The Writers' Circle

I wrote this for a creative writing group I'm a member of. The assignment was to choose a photo and write a story about it. Then, we were given little slips of paper with a scene interruptor on it, which we then had to write into our stories. My photo was of a woman in a corn flakes factory, and my scene interruptor was a clown. Now, I don't like clowns much, so I decided to give it an interesting twist.

Please let me know if this is worth developing, or if it's just plain drivel. Thanks.
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I knew Terry was staring at me again, even though my back was turned. No matter how many times I showed him my engagement ring, he would not leave me alone. Well, I thought as I felt his black bug-eyes creep up my spine leaving residual spidery tingling, that's what I get for working at a place where they don't do background checks.
Road's End, the rural Wyoming town I call home, doesn't have much by way of job opportunities. There's the general store, the antique shop, the post office, and the doctor. Then there's the corn flakes factory, where I and about ninety percent of the town are gainfully employed.
Terry's arachnoid leer had become unbearable, so I grabbed a box of corn flakes off the line to bring to Eddie in Quality Control; that was as good an excuse as any to get out of there. I started walking toward the door, when all the lights went out. A moment of stunned silence passed. Then came the cursing, the loudest of which was perpetrated by the deep bass voice of none other than my boyfriend-wannabe. Loser.
The power came back a minute later, to my great relief. But that relief evaporated when I saw what had appeared on the floor.
A man - it must have been a man, considering the stubble on his chin - lay in a fetal position at my feet, whimpering and pleading in a language that had a vague resemblance to English, but wasn't quite the kind we speak. His clothes reminded me of the Fool from King Lear in my dog-eared copy of The Complete Illustrated Shakespeare. The first thing I noticed was the triple-peaked cap he wore, each peak topped with a small bell. The second thing was the hose - hello, what man in this day and age wears hose? His once fine velvet doublet was stained and torn, completing the pathetic image.
I couldn't just leave him there. I had to find out who he was and where he had come from. Most importantly, I wanted to know how on Earth he had gotten here. I knelt beside him and touched his trembling arm tentatively, but jumped back as a strong spark of static electricity jumped between us. He wailed - a long, high-pitched cry, and blubbered in a voice like a woman's.
"Desist, fiend! Methinks this be the bowels of Purgatory! Zounds, such a vile spell hath Nicodemus cast that this be mine end! Woe and damnation!"
I supposed that someone who appeared dressed like he came from a book of Shakespeare must speak like it, but though I had read and appreciated the Bard's work, this was too much for me to comprehend.
"Huh?" I said intelligently. "Run that by me again?"
The poor man just goggled at me, cringing as if expecting a blow.
"Come on," I said. "No one's going to hurt you." I extended my hand to help him stand, then thought the better of it, remembering the shock that had come last time I had touched him.
"In sooth?" the man asked. "Thou and thy confederates wilt do me no harm?"
"In sooth," I replied.
He stood up slowly and looked around. My coworkers just stared, confused.