"Are you sure this time machine isn't plugged in, Skulduggery?"

"Yes. Probably. I'm 60 percent sure. Well, fifty-fifty. In you get."

Fletcher stepped nervously into the large cubicle-like box. Skulduggery smiled with his facade, and pressed a button.
Suddenly lights lit up all around Fletcher, and a door closed over the entrance. The circular walls began to spin sickeningly fast around him, and a loud whirring noise starting up in the belly of the box, growing louder and louder.

"Skulduggery?" Fletcher yelled over the sound. "What's happening?!"

"Oh, just a small experiment of mine," Skulduggery said casually, looking happy that the machine was working. "Sorry for that little bit of lying to get you in."

"What?!?" Fletcher practically screamed, banging against the sides of the rotating box. "Get me out!!"

"No can do, Renn," Skulduggery shook his head. "Have fun wherever you're going."

There was a flash of blinding light, and with an ear splitting POP, Fletcher disappeared in a puff of smoke.

The young teleporter appeared in a dusty village, in a clearing from the houses and next to a large wooden sign that read:

'You are now entering Salem'.

"Oh, balls..." Fletcher sighed.

"Eeeek!" Shrieked an old woman from across the street, pointing at him. "That young man just appeared out of nowhere! Witch!"

"Witch! He's a witch!"

"Witch witch witch! Burn him! Burn the witch!"

Shouts came from all around Fletcher. He made a mental note to beat Skulduggery's arse in the afterlife.

***

"We are gathered here today to mourn the loss of Fletcher Renn, the last teleporter. If only he hadn't been thwarted by Mr. Pleasant and accidentally teleported back in time to 16th century Salem, and burnt at the stake for witchcraft..."