Something was up with your professor. He presented himself as a bit of an odd man who taught history yet loved the word ‘physics’ and often said it repeatedly at the beginning of each historical lesson, but you had a feeling, deep down in your gut, that he was more than that. More than strange.

His classroom displayed old artifacts that he shouldn't have had access to. He knew things about the universe and people that he shouldn't have. Talked about historical figures like they were friends, enemies, or lovers rather than people in textbooks - and, sometimes, you heard an odd wheezing sound like a car that was being actively tortured coming from the storage room off his classroom.

Eventually, you got fed up with Professor John Smith… if that was even his real name. You stayed outside the storage closet after his last class of the day and listened for the wheezing. However, when you flung open the door, nothing was there. You scowled to yourself. You'd just seen him enter, where could he possibly have gone?

Soon, the wheezing started up again. Your eyes widened as you watched an old police box from 60s-ish materialise from nothing right in front of your eyes. Your professor stepped out of a blue box, looking rather exhausted with a couple of little cuts - as if he’d ran a mile and got in a fight during the past few seconds. He made eye contact with you and his eyes blew wide. He ran a hand through his already tousled hair, grabbing it slightly at the back, as he tried to figure out an excuse.

"Um… hello there!" He eventually said, trying to seem more enthusiastic than confused.