Grave Danger

Written Sept. 2006, under the original title of “The Bodysnatchers.” Re-published here, 2nd March, 2008, under the present title. Title changed due to the discovery of another work of  Dr Who fiction, by a professional writer, with the same title of The Body Snatchers.  NBG

 

DOCTOR WHO: Grave Danger

CHAPTER ONE: Picnic

The woman in black was seated in the pew of a small stone chapel, weeping like her heart was breaking–and it was. The Vicar was beside her, doing his best to console her. “Oh vicar,” she wept, “’e were so young, my Tom. And now my Ned as well…both in a fortnight. What am I to do, how shall I go on without my ‘usband and son? It ain’t fair! To have ‘em both die that way, bodies torn asunder…” As the gruesome memory took hold of her, she began wailing anew.

The kindly old man with the gentle grey eyes sighed heavily. He rose and helped the woman to her feet. “There, there, Mrs. Patterson. You musn’t take on so. Just think, your husband and young Ned are in a kinder, gentler place now. No worries for them, just the everlasting peace of eternity. Come with me, now. I’ve something to show you that will ease your bereavement and give you blessed peace.”

Whispering more consoling words, he led her into a curtained off alcove. Holding the curtain aside, he smiled, “I think you are about to see things in a whole new light, Mrs. Patterson.”

 She walked through the heavy curtain. After a moment of silence, a bright green light illuminated the dimness of the chapel, followed by the echoing of a hideous scream. The Vicar smiled with satisfaction. “There, what did I tell you? No more worries, Mrs. Patterson.”

The Doctor and Martha had just had a narrow escape, and the Doctor thought that a pleasant little picnic excursion–preferably to a quieter time period–was in order. The Doctor ran round the console, pushing buttons frantically. “What we need, Martha, is a little tranquility, eh?” He looked up at her, giving her a manic grin.

Martha looked at him skeptically. “You said Peking in 2207 would be a “nice little side trip. A calm and peaceful city, good food, great entertainment”…yeah. It was very entertaining. And I’m still hungry.”

The Doctor shrugged and scratched his head. “Well…it was nice–for a few minutes, anyway.”

Martha scowled at him. “I almost got trampled by a dozen panicking androids and a firebreathing mechanical dragon!”

The Doctor gave a slightly apologetic smile. “I’d forgotten about the riots. Not a good idea, on the government’s part, replacing all those workers with androids. You humans are a busy lot…always needing to do something with yourselves. The Loo Sin government thought that by giving the people all the food and recreation they wanted, they’d be happy. They’d never reckoned with the negative effects of extreme boredom.” He turned and stabbed a button with his finger, as excited as a child on his birthday. “There! Let’s go have lunch, shall we?”

Martha emerged from the Tardis corridor carrying a picnic basket and a bottle of wine she’d rummaged from the Tardis’ wine cellar. “So Doctor, where’re we off to, now?”

The Doctor looked up from the console and gave her a lopsided grin. “Paris, along the banks of the Seine. It’s early May, in the year 1890.” Noticing the wine, he added “I hope you picked a good vintage.” Wrinkling his nose he sniffed the basket. “Mind you, I’m not so sure about the vintage of that cheese.” He strode over and opened the Tardis door.

Standing behind him, peering over his shoulder expecting a bright sunny Parisan day, Martha was once again doomed to disappointment. It was  dismal, overcast and misty . “Doctor, don’t you get a weather forecast in this thing?” She asked, indicating the Tardis with a nod of her head.

 The Doctor merely shrugged lamely. “Well…picnic in the rain…where’s your sense of adventure, eh?” He grinned and nudged her.

The  young woman gazed skeptically at the dripping scenery. They were parked under a tall pine tree. That’s when she noticed the headstones. Martha looked at the Doctor and raised an eyebrow. “A picnic in a cemetery? In the rain? You’ve got to be joking!”

Her Time Lord friend tried gamely to hide his puzzlement. “Well, some people do, you know. I mean, it’s pleasant…lots of trees and birds…very peaceful. Just the sort of place for a quiet picnic.”

Martha snorted. “We’re picnicking in a Parisian cemetery, in the rain? I have to hand it to you, Doctor, you sure to know how to show a girl a good time.”

Looking  about him critically, the Doctor noticed some of the wording on the headstones, and it came to him suddenly just where they’d landed. “Actually,” he said a bit lamely, “it’s not Paris. And it’s not May.”

Ducking back into the Tardis, he checked a reading, the Doctor’s face continually switching back and forth between puzzlement and curiosity. He shrugged into his long coat and grabbed an umbrella for Martha, saying with a big smile “But the year is right, it is 1890.”

 His companion merely stood there in the doorway, shaking her head at him. Heaving a big sigh, she asked “Okay, so…where are we then?”

Standing under the pine tree holding a green and navy tartan umbrella, the Doctor looked up at the lowering grey sky. “It’s Cathays Cemetery, near Cardiff.”

Martha said nothing, but the look on her face spoke volumes. Just then, she spied a tall cadaverous figure in a long-tailed black frock coat standing by a headstone, staring at her. “Who’s that?” She looked at the Doctor.

“Who’s what?” He asked absently.

She looked towards the field where she’d seen the man. But the strange man was gone. Vanished into thin air. The hairs on the back of Martha’s neck started crawling.

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CHAPTER 2: Look Out Below
Martha grabbed the Doctor’s arm. “Doctor, I don’t want you to think I’m scared of a cemetery, but to be quite honest, this place really does give me the creeps.”

Doctor looked at her skeptically. “Oh, come on! You’ve been watching too many Vincent Price and Hammer horror movies. It’s just a nice place that happens to be home to a lot of dead people.”

He looked at her and made a scary face, and said in a mocking voice “Beware of the walking dead…oooahh-ha-ha-ha! Now come on, let’s find a dry spot and eat. I’m a bit hungry myself.”

The Doctor led the way down a dirt road leading towards a stone chapel. He found a bench under a small grove of trees that was only somewhat wet. He sat down, but Martha hesitated. The Doctor looked at her inquiringly. “What?”

She frowned. “It’s a bit wet, Doctor, I’m not sitting on that.”

 Looking at her askance, the Doctor shrugged at the peculiarities of female humans. “Ohhh–come on. It’s only water. It’s not like it’s corrosive acid or something. Besides,” he grinned, patting the bench with his hand, “the good wine and the great conversation will keep you warm.”

Martha only replied, “It’s raining and that bench is wet and I’m not sitting on a wet bench.”

He frowned. “It’s not raining. It’s…misty. And so what if the bench is wet?”

Martha frowned in return. “Sooo–, people will think….”

The Doctor didn’t have a clue what she was driving at. “People will think what?”

She gave an exasperated sigh,  and spelled it out for him; “That I’ve had an…accident.”

