at night. Lee 
was also convinced that some of the other teachers feared Mr Clement, 
even perhaps his superiors. They let him get on with it. Those screams 
from the classroom? Not kids playing around. It's Clement hitting 
children on the backs of the hands so hard that they actually broke 
bones. Sometimes he would strike them across the face. Discipline, and 
a strict iron rule in the classroom was paramount to Clement's method 
of teaching. How could you learn if your mind was wandering out of the 
window? It would soon return with a wooden blackboard duster thrown at 
the face. Not only did some pupils receive a face full of chalk dust, 
but broken teeth and noses. He would humiliate children by bringing 
them to the front of the class and basically beating them with his 
wooden cane until they bled. He needed scant reasons to raise his cane. 
Sometimes none at all, simply inventing a reason. It was, in a way, 
legalised child abuse, and Lee could easily have imagined him at home, 
in the basement, the place decked out like a bondage dungeon, with him 
as the master, never on the receiving end, but dishing out his beatings 
to his heart's content. Lee had been on the receiving end of the wrath 
of Clement, no more or less than the other children, but sometimes 
Clement would bring his strict discipline in front of the entire 
school. At assembly at one time, Lee had been laughing and giggling 
with a friend, while the rest of the place had been relatively hushed. 
Suddenly a hand had gripped his hair and dragged him to the stage at 
the front of the hall. “Right, this is what happens when anyone steps 
out of line” he had shouted. “Hold out your hand. I said, hold out your 
hand”. Lee remembered it vividly. He had held out a nervous trembling 
hand, palm downwards, and Clement had raised his trusty cane. At its 
apex, Lee had seen Clement's eyes, and they conveyed nothing but 
pleasure. He cracked it down onto the back of his hand, breaking three 
of the bones. He was then shoved towards the steps at the side of the 
stage and told to sit down. The pain, however, was too much for him to 
stay mute. The hushed assembly was punctuated by Lee's sobbing. 
“Quiet,” Mr Clement would shout, and repeated it a few times before 
dragging him out onto the stage again and striking him across his 
cheek-bone, followed by a yelling in his ear. “I said, quiet, 
understand?” For the rest of the assembly, Lee sat in pain, trying his 
best to stem any sound. He just about managed it without attracting 
Clement's attention. He had promised later that he was somehow going to 
get his revenge on Clement, but at that time, his hand was still 
bandaged, and as time went on, thoughts of revenge slowly eroded away 
until he hardly ever thought of it, and when he did, he had known that 
at the time there was nothing he could do. After he left school, he 
remembered Clement as the most despised teacher he had ever had, and 
that was that. Yet, now, here he was, having a quiet drink at a café, 
minding his own business. Lee remembered his vow of revenge. His hand 
had been in a bandage for two months. There was also the humiliation in 
front of the school. Things like that were not forgiven easily, 
especially not by a schoolboy. 

Lee chanced a glance over his shoulder, and saw that Mr Clement was as
he was, in not having noticed him, and sipping his tea. He can't do 
anything to me now, Lee thought. I could knock him down with my little 
finger. He flexed the hand that had been broken, then clenched it into 
a fist. He tensed his right arm and felt his biceps. “What are you 
gonna do to me now, old man?” he whispered. “What are you gonna do?” He 
turned, and strode across to Clement's table. “Oi! Clement. I want a 
word with you?”. He said, pointing an accusing finger. Clement didn't 
look up straight away. Instead, he slowly put down his cup in its 
saucer, then looked up at Lee. There was no recognition on his face. “I 
don't suppose you remember me do you?” Lee continued. “I was just 
another kid for you to hit with your stick. Well let's see you try it 
now”. With his left hand, Lee leaned on the table and pointed his 
finger a few inches from Clement's face. “The amount of pain you caused 
me, and all the other innocent kids who didn't deserve it. You should 
have been bloody locked up. I ought to take that walking stick and 
break it over your face”. After a few seconds, Clement said: “Don't you 
dare point your finger at me, little boy”. “Little boy? Who are you 
calling a little....?” he stopped, and slowly stood back up straight. A 
slight wave of fear had swept through him, and he frowned. Clement 
grabbed his walking stick and slowly got to his feet. He twisted it 
around and pointed it at Lee. “You come round here, while I'm having a 
quiet drink, disturbing me. How dare you?  How dare you?” The fear 
surged through Lee's veins. He downcast his eyes to the table. “Sorry,” 
he muttered. “Sorry sir”. Oh my God, he thought. I just called him sir. 
Why did I do that? His face flushed red, and the embarrassment and fear 
became one. “I remember you,” said Clement. “Little troublemaker. And 
I'm guessing that you still are. Which hand did I break?” “L-left sir”. 
Oh my....I said it again, he thought. By now a few people had stopped 
nearby, and were watching. Some slowly did other things whilst looking 
over. “Hold out your right,” Clement said. Lee struggled not to. “I 
said, hold out your right,” Clement shouted. Lee's right hand shot out. 
Clement raised his walking stick, and brought it crashing down. He 
cracked two bones, and Lee yelled out in pain. He collapsed to his 
knees, clutching his hand. “That's for disturbing me” Clement said. Lee 
clambered up into a seat at the table. Clement struck him across the 
head with the stick. Lee yelled out again. “Sorry,” he cried. “That's 
for embarrassing me in front of everyone”. “I won't do it again sir, I 
promise”. “Damned right you won't, boy”. He then struck him on the head 
again, a little harder. Lee screamed. A trickle of blood streamed past 
his left eye. “That was for....er. That was for”. Clement looked around 
for a few seconds, and saw that there was still tea left in the cup. 
“That was for making me leave a perfectly good drink”. Clement pointed 
the stick at Lee again. “I'd better not be disturbed by you again, boy, 
understand?” Lee nodded. “Yes, sir, sorry sir”. Clement nodded, spun 
around, and slowly limped away, using the stick to help him walk. Lee 
leaned forward, his forehead touching the table, clutching his 
throbbing hand. He could not have known that the power of authority 
figures was still a dominant force within him, and as it was embedded 
at an early age, these figures still held influence over him. 
Schoolchildren see teachers in this way, and because the young mind is 
so impressionable, it did not fade in Lee, and nor would it have in 
many children. Mr Clement did not know it either, but reacted to Lee's 
responses, proving that Lee, even in adulthood, still did as he was 
told by the people he was brought up with as authority figures. 

After five minutes, he felt a tapping on his shoulder, and he slowly
looked up through teary eyes to see Ray holding a ten pound note 
towards him. 


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