It's heading into 11pm, I really would love to sleep, but my bedroom is around 28 C, close and stuffy--like being trapped in a hotbox. Sleep isn't happening, tho' I did try to go to bed early. So--time for another late night editing session with this really bad Dr Who story--I'm not just being modest you know--it's not very good, and I know this. I want to do something different with the middle and ending of this story--shorten it, but also completely change Marie's role, than from the original story. But...I haven't worked out where to make the big switch yet, so I'm just contenting myself with messing about with an existing chapter, to see if I can make the story flow a little more smoothly. I imagine it must be putting some people to sleep, as it is rather plodding, compared to Bodysnatchers and a couple of other stories. Hmmm--maybe I should, for once, forget the tra-la happy ending, and kill off Marie at the end of the story--she could die doing something heroic, maybe even save the Doctor's life....meh, we'll see... Playwrite27
Doctor Who: Time Lords Don't Cry
CHAPTER 4: The Forsaken
Feeling slightly dizzy and disoriented, the Doctor bent over double and held his head in his hands. Something was terribly wrong, but he couldn’t quite ken exactly what it was. The sensation was…discomforting. He must do something. Taking a deep breath, he sat there, slowing his breathing, watching the white smoke of his warm breath, rising before him, he came to a decision. “I’ll bet that girl Marie would know what to do.” Taking up his hiking staff once more, he reversed his steps and started off towards the direction where he’d last seen her.
It was growing dark when he came upon the farmyard. Three lean white and brown speckled coonhounds came charging at him, baying wildly. The Doctor stood his ground. “Sit, boys!” He commanded. They all three sat on their haunches, tails wagging and long pink tongues lolling, looking up at the Doctor expectantly. Grinning, he patted each one on the head. “Good dogs, good boys.” He said to them.
The Doctor looked around him. In the gathering gloom of the evening, the weathered gray farmhouse seemed abandoned. No lights shone. Each window, seeming to be a blank eye, staring out at the world like a corpse. He looked down at the dogs. “Where is everyone? Where’s Marie?” He asked gently. The dogs merely whined and trotted back to the house. They crawled under the wide front porch and lay there silently, heads resting on their paws as if waiting for someone--or something.
The farmhouse door stood wide open. The Doctor walked cautiously up the steps. He peered into the doorway. A long cavern-like hallway ran to the back of the house, with a set of stairs going upwards to its left, and a door--presumably to the parlor--on its right. “Hello?” The Doctor called out, “Is anybody there?” His own voice echoed back to him. The house appeared to be empty of life.
Suddenly, with a yowl, a big fluffy gray tabby shot directly between his legs. The Doctor jumped involuntarily. He shook himself off, and watched the cat run towards barn. The doors of the barn were closed tight and the cat sat before them, pawing at them with his claws and meowing piteously.
Leaving the house, the Doctor strode to the barn and stood over the cat. He looked down at him. “What is it?" He asked the cat, bending down to scratch the side of its face. The car purred, and rubbed his head against the Doctor's jeans, happy for the company. The Doctor straightened and, looking the barn up down suspiciously, said, "What’s in there, eh?” He tried the door. It was locked, barred from within. He frowned. “Now why would anyone lock a barn door from the inside, hmmm?” He asked the cat.
Walking around to the side of the building, the Doctor noticed that there was a back door. He tried it, but it was locked as well. That was when he spied a small window in the back corner. Using a rag he found nearby to wipe off the grime from the window, he looked in. The creeping darkness obscured everything in indefinite shadows. The cat had followed him and now sat at the Doctor's feet, looking at him expectantly. “Rahhwow,” it cried.
The Doctor smiled grimly at it. “Yes, I think I should do it, too.” With that, he picked up an old board that lay on the ground. Stepping back a bit, he broke the window glass. Glimpsing an old blue tarp lying crumpled alongside a pile of junk, he stuffed one edge along the bottom of the window frame and crawled inside.
Once inside the ghostly interior, the Doctor fished a small but powerful penlight torch out of a pocket of his jeans, and flicking it on, shone it around the barn's interior. Dirty cobwebs hung from the rafters and the smell of manure and hay pervaded the air. Outside of the cat, not a single animal was in sight.
Shining the torch on the floor, the Doctor noted long deep scratches in the wide wooden floor boards. Bending down, he examined them. They appeared to have been recently made. There was a faint, odd coppery smell in the air. He walked over to the rusting cattle stanchions. They were empty. He was walking past them when his foot slipped in something. He threw back his head in disgust. “Ugh! I knew it!” He cried out loud. Taking a breath, he looked at the sole of his shoe, only to stop short. He had stepped in something organic, all right, but it wasn’t manure. It was a large pool of blood.