The Doctor had to think about that one. “Oh. I see. I think. Well, I can remedy that.” With that, he took off his coat with a flourish and laid it on the bench. “Little trick Sir Walter Raleigh taught me.” He said with a smile.

Martha couldn’t argue with that. She shook her head with good-natured resignation and laughed.

As she was about to sit down, when she saw the strange man again. He stared at her–through her. Then he raised his finger and pointed upwards. Mesmerized, unable to stop herself, Martha looked up into the tree branches.

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CHAPTER 3: Smoke Gets in Her Eyes

A feeling of deep-seated oppressive evil seemed to crush her very soul down into the ground. It was as if a million shards of ice were sitting in the pit of her stomach. Despite this, Martha couldn’t stop herself. She looked up into the trees, seeing nothing at first.

Then, slowly, inexorably, pale green smoke began billowing from out of nowhere, wreathing the treetops.

Gradually, a shape began to take form inside the densest of the smoke. It became a grotesquely wrinkled dog-like face, a jackal’s face, with long fangs and ruby red eyes.

It was the eyes. They drew her in, seemed to be sucking every inch of life out of her very soul…she couldn’t move, she couldn’t scream, she couldn’t even remember how to breathe.

She was traveling down a dark tunnel, drowning, being swallowed up by the narrowing darkness. All of a sudden, a pinpoint of light, a distant familiar voice “Martha. Martha, listen to me. Focus on my thoughts. Concentrate, Martha. Focus on me.”

Martha tried, but it was like trying to extricate her thoughts from a vat of cement. “I can’t!” She wanted to scream, but she couldn’t. Martha was paralyzed by absolute evil.

“Yes you can, Martha Jones. I know you. I believe in you. Now concentrate!”

Thus, the Doctor kept gently but forcefully talking to her, inside her mind. Coaxing, forcing her to reassert her free will.

Gradually, the tunnel of light grew brighter. Abruptly, she heard what sounded like a frustrated snarl. Then, she felt the doctor’s fingers resting on the side of her head, clearly heard his voice, gently bringing her back to the world of the living.

She opened her eyes and saw him there, hovering over her. Martha was confused, until she realized that she was lying on the ground.

The Doctor looked both relieved and worried. She tried to sit upright, the Doctor helping her. “Are you alright?” He asked with intense concern.

Martha was gasping for breath. “I–I think so. What was that thing?” she whispered hoarsely.
The Doctor looked at her strangely. “I wish I could tell you, but I couldn’t see a thing.”

 Martha stared at her friend and managed a weak grin. “What? I thought you Time Lord’s were supposed to know nearly everything.”

The Doctor smiled, then looked up at the treetops apprehensively. “I didn’t see it, but I’ll tell you what,” he murmured. “I certainly could feel it.” He looked back at her and said reassuringly. “You weren’t imagining things. Whatever it was, it was quite real–and, quite deadly.”

Then, he flashed an impulsive grin at her. “Right then, are you up for a little stroll around the grounds?” He held out his hand to her.

“Oh, why not?” She said, then fainted dead away.

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CHAPTER 4: Under Observation
When Martha came to again she found that she was on the bench, leaning in the Doctor’s arms with his coat wrapped around her. She was shivering violently and felt quite weak. She looked up at the Doctor groggily. “Wh–what happened?”

He stroked her hair and whispered, “Post-traumatic psychic shock syndrome. Just try to relax and breathe slowly. Your body is having a physical reaction to psychic trauma. It will pass in a bit. Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”

Martha grimaced. “That’s easy for you to say. I’ve had bad hangovers that felt better than this.” She was nauseous and had a splitting headache. Still, she managed a weak grin. “Doctor, sometimes traveling with you is no picnic.”

The Doctor returned the smile and handed her a paper cup of wine. “Here, drink this, you’ll feel better.”

His groggy companion eyed the cup suspiciously. “What is it?” she asked.

 He grinned. “A nice hearty red wine, of course. Just the thing for what ails you, full of saponins, resveratrol, all sorts of phytochemicals….perfect remedy for a psychic attack–not to mention your cholesterol.”

 “Chalk up another plus for the benefits of wine then,” she said, “but somehow I don’t think I’d better tell anyone about the psychic bit. Is this…these psychic attacks, are they always this bad, afterward? I mean, what about side effects?”

The Doctor shook his head, “Other than the symptoms you’re feeling now? No, you’ll be fine, Martha, really.” He scratched his head and his face wore an unusually vague expression. “Though I must say, that’s one of the worst psychological attacks I’ve ever witnessed. Whatever, or whoever that thing is, it’s unbelievably powerful.”

Martha sipped the wine, worrying. She’d never seen the Doctor so apprehensive before. She looked up into the dripping, mist-wreathed treetops and shivered involuntarily.

Abruptly, he bounded up onto his feet. “Tell you what? Why don’t you rest here for a few minutes…” Before she could protest, he added, “don’t worry. I don’t think our little friend will be back for a while. But just in case…” he rummaged in his jacket pocket and pulled out a tiny electronic device. “I just happen to have something for you.”

He handed her the small black box with a silver button on top. Martha held it in the palm of her hand. “What is it? What’s this for?”

The Doctor crouched down beside her. “Ah.,’ he grinned boyishly, “That’s just a little gadget I was fiddling with a while back. It’s a personal force field. Just like the one around the Tardis. Merely push the button, and you’re home free.”

She sighed and took it from him. She really didn’t have a choice. Martha felt weak as a new born kitten. “And where will you be?”

The Doctor looked at the chapel. “Thought I’d take a stroll over to the church, see if anyone’s about. Maybe I can find a few answers.”

Meanwhile, unknown to the two time-travelers, the vicar stood beside a tall stone cross eyeing the pair. Beside him was the tall gaunt man in the frock coat. The vicar nodded once to the tall man. The man smiled gruesomely and vanished into the mist.

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CHAPTER 5: Meeting the Vicar

The Doctor walked up to the door of the chapel, which stood open. He went inside, peering around in the dim light, not sure himself, just what he was hoping to find. “Hello? Anyone home?”

Like his footsteps, his voice also echoed off the stone walls. But, the Doctor received no answer. He shrugged. “Bit damp and musty in here,” he muttered to himself, “what this place needs in some good central heating. No wonder it’s empty.”

The Doctor spied a prayer book lying open on one of the benches and picked it up. Slipping on his glasses, he opened the cover and read the inscription. “To my wife on her 30th birthday, with love from your husband, Tom.” The Doctor set the book back down. “What?” he chuckled, “No flowers or chocolate? A real romantic chap you were, Tom.”

“The late Mr. Patterson loved his wife very much. I gave him that book to give to her, ten years ago.” said a gentle voice behind him.

The Doctor whirled round, and saw the vicar standing there. He was a bit taken aback, having never heard the chruch man approach–Time Lords had much keener hearing than humans. He took off his glasses and peered into the gloom at the newcomer. “Hello!” He tilted his head, “Erm–Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”

The vicar smiled and said softly, “That’s quite alright, my son. Is there something I might do for you?” The Doctor returned the smile, albeit warily.

