Doctor Who BBCN16 - Forever Autumn (9 page)

‘Run!’ the Doctor yelled, and bustled the two women ahead of him along the corridor that ran parallel with the staircase. But they had taken no more than a few steps when the kitchen door at the end of the corridor was nudged open and a further wave of cats came streaming out, eyes burning with green fire.

Now there were cats both at their heels and ahead of them. Using his body as a shield, the Doctor pulled Martha and Etta behind him again. All three of them backed towards the wall of wood panelling that ran up the side of the staircase. Once again the Doctor produced his sonic screwdriver and held it up like a weapon, swinging it from left to right. Behind him, Martha and Etta pressed themselves into his back. Martha raised her hands to protect her face as the cats closed in. . .

56

Something was jabbing Martha in the back, but she was so focused on the advancing army of cats that at first she didn’t register its significance. Then it struck her: she was leaning against a doorknob.

She twisted round in the confined space between the Doctor and the wall and realised there was a door literally carved into the wood panelling. The reason she hadn’t noticed it before-aside from the fact she’d been preoccupied with not getting her face scratched off by a mob of possessed felines – was because the door was so flush with its frame that it was easy to overlook. Even the doorknob wasn’t much bigger than a walnut. She curled her hand around it and gave it a tug and the door popped open.

‘In here,’ she hissed. It seemed that the reason the cats hadn’t flown at them already was because the Doctor was doing something clever with his sonic screwdriver. He was sweeping it in front of him, creating some sort of barrier or field or something which the cats seemed reluctant to cross. They kept trying, but then would jump back, yowling, as if they’d had a mild electric shock. If the door hadn’t been here, she supposed this tactic would have resulted in a tense stale-mate, lasting until either the cats returned to normal, the Doctor got cramp or the sonic ran out of juice (if it ever did).

57

The Doctor glanced over his shoulder and saw the open door. ‘Brilliant!’ he grinned. ‘Aw, I love doors, me. Number one invention of all time. And so versatile. Did you know the outlawing of doors was directly responsible for the fall of the Tymerian Empire? All that extra faff climbing in and out of windows and having to walk up and down stairs ’cos you couldn’t use lifts any more meant that nothing ever got done. Productivity dropped, the economy crashed, and all because her Royal Tectrope got her fourth proboscis jammed in a suction door and was made to look a prat. Bonkers. Utterly bonkers.’

By the time he had finished babbling, the three of them were through the door and had hurried down a worn flight of stone steps.

They found themselves in a low-ceilinged but sizeable cellar, cold and dank and smelling faintly of apples. The only light came from a fur-coated bulb hanging from six inches of flex in the centre of the ceiling.

A long slit of a window, hinged at the top and set at eye-level in the opposite wall, provided the only visible escape route. The green foggy darkness pressing against the glass gave Martha the odd sensation that they were underwater.

The Doctor looked around. ‘Norman Bates chic,’ he said musingly.

‘Like it.’

Above them they could hear the cats mewling and padding about.

The Doctor pointed at a large wooden trapdoor set into the stone-flagged floor. ‘What’s that?’

Etta frowned, obviously irritated by what she saw as an irrelevant question. ‘It’s a fruit store,’ she said. ‘Nothing but a big, airtight box in the earth. There’s no way out through there, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

Martha noticed the Doctor purse his lips, noticed too the way his dark, unblinking eyes lingered on the trapdoor for a moment. Then he hurried across to the long, narrow window on the far side of the room.

‘Shame about the cats,’ he said as he unlatched the window and cautiously lifted it. ‘I was getting quite fond of them again after all the friendly ones we met on New Earth. But this lot have blotted the copybook. They’ve sent cats plummeting right back down my species 58

popularity chart. Not that it’s their fault, I suppose.’

Martha glanced at Etta to see how she was taking all this, considering that the old lady was obviously a cat lover. Etta didn’t look angry, however, merely worried. Martha could guess what question Etta wanted – but was afraid – to ask, and so she asked it herself.

‘Will they stay like that?’

