I Ain't Afraid of No Daleks

Well, since my cursor deosn't want to work properly on BLOG UK, so I can write and edit in a timely fashion, I'm afraid that you are stuck with chapter four of my Dr Who story, sorry.

CHAPTER FOUR: The Watchers

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.” She 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 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.

Mum and I actually played a small part in the placing of this state marker--we helped a state historian with some of her research when the cemetery was first targeted for historical status in 1979. Working with her is what first got me interested in doing my own research on the cemetery--which lasted, as my hobby, for over three years.

So, I'm presently showing just a few chapters of one of my Doctor Who stories, which I titled, strictly out of whimsy, "The Bodysnatchers". I know it's already been used in a movie, but I just wanted to try my hand at incorporating a bit of old-fashioned
Gothic horror into a Doctor Who story, and the title seemed sort of, well...very horror-like, I suppose is the word I'd use--I was just writing, having a lark, and wasn't really taking this story very seriously, I'm afraid. Although I certainly do not consider this one my best, by any means, I do love this story. That it because it was simply something new and fun for me to write--tho', to be quite honest, although technically it's completed--it isn't really finished. I was never really satisfied as to where I took this story, where it ended up. I may, some day, re-write it on a whim. Then again, I may not.

But there is a back story to this piece, as well, which I'm admitting to here, rather reluctantly.

As some of you who've read my blog for awhile may know, I grew up next to three cemeteries--one very old, by American standards, housing everyone from a US president and and also a signer of our US Constitution, politicians, artists, actors and musicians, to slaves, and paupers, a Souix Indian, a famous 19th century boxer, and the first man in our state to be condemned to death in the electric chair.

I'd grown up hanging out there. Mum used to take us on picnics at the cemetery pond--used to fish in there, as well--they had the big carp we called "giant goldfish." I did extensive historical research in there, in my early 20's, and tagged along with mum when she did her genealogy research. I went hiking in there (this particular cemetery is 367 acres, some of it quite wild, in parts--or, at least it was in the late 70's and early 80's), walking the rutted tracks and paved roads every single Sunday morning--and sometimes other days, as well. I was as at home in there, as I was in my own room in the house I grew up in.
ALBANY RURAL CEMETERY, LATE AUTUMN

Well...you can believe this or not, your choice, but truth to tell, I had two very spooky experiences--okay, one one downright terrifying--in there. Didn't stop me from going back, time after time, but let me tell you...it did sometimes--only sometimes--give me pause.

And it's partly my experiences in the Albany Rural Cemetery, that inspired me to write The Bodysnatchers.

That scene, at the very end of chapter one, where Martha sees this man standing nearby--silently staring at her, and she turns away--for just the wink of an eye--to ask the Doctor, "Who's that?" Then Martha looks back and the guy in somber clothes is gone? Okay, that's not really completely fictional--that was based on a very real experience I had--my first encounter with the lady ghost that haunted my mum's old library. That happened. I looked up, saw the woman in the dark dress standing behind the old glass door of the upper floor (the library reception area)--staring at me--through me. And I did just as Martha did in the story, and what happened to Martha, is what happened to me. However, Martha probably handled it better, I'd like to think--she's a really cool and spirited young lady--still, it creeped Martha out a bit, same as it did me--or at least, that's what I hope I conveyed in the story.

But, yes--I've actually picnicked in the cemetery, in the rain--tho, truthfully, my cemetery has a couple of covered post-Victorian pavilions with benches.

The sense of evil--oh yes. That's the terrifying bit. I was out for my usual Sunday hike, picnic lunch and a book--usually either poetry, a play, or Emerson's Essays--tucked away in my little rucksack. My rucksack had a little bell attached to it--a whimsy of mine--I just liked the sound it made--a distinctive little jangling, in time to the rhythm of my strides--, and if I got tired of it, I just unzipped my bag, shoved it inside and walked in relative silence.

Without going into too much detail, one Sunday morning--perfectly normal morning hike, nothing untoward or unusual happening--I had just gone no more than a couple of hundred feet into the cemetery--when I was stopped cold. I was literally bashed in the gut by this terrible, overpowering, overwhelming feeling of oppression--of impending disaster, of, yes, I will say it--evil. It was a sunny summer day, I'd even been singing as I'd set out, happy as a lark--walked through the cemetery gates, past the office, then...BAM! It was just...well, it was horrible. I tried for 20 minutes to convince myself I was imagining things--even to the point of defiantly unpacking my lunch and eating it then and there. Nope. Didn't work--in fact, the overpowering feeling of impending doom actually intensified--so I packed up and left--still defiantly following the fenceline, hoping the weirdness would pass. It didn't--actually, the longer I lingered, the worse it got--I actually ran home--and I weighed, at the time, over 150 pounds. Running wasn't something I did lightly, ha-ha.

So, I decided to incorporate my experiences into this story--also, I took some of my inspiration from the likes of Poe and Balzac. And The Bodysnatchers was the result. Yes, I freely admit that it's pretty well, as such stories go, total rubbish, and that's fine. I wrote it for fun, and that really was the whole point of doing it. I've not decided whether I'm going to post all the chapters...MAY do one or two more, but I don't feel I've really got the audience to justify doing every chapter--there's quite a few of them.

I LEARNED TO DRIVE ON THESE ROADS!