Excellent hearing wasn’t the only asset the Doctor had. He was also sensative to what some of the more spirtually inclined would call emotional auras–though there was a much more mundane scientific explaination for that, one humankind wouldn’t discover for another two-hundred years. Whatever it was, the Doctor wasn’t sure about this man. Something didn’t feel quite right.

Shoving his hands into his jacket pockets, the Doctor said, “Yes. As a matter of fact, I was wondering if you’d been experiencing any unusual activity around these parts lately.”

The vicar tilted his head and appeared deep in thought. “Unusual, you say?” He seemed to have an idea. “Ah? You mean like spirits walking, that sort of thing? Are you one of those spiritualists, then?” He gave what seemed to be an exaggerated sigh. “We’re getting quite a few of you lot around here lately.”

The vicar gestured to the curtained off alcove. “Come with me, then. I’ve something to show you that might be of interest to you.” He lead the way to the alcove, the Doctor following curiously.

Meanwhile, Martha had recovered sufficiently to begin exploring on her own. Carrying the Doctor’s coat in her arms, she wandered down the road and was looking at inscriptions on the headstones. She noticed a diminutive figure in black, kneeling beside a freshly dug grave.

 Martha drew back next to a tree and watched as the person laid a bouquet of flowers upon the grave.

Above her, the harsh booming call of a raven startled Martha. She looked up, annoyed. When she returned her gaze to the person, she saw the tall man, standing directly behind the mourner. Before she could call out a warning, the skeletal man pointed his finger at the person’s back.

A glowing green mist slowly formed around the mourner. The person stood upright, stiffened and screamed horribly as the body slowly disintegrated into the earth.

As Martha slunk further behind the tree, she heard a ghastly laugh issue forth from the tall man. But he wasn’t finished. He raised his arm and lowered it towards the mound of fresh earth. Slowly, the earth moved, and a coffin appeared from beneath the dirt.

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CHAPTER 6: What’s Behind Curtain Number One?
The vicar held open the curtain for the Doctor, but the Doctor hesitated. He turned and said to the vicar, “You know, this reminds me of a little joke one of my companions once told me. A patient says to her psychiatrist–don’t suppose you know what that is, do you?”

The vicar gave the Doctor a polite but blank stare.

The Doctor was unfazed. “No? Well, anyway, this patient says, ‘Doctor, I keep thinking that I’m a curtain’. And the doctor says, ‘Well, pull yourself together.’ Ha-ha. Quite droll, don’t you think?”

Meanwhile, his mind was mulling over the strange sense he felt about the vicar–something really seemed off–but the cause of his unease had him seriously baffled.

“Anyway,” the Doctor pulled the vicar aside and continued in a conspiratorial whisper, “the thing is, vicar…I’ve got this little…phobia, I suppose you could call it–you know what a phobia is?”

Again, the polite but distant stare.

“No? Well, it’s…an odd little quirk, I guess, one would say. Anyway, the thing is, I don’t like just walking through curtains unannounced. Not sure why…childhood nightmares, perhaps? Strict Timeloard upbringing?”

 The Doctor beamed at the vicar, “So I thought, well, that you might want to be a good chap and go through first, eh?”

With that, the Doctor stepped back and motioned to the vicar to go ahead of him.

The vicar started to walk forward, then stopped and inclined his head. “You know, I don’t believe you’ve mentioned your name.”

The Doctor gave a faint smile and said, “Oh, yes, where are my manners–my companions are forever going on at me about my manners—I’m the Doctor. And you are?”

The vicar suddenly got a queer expression on his face, as if he were listening to something the Doctor could not hear. The Doctor cocked his head in thoughtful curiosity, and frowned. The Vicar snapped out of it, suddenly. He cleared his throat. “Actually, Doctor, I’m late for an appointment with one of my flock. I’m sorry, but I’ve only just remembered.”

With a knowing grin, the Doctor replied. “Do you now? Yes, one’s memory tends to wander more as one gets older, sometimes, ey?” He winked mischievously. “Well, don’t tell anyone, but I tend to be a bit forgetful sometimes, myself. For instance,” he rummaged through his pocket, “I sometimes forget where I put my watch. Could I trouble you for the time?”

The vicar looked like he was about to refuse, then changed his mind. “Certainly, Doctor.” He fished a gold pocket watch out of his pocket.

“That’s a nice watch,” the Doctor said, holding out his hand. “May I?”

The vicar handed the Doctor the watch and smiled, “A gift from a close friend. I am not a material man, but I treasure it.”

The Doctor held it up and admired it. He opened it. Inside was engraved, “To William with love always, from Bart.” The Doctor raised an eyebrow. “Erm–oh, OK.”  

He held the watch by its chain, swinging it back and forth in front of the vicar’s face, he said, “Lovely watch vicar , nice workmanship.” He continued softly, “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it William, nice soft, rainy day, so calm and serene, so…peaceful, restful.”

The vicar’s features quickly relaxed and became blank.

The Doctor crooned softly in a gentle voice, “It’s a nice day, isn’t it vicar, a nice sunny day, not a cloud in the sky…”

“Yes.” the vicar said in a monotone.

“Right then,” spoke the Doctor in his most authoritarian voice, “what’s really behind that curtain, eh, vicar?”

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CHAPTER 7: Death in the Chapel

The Doctor lowered his voice and with a serious glint in his eye asked, “Who’s behind that curtain?”

At first, the vicar seemed to be having an inner struggle. He gurgled and gasped as if in pain.

“Who is it! Who? Tell me who it is.” The Doctor demanded hoarsely.

The vicar finally stuttered out haltingly “I–I–he is…he is…evil. Beware. He is darkness, eternal darkness. He is…pain. So much pain.” The vicar gave a little cry. He straightened his posture and began speaking in a clipped formal voice that did not quite sound like his own. “Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.”

The Doctor made an incredulous face. “Hang on?” He peered suspiciously at the vicar. “You’re not going to tell me to follow a yellow brick road, are you?”

The vicar remained silent.

 Glaring at the vicar speculatively, eyes narrowing, the Doctor frowned. It always angered him to see humans held mentally hostage by forces they could not control. He got in the vicar’s face, demanding, “What man, eh? What are you afraid of? Who’s controlling you?”

Suddenly the vicar clutched his head and screamed.

The Doctor knelt beside him and felt for a pulse. The vicar was stone dead. Sadness crept over his features. “I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry this was done to you.”

He hung his head for a brief moment, then bounced up and glared in the direction of the alcove.