The Doctor was peering through the long letterbox slit of the window, presumably on the lookout for more hell-cats. Wisps of green mist drifted in through the gap like probing, ghostly fingers.

‘Nah,’ he said dismissively. ‘Soon as whoever’s put the hex on them realises we’ve legged it, I expect they’ll switch off the old voodoo. Your moggies will be harmless little furballs again by the morning, I should think, Etta. Probably be a bit offish, but blimey, they’re cats – who’s gonna notice the difference?’

He lifted the window all the way open and pushed it back. ‘Right, I think the coast’s clear. Come on.’

He levered himself out with no apparent effort, then grabbed Martha’s hand and hauled her out just as easily. Not for the first time she was surprised – and impressed – by his wiry strength.

Together the two of them then pulled Etta out of the window. She was not a slim lady, and it was a narrow gap, but after a bit of oofing on everyone’s part they managed it.

Standing in Etta’s backyard, mist curling around them, the Doctor suddenly looked a bit awkward. ‘Um. . . sorry for causing you all this bother,’ he said to Etta.

She looked sternly at him for a moment, and then her face broke into a smile. ‘You know what? I haven’t had this much excitement in years.’

The Doctor looked delighted. ‘Aw, bless.’

‘So what now?’ Martha asked.

He puffed out his cheeks. ‘Well, I dunno about you, but I’m parched.

Back to the hotel for a nice cuppa, I think.’

‘Jeez, will you get off my case!’ shouted Chris.

He jumped up from the breakfast table, pushing his cereal bowl 59

away, causing milk to slop onto his place mat.

‘Hey! Don’t talk to your mom like that,’ growled Tony Pirelli.

‘But she’s treating me like a kid,’ Chris protested.

‘Well, that’s probably because you’re acting like one,’ his dad said.

The boys’ mother, Amanda, looked upset. ‘I only wanted you to have a proper breakfast,’ she said. ‘You know I don’t like you skipping meals, Chris.’

‘But I’ve told you,’ Chris said, ‘I’m not hungry.’

‘And why is that?’ his dad asked pointedly.

Chris spread his hands. ‘I’m just not. Why does there have to be a reason?’

Suddenly Tony Pirelli looked very serious. ‘It’s not drugs, is it, Chris?’

Chris rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, gimme a break.’ Then he became aware that both his parents were looking at him, their faces grim and anxious. He looked back at them, aghast. ‘Man, I don’t believe this. No, it’s not drugs. Drugs are for losers.’

‘But you
are
a loser,’ muttered Rick, who was obediently eating his Cheerios and had been silent up to now.

‘Takes one to know one, runt-features,’ Chris said.

‘I am not having that kind of talk at the meal table,’ snapped Tony.

‘He started it,’ Chris protested. ‘Why don’t you tell
him
?’

‘I’m telling both of you,’ said their dad.

‘Sorry, Dad,’ said Rick demurely.

Chris pulled a disgusted face. ‘I’m outta here.’

‘Not before cleaning up this mess you’re not,’ his dad said, indicating the spilled milk on the table.

Chris tutted, grabbed a wad of kitchen paper and used it to mop up the milk, then dumped the wet paper in the trash.’
Now
can I go?’

‘That depends where you’re going to,’ his dad said,

‘Nowhere,’ said Chris, then seeing the thunderous expression forming on his dad’s face he sullenly conceded, ‘Brad’s.’

‘And will you and Brad be coming along to help us set up the Halloween Carnival?’ Tony asked pointedly.

Chris shrugged. ‘Dunno.’

60

‘It would be nice if you did, Chris,’ his mom said. ‘I’m sure your dad and the rest of the Halloween Committee would be grateful for all the help they can get.’

‘Yeah, whatever,’ Chris said and slouched towards the door. Then he sighed and turned back. ‘Maybe we’ll come along later,’ he muttered.

‘Don’t bust a gut,’ his dad said.

As he tromped down the street, Chris felt bad. He hadn’t liked running out on his parents, but he was still scared after what had happened in the night, and being scared had made him too angry to talk. He just needed to be on his own for a while to think about what he’d seen and what, if anything, he was going to do about it. He turned out of his street and was heading off down the road towards town, when a voice behind him shouted, ‘Hiya!’

