The Bodysnatchers
CHAPTER 7: 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. He 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. He 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, if I say so myself!” 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 caretaker was stunned. “Dead?” Alarmed by this news, he backed away from the Doctor. “Did you kill him then?” The Doctor 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 Caretaker 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 old man 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.
