Read Online Doctor Who: The Many Hands by Dale Smith - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Dale Smith
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around like nervous
rabbits being pursued by a fox.
'This way,' the stranger said, waving them up the
shore. 'Follow me.'
'To where?' McAllister asked sharply.
The stranger pointed further up the shore: there
was a path that wound through some trees, and the
familiar spired shape of a church waiting at the end
of it. The church had two large wooden doors that
looked like they could keep out the assembled hordes
of Genghis Khan. McAllister nodded at the stranger,
as if noticing for the first time that he was dressed in a
minister's drab dark robes.
'Sir?' one of the soldiers asked.
McAllister glanced behind him, as did the Doctor.
The creatures were rising again from the Loch, the
water pouring from them like rain. Long green weeds
clung to their ancient clothes. Somewhere on his
journey, Ernest Wright had torn his bright red jacket.
'Follow the minister,' McAllister ordered.
He didn't have to say it twice.
It was a short run along the path and up to the
church, but none of the soldiers said a word as they
ran. The Doctor suspected that each of them was
thinking the same thing: between the path and the
church doors, the graveyard sat. So far, the only
creatures they had seen had all risen from the Loch,
but that didn't mean that it would stay that way. All
it would take was for one creature to appear from
behind the shadows of a grave, and that would be
that.
The graveyard was filled with trees as well as
headstones, and there were plenty of shadows to
choose between. The graves themselves were mostly
decorated with carefully carved skulls laughing out at
the living. The Doctor imagined that more than one
of the soldiers wished that the city's masons had had
a less literal frame of mind.
They hurried through the maze of stones, the
minister shouting encouragement from the Doctor's
side. The creatures were only yards behind them.
'Inside,' the minister called. 'There are others
waiting. Don't worry.'
The Doctor, McAllister and the minister were the
last to enter the church, and the frontrunners of their
pale pursuers almost had their fingers in the doors. It
took all three of them to slam shut the doors behind
them and draw the heavy bolts across. For a moment,
nobody said anything. The minister and McAllister
just stood and panted. Behind them, the church was
silent.
'Don't worry,' the minister said in hushed tones. 'St
Cuthbert's kept our congregation safe when it was the
Pretender at the doors. She'll keep us safe now.'
The Doctor opened his mouth to say something.
But he was drowned out by the sound of hammering
on the doors.
The creatures had arrived.
EIGHT
Martha stood blind in the sudden darkness, her
back pressed tight against the hidden door. She
could hear the disembodied hands scuttling all around
her. She told herself calmly that they were probably
moving back to the murky light from the window,
and not to panic. Her heart pounded roughly in her
chest. She blinked hard and often, trying to get her
eyes used to the darkness again. All she could see was
the flicker of the oil lamp that was no longer lit.
Something brushed against her arm, and she let
out a yelp and jumped to one side. She banged her
elbow against the wall as she moved, and a tingling
numbness shot down to her fingers.
'Stop it,' she told herself sharply. 'Just... stop it.' She
closed her eyes for a moment, and breathed deeply.
When she opened them again, her eyes had grown
more accustomed to the darkness. She could see
the strange grey hands had lost interest in her and
were indeed scuttling back to worship at the greasy
window. She could see them as little pale shapes,
thronging here and there, trying to climb the wall to
reach the light just as they'd tried to climb her. So she
was right: they were attracted to the light.
But there seemed to be more to it than that. The
way they moved, slumping as if tired but frantically
scrabbling to climb the cold walls; the way that some
of them fell from the walls and lay on their
rabbits being pursued by a fox.
'This way,' the stranger said, waving them up the
shore. 'Follow me.'
'To where?' McAllister asked sharply.
The stranger pointed further up the shore: there
was a path that wound through some trees, and the
familiar spired shape of a church waiting at the end
of it. The church had two large wooden doors that
looked like they could keep out the assembled hordes
of Genghis Khan. McAllister nodded at the stranger,
as if noticing for the first time that he was dressed in a
minister's drab dark robes.
'Sir?' one of the soldiers asked.
McAllister glanced behind him, as did the Doctor.
The creatures were rising again from the Loch, the
water pouring from them like rain. Long green weeds
clung to their ancient clothes. Somewhere on his
journey, Ernest Wright had torn his bright red jacket.
'Follow the minister,' McAllister ordered.
He didn't have to say it twice.
It was a short run along the path and up to the
church, but none of the soldiers said a word as they
ran. The Doctor suspected that each of them was
thinking the same thing: between the path and the
church doors, the graveyard sat. So far, the only
creatures they had seen had all risen from the Loch,
but that didn't mean that it would stay that way. All
it would take was for one creature to appear from
behind the shadows of a grave, and that would be
that.
The graveyard was filled with trees as well as
headstones, and there were plenty of shadows to
choose between. The graves themselves were mostly
decorated with carefully carved skulls laughing out at
the living. The Doctor imagined that more than one
of the soldiers wished that the city's masons had had
a less literal frame of mind.
They hurried through the maze of stones, the
minister shouting encouragement from the Doctor's
side. The creatures were only yards behind them.
'Inside,' the minister called. 'There are others
waiting. Don't worry.'
The Doctor, McAllister and the minister were the
last to enter the church, and the frontrunners of their
pale pursuers almost had their fingers in the doors. It
took all three of them to slam shut the doors behind
them and draw the heavy bolts across. For a moment,
nobody said anything. The minister and McAllister
just stood and panted. Behind them, the church was
silent.
'Don't worry,' the minister said in hushed tones. 'St
Cuthbert's kept our congregation safe when it was the
Pretender at the doors. She'll keep us safe now.'
The Doctor opened his mouth to say something.
But he was drowned out by the sound of hammering
on the doors.
The creatures had arrived.
EIGHT
Martha stood blind in the sudden darkness, her
back pressed tight against the hidden door. She
could hear the disembodied hands scuttling all around
her. She told herself calmly that they were probably
moving back to the murky light from the window,
and not to panic. Her heart pounded roughly in her
chest. She blinked hard and often, trying to get her
eyes used to the darkness again. All she could see was
the flicker of the oil lamp that was no longer lit.
Something brushed against her arm, and she let
out a yelp and jumped to one side. She banged her
elbow against the wall as she moved, and a tingling
numbness shot down to her fingers.
'Stop it,' she told herself sharply. 'Just... stop it.' She
closed her eyes for a moment, and breathed deeply.
When she opened them again, her eyes had grown
more accustomed to the darkness. She could see
the strange grey hands had lost interest in her and
were indeed scuttling back to worship at the greasy
window. She could see them as little pale shapes,
thronging here and there, trying to climb the wall to
reach the light just as they'd tried to climb her. So she
was right: they were attracted to the light.
But there seemed to be more to it than that. The
way they moved, slumping as if tired but frantically
scrabbling to climb the cold walls; the way that some
of them fell from the walls and lay on their
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