The Doctor spoke out loud, his voice clearly ringing in the rafters. It was a voice he’d once used when addressing the High Council of his now vanished planet, Galifrey. “I don’t know who or what you are, or what your game is, but heed my words. I am going to stop you. Oh yes, I’m going to put an end to this, or I’m not the last Time Lord–and actually, I am. So this is the only chance you get. Leave this place, or I will destroy you.”

In answer, a hissing noise issued from behind the curtain, and a thin trail of noxious gas began to fill the chapel.

Covering his face with his tie, the Doctor fled towards the chapel’s only door. As he reached it, it slammed shut in his face.

Meanwhile, in the cemetery, Martha stayed crouched behind the tree, watching wide-eyed, as the coffin was raised out of the ground, hovered for a moment, and settled onto the grass. She stared with a mixture of both horror and mere human curiosity.

Martha shivered in the damp air, wishing the Doctor where there with her. “Still,” she thought, “I’ve got this thing-a-ma-wots-it he gave me.”

She pulled it out and looked at the little box that looked suspiciously like a television remote. “What could go wrong?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer to that.

The pallid man smiled as the lid of the coffin slowly began to rise.

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CHAPTER 8: Death Trap

The Doctor rummaged with his free hand through his suit pockets, frantically looking for his for the sonic screwdriver. If he hadn’t been holding the tie to his mouth, he might have slapped his forehead. His trusty screwdriver was still safely tucked away in his coat pocket–which he’d left with Martha. The Doctor was worried. Even a Time Lord could only hold his breath just so long. He looked wildly around the chapel.

That’s when he noticed a sturdy wrought iron chandelier. It hung down low from the ceiling, just several feet over the wooden benches. His lungs were starting to ache. Holding his breath, he made a decision. Calculating the distance, the Doctor backed up against the wall. He took a running start, jumped up onto the bench, grabbed onto the chandelier and pushed off in a mighty swing.

An elderly caretaker was busy raking leaves under the chapel’s enormous stained glass window. He shook his head when he saw a stoat scampering into a hole at the base of the building’s foundation. 

The old man bent over to examine the hole, when there was a massive crash. He found himself being showered with broken fragments of stained glass.

Looking up, he saw a thin, freckle-faced young man in a blue suit standing there. The Doctor was looking up at the now broken window and carefully brushing bits of glass off of his shoulders and hair. He seemed to be congratulating himself. “That would’ve made old Errol Flynn proud of me!”

The caretaker stuttered, Wh-what’s this, then? Wh-what ‘ave you done, there, mate, with our lovely window?”

The man looked up and grinned broadly at him. “Hello!”

The old caretaker was a bit put out. “Ere’ now! What are you about, then? I’ve a good mind to call the vicar,” he said, shaking a fist, “and the constable too.”

The Doctor’s face sobered. “I’m sorry to tell you, but the vicar has had some kind of an attack. I’m afraid he’s dead.”

The elderly gardener was stunned. “Dead?” Alarmed by this news, he backed away from the Doctor. “Did you kill him then?”

The young man in the suit shook his head and said grimly, “No, I didn’t.”

However, in the back of his mind, the Doctor felt a tiny thread of guilt. He cast a worried glance at the chapel and spoke to the caretaker seriously. “Are you the only one working here today?”

The old man shook his head. “No. There’s young Joe. Fine strapping young lad, ‘e is. They use ‘im for all the heavy work, he’s in the stables over yonder.”

The Doctor looked sternly at the old man and said in an authoritarian tone, “Then I need you to run along to young Joe. I want both of you to leave. And if you see anyone else about, get them out of here as well. Leave. Now. That’s an order. Do you understand?”

The cemetery’s caretaker had served twenty years with the Royal Regiment of Wales and instantly obeyed the Doctor’s order. He even unconsciously saluted him, saying “Yes, sir.” And he then trotted off with great haste to the stable area.

Back in the dripping fog of the cemetery, Martha watched as once again, the pale green cloud descended over the coffin. She shivered involuntarily.

The lid opened and a cadaver floated up into the cloud. The cloud slowly absorbed the body, as the skeletal man rubbed his hands with glee. He raised his wasted head and spoke with rasping voice to the gaseous mist, “Feed, master. Soon you shall be strong enough to emerge and then this planet shall be yours for the taking.”

Martha thought that it was about time she found the Doctor. He’d want to know about this. She stepped back, and in doing so, walked on a dry brittle branch.

It snapped in two with a loud crack, sounding in the quiet gloom, like a gunshot. She winced and held her breath. The tall man looked up sharply in her direction, scowling fiercely.

Without thinking, she continued backing away. The tall man growled deep in his throat and began swiftly stalking towards her. Remembering her previous encounter, Martha’s only thought was to run.

Immediately she backed into something solid. A hand was clasped over her mouth and she was held fast from behind.

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CHAPTER 9: Escaping to Danger

Martha tried to scream, but was silenced by a fierce “Shhhh—!” She gasped with relief. It was the Doctor.

“Don’t move.” He whispered in her ear.

They looked on, seeing that the tall man hesitated, as if hearing some voice inside his head. “Yes master,” he hissed, “it shall be as you command.”

Martha felt the Doctor’s hand squeeze her shoulder reassuringly.

The tall man looked directly at the trees where the two were hiding, and smiled hideously. The peculiar green cloud began to form again.

The Doctor whispered one more word in Martha’s ear: “Run!”

With a silent sigh she thought, “Make up your mind, Doctor!” Just before she lit out after him, as he sprinted back towards the chapel.

As he ran, the Doctor slipped into his coat, checking his pockets in the process. He gave an inward sigh of relief when he found his sonic screwdriver. Pausing outside the chapel door, the Doctor looked around. “No one seems to be about. That’s good.”

Martha stared at him. “Well there wouldn’t exactly be a crowd of people in a cemetery, would there be?”

The Doctor said absently, “Oh, I dunno’. Lots of people hang about in cemeteries.”

 Martha looked at him askance, as he used the sonic screwdriver to unlock the door. “Like who?”

Giving a lame shrug he bent over the lock and said, “I dunno’, lots of people. Old people visiting, people looking on a quiet stroll, young lovers”–he briefly paused, turning to give her a mischievous wink, “people on picnics….”

Martha couldn’t help but smile at him.

Turning back to his task, he continued, “Sorry it’s taking so long. Unbelievable as it sounds, some of these old fashioned locks can be a bit tricky for a sonic screwdriver. oh, oh, here’s a good one. What did the girlfriend say to her boyfriend when they went for a snog behind a tombstone?”

Martha frowned, shaking her head in wonder. “A big ugly ghoul is after us, and you’re making jokes?”

The Doctor turned and raised an eyebrow.

She sighed in resignation. “Okay, what did the girl say to her guy when they went to kiss behind the tombstone?” 

He grinned, “She said let’s make love in dead earnest….get it?”

 Martha frowned. “Yeah, ha-ha.”

The Doctor pulled a face and went back to work on the lock. “Awww–come on, where’s your sense of humour. I mean, if you can’t have a sense of humour in a cemetery…there! Got it!”