Chris turned. Jogging towards him through the mist was a skinny man wearing a tight suit and a long brown coat, an inane grin on his face.

Oh great,
Chris thought,
this is all I need.
Scowling he said, ‘Have I got a sign above my head or something?’

The man stopped and scrutinised him so intently that Chris felt as if his thoughts were being read. Then the guy glanced above Chris’s head. ‘Er. . . no,’ he said. ‘Should you have?’

Chris sighed. ‘Whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested. What is this? Hassle Chris Day or something?’

‘There you go,’ said the man. ‘Knew I was right.’

‘About what?’

‘About you being him.’

‘Who?’

Under his breath the man said, ‘Blimey, it’s true what they say about teenagers.’ Slowly he enunciated, ‘You. Chris. Pirelli. Yes?’

Chris scowled. ‘So what if I am?’

With a pleasant smile the man said, ‘Tell you what, Chrissy boy, let’s just skip all the teenage angsty stuff. We’ll take it as read that you’ve got issues, that no one understands you and that you’re confused about your sexuality.’

‘I’m not –’ Chris began, but the man shushed him.

61

‘Because otherwise this planet will be in flames by the time we finally finish this conversation, and if anyone tries to blame me for not saving it like I usually do, I’ll just point the finger and say, “It was his fault – Mr Awkward Pants here”.’

Chris stared at the smiling man and noticed again how dark and weird his eyes were. Maybe he was just a loon, though Chris couldn’t help thinking there was more to him than that. He couldn’t help thinking, in fact, that the guy was not just smart, but that somehow he saw
everything
.

‘Who
are
you?’ he asked.

‘I’m the Doctor,’ the man said.

‘The Doctor?’ repeated Chris heavily.

‘Oh, yes,’ said the man, as if he expected Chris to be impressed.

‘Ohhh-kay. So what’s that supposed to mean? Is it, like, some online geek-boy name or something?’

The man blinked, swallowed. For a moment he looked uncertain how to respond. Then he said, ‘Anyway, moving swiftly on. . . Where’s the book, Chris?’

‘What book?’

Suddenly the guy looked deadly serious. ‘I really haven’t got time for this.’

‘But. . .

but I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Chris said weakly.

The man stared at him a moment longer – and then the easy smile was back. ‘No, you don’t, do you? So what’s bothering you then?’

Again Chris got the impression that the man could see into his head.

‘Nothing,’ he said quickly.

‘OK,’ said the man with a dismissive shrug and turned away. ‘See you later.’

Chris stayed silent for maybe three seconds, watching the man –
the
Doctor
– saunter along the sidewalk. And then he called, ‘What makes you think I’ve got stuff on my mind?’

The Doctor stopped. Then he pivoted on his heels. His face was grim, but not unsympathetic. Quietly he said, ‘Oh, I’ve seen so much fear in my life, Chris. So many people with so many secrets that they 62

can’t or won’t or daren’t share. And you know what the funny thing is?

Most of the time those people don’t even know why they’re keeping their secrets. Maybe they think they won’t be believed, or even that people will laugh at them.’ He shrugged. ‘I dunno. What do
you
think?’

Chris was silent for a moment, then he blurted, ‘I saw something!’

‘Oh yeah?’ said the Doctor casually.

‘Last night. I woke up and I looked out of my window, and. . .

and. . . ’

‘And I promise that whatever you tell me, I’ll believe you,’ the Doctor murmured, and Chris saw in his dark, unblinking eyes that the Doctor was speaking the truth.

So he told his story – about the strange light, and the tree that wasn’t a tree, and about how the man who couldn’t possibly have been a man (no matter how much Chris had tried to convince himself otherwise) had been swallowed by the earth.

The Doctor’s eyes got starier and darker during the telling. And the more Chris talked, the more the Doctor looked as if he was trying to remember something important.

‘Tell me what this tall man looked like,’ he said, after Chris had described how the figure had sunk into the ground.