The bolt of the lock gave a hollow click and the Doctor carefully opened the door. He sniffed the air.“Better step back a bit. Just in case there’s any more gas left in there.”

Martha raised an eyebrow. “Gas? Natural or poison? And does it have anything to do with that bizarre green cloud I keep seeing?”

Looking at her approvingly he, he said, “Very good question, Martha. Very good question, indeed.” The Doctor stood to one side and allowed the door to swing wide open. “As a matter of fact, it’s poison gas. Methilane, to be precise. Which pins things down a bit for me.”

She tried to see inside the chapel’s indistinct interior. “Methilane? What’s that? I’ve never heard of it.”

The Doctor sniffed the air again and turned to her. “You wouldn’t. It’s origin is from a small planet on the far side of the universe, called Draxil. As for the cloud…not sure.”

Martha frowned. “Not sure? What does that mean?”

Without answering, the Doctor stepped inside the doorway, just out of sight, his voice echoing back to her. “Martha, you’d better stay back, just in case.”

 She looked in his direction worriedly, “Just in case of what?” but was greeted by silence. “Doctor?”  she called. No answer. “Doctor? Are you alright?”

No sound came through the open doorway, but the rising wind coming through the broken window, moaning through the rafters.

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CHAPTER 10: Smiley Face

At first the Doctor had held his breath. Now, mentally crossing his fingers, he let it out. He took a good sniff. Then, several good sniffs. He coughed and slapped his lungs. Then he sneezed. “Phew! Musty in here!”

 The air was clean again. He turned and called back, “Sorry about that. Thought it’d be better for you to stay out there…you know..just in case I passed out from the gas, didn’t want to risk falling on you…”

Despite her mild anger, Martha found herself grinning–was the Doctor’s playfulness rubbing off on her? The Doctor looked around the chapel’s dim interior. “All clear. There’s no one in here, either…at least, no one living.”

Martha sensed a movement behind her and looked up. She gasped with fear. The tall man was standing not thirty meters from her. He was just standing there with this unspeakable grin on his face. Unable to take her eyes from the evil-looking man, she cried, “Doctor!”

The Doctor peered round the edge of the doorway. He walked out and stood on the steps in front of Martha, gently pushing her behind him. “Well,” he admonished the man, “you certainly took your time getting here, didn’t you?” The Doctor looked up, but saw no sign of the green cloud. “I will say, though, old chap, you do have a lovely smile.” Over his shoulder, he said to Martha, “Doesn’t he have a pleasant smile, Martha?”

Before she could answer, the Doctor abruptly shoved her inside, saying, “Well, nice chatting with you, sorry we have to run.” And with that, he leaped through the doorway and bolted the door.

Martha just stared at him. “What’d you do that for?”

The Doctor looked at her, surprised. “Do what for?”

Hands on her hips, Martha simply shook her head. “Lock us in. You do realize that that man can just appear and reappear at will, don’t you? What’s to stop him from just turning up inside here?”

He merely grinned confidently and held up his sonic screwdriver. “This.”

Holding the screwdriver aloft, he said to Martha, “You might want to cover your ears. This shouldn’t be harmful to humans–but, you never know.”

Martha looked a trifle disconcerted. “You mean you don’t know.”

The Doctor smiled reassuringly. “Never tried this around humans before, but I think it’s safe.” He scratched his head, adding hopefully, “I mean, I’m pretty sure it’s safe. Yeah. well..probably is.” His companion pointed towards the outside, in the direction of the tall man. “Isn’t he human?”

Looking at her,  he shook his head. “No. Humanoid, yes, but not human–at least, not in your sense.”

 Gazing at the unfeeling grey stone walls of the chapel, Martha rubbed her arms and asked, “So, what are you going to do, Doctor?”

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CHAPTER 11: Sound Bite

The Doctor looked proudly at his screwdriver. He grinned impishly at Martha. “What is this chapel made of?”

 Martha shrugged. “I don’t know…limestone?”

 “Riiight!” The Doctor exclaimed. “And the thing I love about limestone is, is that it resonates beautifully. It’s made of up stone quartz crystals. Resonate these crystals just right, and the whole structure falls down on us–which we don’t want to have happen, do we? So—“ he paced around the walls, “—what else can we do with this knowledge, eh?”

 Frowning in thought,  she shrugged and said, “I don’t know. Change the resonance?”

The Doctor gave her a delighted grin. “Very good Martha Jones! Four marks for you. Go to the head of the class.”

Martha was both astonished and pleased. “So I’m right, then?”

He shook his head, looking at her apologetically. “Uh-no. Sorry. But, you were close though–very close indeed.”

 Suddenly, the heavy church doors began to shake violently, and a pale clawed hand slowly began to emerge through the solid wood.

Martha threw the Doctor a worried glance. He smiled reassuringly, and then flicked a switch on the sonic screwdriver. It hummed briefly.

Slowly, inexorably, an arm followed the hand, taking solid form as it came through.

The Doctor’s head was bent over the screwdriver. “Alright then, according to this reading, this stone will resonate at a frequency of 28, 344 kilohertz. But…” he said as he made a quick adjustment, “if I tone that down to a fractal frequency of the quartz, say, oh, a base number of 64, then resonate just a tiny portion of the binary crystal—”

He turned to her, suddenly serious. “Cover your ears.”

Martha saw the tip of the sonic screwdriver turn blue, and felt the back of her head buzz for a few seconds. She winced. The Doctor cast a worried glance in her direction, but he didn’t seem the least bothered by anything else. “Alright?” He mouthed to her.

The buzzing sensation left as quickly as it had come, and Martha removed her fingers from her ears. “I’m fine—”

 She was interrupted by a long, drawn out screech by the tall man, who’d been standing outside the door.

The Doctor pocketed his trusty instrument.“Well, that takes care of old nosy face–at least for a while, anyway.”

She was confused. “What did you do to him? And just what is he, anyway, if he’s not human?”

He looked at her bleakly. “I sent a sound wave with a very low frequency out through the stone—low to you or me, but to a Kreigal, it’s quite painful. Excruciatingly so.”

Martha sat down on a bench and gazed at the Doctor curiously. She tilted her head, “A Kreigal? What sort of creature are they, then?”

The Doctor flopped down on the bench beside her, propping his feet up in front of him. “They’re from the planet Galvin. The Kreigal are humanoid in appearance–but their physiology also has some mammalian qualities, as well.”

The young woman was fascinated, always was when learning about other life in the universe. “Like how are they different?”

The Doctor gave an exaggerated  sigh and looked at the ceiling. “They really should dust this place more often.”

Martha chided him, “Doctor!”

He shrugged, “Well, they have bodies like you and me, but their ears, as you may have noticed, are rather more like cats–or bats. Actually, the way they hear is very much the same as your common ordinary bat–no wings and teeth like the Krillitanes, thankfully.”

“The what?” Martha asked. 

 Without pause,  the Doctor continued as if he hadn’t heard, “Very, very sensitive creatures. Can hear for miles, under the right conditions. That’s why I wanted you to be quiet, back there, at the gravesite. But—“

The Doctor jumped up and strode over to the mysterious alcove. “That doesn’t explain what he’s doing here, why they’re using poison marsh gas from Draxil , why they’re killing innocent humans and snatching dead bodies or what his so-called master is up to–and there’s only one way to find out the answers to all these questions.”

 So saying, the Doctor pulled aside the curtain.

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CHAPTER 12: The Creature in the Dark
The alcove was dark, damp and mouldy smelling. The Doctor’s breath misted the air, as he pulled a small torch from his coat pocket. He turned to Martha, saying sternly. “Stay out there.”

The Doctor flashed the torch around the small space, when he heard a grating, breathing noise coming from the ceiling above him. He directed the beam to a small shelf halfway up a corner of the recess.

There, crouched on four legs, was a creature straight out of hell.

The Time Lord smiled matter-of-factly. “Ah, so you’re the one’s been causing all the brouhaha–now there’s a word I’ve not used in a while—anyway,”

He stepped back a bit to get a better view of the alien, “what are you about eh? You do seem to be a bloodthirsty little feller, and we can’t have that, can we?”

The Doctor squatted down and looked the creature over silently for a moment.

In turn, the creature cocked its head at the Doctor and seemed to be contemplating him, as well. It had the head of a jackal and ruby eyes. Its skin was grey and hairless, and it had paws with long, thin razor-sharp claws. The teeth were needlelike, with two huge fangs showing in front. The being was similar in size to that of a Yorkshire terrier. Despite its beastly appearance, the eyes had an almost intense intelligence behind them.

The creature finally spoke. “You are not native to this planet. Why are you here?” Despite its size, it had a surprisingly deep, gravelly voice.

Inwardly, the Doctor shivered involuntarily. The voice was remarkably similar to that of a Dalek—then the Doctor realized why. The voice held the same lack of emotion…save for a deep-seated insane anger.

“You are right to be afraid.” It said.

The Doctor chose to ignore that remark. “How did you know that I’m not human, eh? Lucky guess? Or is it something more?”

 “I can smell you. ” It said levelly. “You are not of this place–a part of you, perhaps, but not all.”

The Doctor started a bit, at this revelation, his face drawing in, as if in pain. But then, scowling fiercely, he shrugged it off a second later. He stood up, and stepped back. “So, why here? Why these people? They’ve done nothing to you.”

The creature hissed. “What do you know of anything, you are insignificant, compared to the Rrohor.”

The Doctor rolled his eyes, muttering, “Oh yeah? Like I’ve not heard that one before.”

He gave the creature a condescending smile, “Oh, I duuno’, after you’ve dealt with Daleks and Cybermen and oh,” he sighed, “I do hate name-dropping. Anyway, you don’t seem so very much to me.”

The dog-like alien snarled, “You are puny compared to us.”

The Doctor looked up at it, askance, snorting. “Well, from where I’m standing, as the humans would say, ’size matters.’ Besides, there’s only one of you, and only one of me.”

The Rrohor curled back its lip in an gruesome imitation of a smile, “I am but the first. Soon, our pack will descend upon this puny planet and the hunt shall begin in earnest. Only the people of this planet can give us what we need. And we shall take all, until there is nothing more. “

The last two words echoed off the stone walls, “Nothing more.”

“All or nothing, ey?” The Doctor said jovially. “Greedy little things, aren’t you? Sure you won’t just settle for a doggie biscuit or something? No? Well, I’m sorry to tell you, but your little plan? It’s just not going to happen.”

 In an instant his manner changed. The Doctor’s eyes gleamed with their own anger, as he spat out, “becuase I’m not going to allow it. You hear?”

In answer, a beam of blue light shot out from the beast’s eyes, aimed right at the Doctor’s chest.

He screamed in agony, and clutching his chest, staggered back and fell through the curtain. Staring at his prone body, Martha cried out in horror.

 

______________________________________________________________________

 

CHAPTER 13: Prey For Me

Casting one wary eye on the alcove, Martha ran to the Doctor’s side. She quickly checked him over–still breathing. Sighing with relief, she checked his hearts–both beating, tho’ one sounded slightly irregular. Cradling his head in her lap, she tried to wake him as gently as possible. “Doctor! Can you hear me? Wake up, please!” She whispered urgently.

His breathing was shallow and his skin pale, indicating possible shock–but there was no telling what was considered normal vital signs for a Time Lord. Martha made a mental note to ask him, as soon as they got back to the Tardis–if they got back to the Tardis. She loosened his tie, bending over him saying, “Come on, Doctor, pull yourself together.” She said with mock severity, “We’ve got an alien to fight.”

 Martha spared an apprehensive glance at the alcove, then noticed, out of the corner of her eye, the Doctor’s eyelids fluttering. She added, “And, I don’t have any idea how to use a sonic screwdriver.”

The Doctor managed a weak smile and uttered, “Are you after my job now, Martha?”

Opening his eyes he winked at her, “I hope you’re not expecting me to give you any Tardis driving lessons.” He sat up–and gasped. “Well…that hurt,” he said blandly.

Martha was surprised to see the colour quickly returning to the Doctor’s face, and was startled to have him bound up onto his feet, seemingly to have completely recovered in a matter of seconds.

“Right then!” He exclaimed, glaring at the alcove.

The Doctor paced back and forth manically, tearing at his hair, trying to dredge up his knowledge of that species. “The Rrhor, the Rrhor…what do I know about them? He said that only humans can give them what they need–but what, eh? What?”

He paced some more. Martha wasn’t sure what the Doctor meant. She looked thoughtful. “We have so many things here, oil, gold, precious minerals…is that what it means?”

The Doctor stopped abruptly and embraced her, “Yes! That’s it! Martha,” he beamed, “you’re brilliant!”

Martha beamed. “I am? Thanks. So, I’m right this time then?”

To her disgust, the Doctor shook his head. “No, sorry. But, in a way–yes.”

She frowned deeply. “Okay, now you’ve lost me–what does that mean, ‘yes and no?’”

The Doctor resumed his frantic pacing again. “Because of external influences, the Rrhor are severely deprived of certain necessary minerals and other chemicals. Eons ago, the were involved in a fierce inter-planetary war that stripped the home planet bare of the very things the Rrhor needed to stay alive. Their world is virtually sterile. To get the nutrients they need, they have to produce them artificially.”

 Martha was puzzled, “But if they can produce these things artificially, why do they need…” she swallowed, us?”

The Doctor frowned, shaking his head. “I’m not sure.”

She stood in front of him and asked, “Well what sort of nutrients are we talking about, Doctor?”

Using his fingers, he ticked them off to her, “Let see, if I remember correctly, they require carbon, ammonia, saltpeter, iron, sulphur and phosphorus.”

Martha tilted her head. Something about that list rang a bell. She snapped her fingers, startling the Doctor. “I have it!”

 The Doctor raised an eyebrow. “What?”

For a moment Martha simply stared at him, surprised that for once, she knew something he’d obviously forgotten. “Doctor, that’s a list of chemicals found in the human body!”

The Doctor slapped his forehead. “Ow. I really shouldn’t do that. Of course! Why didn’t I see it?”

Then he frowned, “But why come here, when they could just make the chemicals artificially? Why travel light years from your own planet, just for dinner? I mean, whatever happened to good old-fashioned home cooking?”

 Martha shrugged. “Maybe they went organic?”

The Doctor looked askance. “Free range humans?”

He shrugged, “Well, I suppose anything’s possible”.

Just then, an angry growl sounded from the recess. The Doctor backed away, ushering Martha back with him. “Umm–maybe now’s not the best time to be discussing the Rrhor’s eating habits, Doctor.” She said. “He sounds rather hungry, if you ask me, and I rather not be on his menu.”

 The curtain in the alcove stirred, as the Doctor and Martha swiftly backed away towards the chapel door.

Just then, the Doctor heard someone unlocking the front door. “What the devil?” he whispered.

Martha turned and looked. An old man in work clothes opened the chapel door and stepped in. He saw Martha and the Doctor there, and gave a start. Removing his hat, he said, “Oh, pardon me, miss, sir. I just came to make sure the vicar’s body was properly covered, before I went to fetch the constable. But you shouldn’t be here, should you?”

 Before either one of them could answer, a loud hissing noise came from the alcove.

“What was that?” The caretaker cried.

He ran towards the alcove, just as the Doctor yelled, “No, wait! Stop!”

But it was too late. The alien saw the caretaker, and leaped upon him. The man screamed as the beast tore him to shreds.

The Doctor grabbed Martha and turned her face away, saying gently, “Don’t look.”

They ran past the snarling Rrhor, circling wide around him. Taking Martha’s hand, the Doctor opened his mouth, but she interrupted him. “I know. ‘Run!’”

He and Martha fled from the chapel as fast as both their legs could carry them–and, turning the corner of the building, ran right smack into the arms of the tall man.

___________________________________________________________________

CHAPTER 14: Doctor Death

The Doctor and Martha had run pell-mell into the tall man. Martha cried, “Whoa!” smacking her forehead into the Doctor’s back.

“Sorry.” The Doctor murmured, touching her arm reassuringly.

He quickly stepped back, nearly treading on Martha’s toes. The Doctor looked up at the alien and smiled as if he were meeting a stranger at a cocktail party. “Hello there! I’m sorry, we haven’t been introduced. I’m the Doctor. And you are?”

The tall man eyed the Doctor, then, after a long pause, spoke. “I am one called Tisp.” He pronounced it in a long, drawn out manner.

The Doctor felt he might be getting somewhere, now–as to where, well that remained to be seen. Rubbing his hands together, he said, “Right, Tiiisssp. Oh wait, sorry, where are you from?”

The tall man replied. “I am Draxilian.”

The Doctor scratched his head. “Oh right…that explains the gas, then. Well, sort of. So, the next question is, why? Why are you here with that…that…old mutt–you know, that Rrhor thing?”

Tisp’s face assumed a reverent expression. “We exist only to serve the masters.”

Glaring at the alien man, the Doctor crossed his arms. “We? What do you mean, we? Are there more of you?”

Tisp nodded. “Millions. A millennia ago, we were a scattered race of many tribes, always at war, never staying in one place. We had no one purpose. The Kreigal came. They taught us to think as one mind. They gave us special powers, that we might serve them. We have been their willing servants ever since.”

The Doctor frowned. “Millions of happy slaves, yeah. I can see where that would be a good thing,” he muttered.

 Martha asked, “Doctor, that green cloud we keep seeing, what’s is it?”

He looked at Tisp speculatively. “Yes, I’ve been meaning to ask that very question. That gas is normally very corrosive and highly volatile. How are you able to control it like that, hmm?”

Tisp’s eyes gleamed with pride, “The Master. He has powers you cannot begin to fathom. He has given us the ability to control the gas through mental projection.”

The Doctor’s face sharpened, when he heard that.

“Our master uses the gas to help break down the body’s chemicals for consumption.” The tall man explained.

The Doctor stuffed his hands in his pockets and said merely. “Hmmm-I see. Your master has been busy–dining on not just the living, but, from what Martha tells me, the recently deceased, as well.”

His eyes glittered with anger, “Turning the human race into nothing more than dog food. Except he’s not exactly Lassie though, is he?”

Martha asked, from behind the Doctor, “So, this thing…does it have a name?”

The Doctor turned and looked at Martha, “You took the words right out of my mouth.”

He turned back, asking, “So this thing, does it have a name?”

Tisp said proudly, “The one I serve is called Frox. He is the Gregeran.”

“The what?” The Doctor and Martha simultaneously asked.

The tall man smiled. “What your people would call a general. He is the first. The others will soon follow.”

The Doctor was less and less liking the sound of this. He liked what happened next, even less.

Tisp smiled. “You must be next. The Master must feed. He grows in strength, but he needs more.”

“More? What do you mean by more?” The Doctor asked. He was trying to buy him and Martha some time. His mind tumbled over both the possibilities and the dangers as he spoke.

The alien man said “He needs to project his location to the others. For that, he needs strength. He needs to feed.”

Tisp gave a macabre smile and raised his hands.

That’s when the Doctor noticed that Tisp was standing directly in front of a large monument made of limestone. Without warning, the Doctor pushed Martha out of the way. He quickly snatched the sonic screwdriver out of his pocket.

 “Cover your ears, Martha!” He yelled, and, pointing the instrument at the monument, he made the stone resonate at an unusually high frequency.

The stone disintegrated, as tall man cried out, then collapsed to the ground and died.

Martha came and stood beside him. He looked sadly at the crumpled form of Tisp. “I wish I hadn’t had to do that. But he left me no choice.” The Doctor said in a weary voice.

Martha squeezed his arm. “I know. You were right, you had to do it.”

He gave her a sad smile. Then, the Doctor felt, rather than saw, a presence behind him.

Martha gasped with horror. “No!”

Whirling about, he saw the creature called Frox, standing on the pile of crumbled stone, its fangs bared in a horrible grimmace.

___________________________________________________________________

CHAPTER 15: Killer Go Home

Staring at the little dog-like beast, the Doctor knew that he and Martha had nowhere else to run but back into the chapel.

It stood immobile, poised for the kill.

 Martha shuddered as the killer sat silently, coldly stone-like on the pile of rubble, it’s red eyes glowing evilly, and fangs dripping saliva. Martha gasped as the Doctor actually took a few steps forward towards it.

He rambled at the creature, “Martha, Frox. Frox, this is my good friend Martha. Now be a good dog and shake hands, eh? No? Oh, well, then, maybe you want a doggie treat first, yeah? Let me just see if I have any Scooby snacks in here.”

He began grabbing things out of his coat pockets and transferring them to his suit.

 Martha started to speak, “Doctor…”

 Just then, with surprising speed, the Doctor threw off his coat and flung it over the head of the dog-like being. It gave a muffled snarl, but the Doctor didn’t stick around to hear it. “Here we go again, Martha!”

Taking Martha by the hand, he dashed back around to the front of the building, up the steps and into the gloomy little church once more, muttering, “He’d better not get any dog hair on that coat…”

Glancing around the dim interior, the Doctor desperately looked for a way to save Martha. That’s when he spied a ladder in one corner. He ran and propped it up against one of the few smaller windows.

Dragging Martha over, he started to tell her to climb the ladder, but to his mixed feelings of frustration and admiration, she balked at the idea. “You want me to crawl out the window?” She asked, then frowned with concern. “But what about you, Doctor? I’m not leaving you alone to face that…thing.”

 Before the Doctor could reply, a low growl issued from the chapel’s doorway. “That thing” had arrived, and was more than ready to attack them.

The Doctor and Martha crouched in a corner. “Well, looks like we’re about to be dog food, Doctor.” Martha whispered. “Some picnic this turned out to be. We’re the main course.”

The Doctor put his arms protectively around her. She smiled at him. “Now’s not the time to be getting fresh with me.”

The Doctor merely looked at her, and shook his head, his face reflecting a sense of amazed humor. “Don’t worry Martha–”

 She finished his sentence. “I know. You’ll think of something.” He nodded and squeezed her shoulder with a reassurance he didn’t actually feel. He turned his head away, so that she wouldn’t see his anxiety.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as the Kreigal stealthily approached them, slowly stalking down the church aisle, between the benches. She sighed. “It’s too bad you can’t use your sonic screwdriver on him–I mean, you haven’t so I’m guessing it wouldn’t work, right?”

The Doctor looked at her, “Yeah. Oh, his hearing is good, but nothing like Tisp’s kind. For that to work, I’d have to…”

Martha looked at him, “You’d have to what?”

Looking down sadly, he sighed. “I’d have to raise the frequency. Remember what I said earlier? It’d get rid of Frox there, but it’d also be the end of us.”

By “us,” Martha knew he was really thinking of her…then she remembered the little box he had given her, back at the picnic bench. She leaned over and whispered, “So that..what was it? Personal force field thing, will it work for two?”

The Doctor’s eyes suddenly lit up. He started to smack himself in the forehead again, then thought the better of it.  “Of course! Why didn’t I think of that, sooner? Martha, you’re brilliant!”

He hugged her, grinning, “And yes, this time you are right, a hundred percent right!”

She returned his grin. He hugged her again, joyously, “I’d nearly forgotten. The personal force field. It will protect us–or at least, it should.”

Glad though Martha was to hear the good news, she wasn’t entirely convinced she liked the sound of that. “Protect us from what? Or don’t I want to know?”

The Doctor only smiled enigmatically. ‘Just you wait, and I’ll show you.”

Martha looked at him with some small trepidation. “Wait for what, Doctor? Surprises are great for birthdays and Christmas–but it’s not my birthday and Christmas is over a month away yet.”

The Doctor was ignoring her, watching the creature with a focused intensity, one hand grasping the sonic screwdriver, the other holding the force field box. “Have to get the timing just right…” He whispered to himself.

As the Kreigal approached, the green gas cloud began forming. The Doctor merely smiled. “That’s it, Benji, build that ol’ cloud up just a bit more…” he muttered as he adjusted the sonic screwdriver.

Without turning around, he handed the personal force field device to Martha. “Here. When I say so, put your arms around me and push that button–but only when I give the signal”, he added sternly.

Martha wasn’t sure where this was going, but said, “Okay, Doctor.”

The gas cloud built up, and Martha felt her mind starting to wander, once again being sucked into a dark, fathomless place. “I know it’s hard, but you must concentrate, Martha!” The Doctor commanded. “Focus your mind! Focus it on one thing, something. Anything. Don’t let the kriegal’s mental powers take you over. Concentrate, You hear me, Martha?”

Martha did, but only just–the creature’s powers seemed to be sucking the will out of her very soul.

The Doctor yelled, “Think of one thing–a person, an object, a place–and focus only on that!”

Suddenly, something sprang into her mind. A patient she had seen once. A little old lady with a warm smile, riddled with cancer, but still, that smile…Somewhere, in the back of her head, she heard the high pitched whine from the screwdriver.

“Now!” The Doctor commanded severely.

She threw her arms around him and pressed the button. Immediately, the chapel fumed into a world of fire, as an explosion ripped through it.

Through the sound, Martha heard what sounded like a dog howling with pain.

Using the portable force field, the two of them picked their way through the smoldering chapel. Outside on the steps, the Doctor depressed the button. Martha could feel the heat now, coming through the open doorway. She looked back. “Is he gone, then?”

The Doctor sighed. “Yes. Even a being like that couldn’t survive that inferno.”

 She looked at him, curiously. “But what exactly did you do?”

He stood watching the inferno. “Methilane gas is highly toxic–but also highly volatile as well. I just used the sonic screwdriver to resonate the stone at a frequency that made the gas unstable, and–boom! Problem solved.”

The Doctor turned to walk back to where he’d parked the Tardis, but Martha tugged on his sleeve. He stopped and looked at her quizzically.

 “But what about the gas? What was it’s purpose? She asked.

The Doctor replied, “Among it’s many properties, this type of gas is like a focusing point for energy. It can absorb chemicals–such as those found in the human body. But also, it can be used as a booster for mental projections. Very versatile, it is…and very deadly. That’s why its use has been banned throughout the galaxy.”

He retrieved his coat from under a bit of rubble–”Oh, here it is!” he beamed. He examined it, “And none the worse for wear, by the looks of things.” He frowned. “Apart from the dog hair. Ugh! I hate that!”

 Martha was still worried. “And the others of his kind?” She asked, “Won’t they be coming here, too?”

The Doctor smiled reassuringly. “Oh, I kind of doubt it. You see, they’re very much like real dogs. Pack animals. And when the leader,” he jerked a thumb in the direction of the chapel, “dies, the pack just naturally falls apart. Gets absorbed into some other packs, or go off on their own. No, I don’t think they’ll be back anytime soon. So—”

He hooked his arm in hers and he strode off down the road. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry. How ‘bout some lunch then, eh?”

Martha looked at him incredulously, threw back her head and laughed.

The Doctor looked at her, baffled, “What?”

END