Doctor Who BBCN10 - The Nightmare of Black Island (6 page)

The children skidded to a halt. At once the laughter stopped and they stared at the Doctor and Rose suspiciously, their faces a mixture of bravado and fear, a look that Rose recognised from all children who have just been caught doing something they shouldn’t have.

The Doctor obviously recognised the look too. He stood with his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his coat, staring at them with mock sternness.

‘Hello. And where are you lot heading off to in such a hurry?’

One of the older boys, with a tangle of untidy blond hair, looked back at him defiantly. ‘None of your business, is it?’

‘None at all!’ said the Doctor cheerfully. ‘I’m just being nosy. Can’t help it. See something I don’t know about, have to stick my hooter in!’

There was the patter of feet and more high-pitched laughter, and two other figures hared into view. It was Ali with a boy.

‘Ahl I might have known,’ cried the Doctor. ‘Little Ali! It’s always the small ones you’ve got to watch.’

‘I’m not small!’ Ali frowned.

The boy with her clenched his fists. ‘She doesn’t like being called small.’

Rose stifled a smile. ‘He’s keen,’ she muttered.

The boy obviously heard her and reddened. ‘Do you know him?’ he asked.

Ali nodded. ‘He’s a doctor. He’s staying with Mum and Dad. That’s Rose.’ Ali gave her a shy smile.

The kids suddenly looked worried and the blond boy took a step backwards.

‘What’ve they called a doctor for? We don’t need any doctor.’

37

The Doctor shook his head. ‘I’m not
any
doctor, I’m THE Doctor.

Completely different. We’re off to investigate the rectory. A lady called Bronwyn thinks it might have something to do with the creatures in the woods. What do you think?’

The children shuffled awkwardly again.

‘Dunno what you mean.’ The blond boy wouldn’t meet the Doctor’s gaze.

‘Really?’ The Doctor dropped on to his haunches, bringing him head height with Ali. ‘’cause Ali here certainly does, and she’s not remotely scared of talking about them.’

‘I’m not scared.’ The boy was angry again. ‘Not scared of the monsters or you or them at the rectory!’

‘So you’ve been there?’

The boy clenched his jaw. ‘Maybe.’

‘We play dare,’ piped up Ali. ‘We’ve all done it now. Even me.

Knocking at the door. Hiding from them.’

‘Hiding from who?’ asked Rose.

Ali shrugged. ‘Dunno who they are. They wear masks. Like in hospital. And white coats. We’ve seen. . . ’

The boy standing next to her dug her in the ribs with his elbow and she stopped.

‘Seen what?’ Rose crouched down next to the Doctor. ‘What have you seen? You can tell us, honest.’

Ali looked around her friends, then shook her head. ‘Nothing.’

‘Come on. What are we hanging around here for?’ And with that the blond boy set off down the hill at a jog, shouting back over his shoulder, ‘He’s not a teacher or our parents. We don’t have to talk to him.’

The rest of the gang started to run after him, Ali with them. She stopped and looked back at Rose for a moment, then hurried to catch up her friends.

Rose straightened. ‘She
so
wants to tell us something.’

‘She did tell us something. Figures at the rectory with surgical masks dressed in white lab coats.’

‘The people you saw last night, by the sea!’

38

‘Yes.’ The Doctor nodded. ‘Come on. Let’s see if we can play dare too.’

The two of them set off along the narrow lane again. Before long they turned a corner and there were the gates of the rectory, tall and imposing. And unlocked. They didn’t look as though they had been used for years, ivy and brambles twining through the rusted iron bars.

Beyond them they could see the house itself at the end of a curving gravel drive.

‘Very nice!’ The Doctor was impressed. ‘Old Nathaniel’s definitely a local boy made good, eh?’

Rose grimaced and crunched up the drive after the Doctor. The house was cold and dour-looking, enough to give the kids nightmares with or without monsters. There was a flicker of movement at the edge of her vision and she looked up in time to see heavy curtains on the first floor swing back into place. She hurried over to join the Doctor on the porch.

‘Someone knows we’re here.’

‘Good. Not much point in coming all this way to find no one at home.’

The Doctor grasped the heavy brass knocker and rapped forcefully on the door. From inside Rose could hear the sound of movement, footsteps on a hard floor, and then, with a clatter of keys and bolts, the door swung open.

An imposing thin-faced woman in a pristine white lab coat stood in the doorway, regarding them imperiously.

The Doctor held out a hand, grinning from ear to ear. ‘Good morning. I’m Dr. . . Jones. . . and this is my PA, Miss. . . Evans. We have an appointment to see Nathaniel Morton.’

The woman looked at the Doctor’s outstretched hand with distaste, making no move to take it. ‘An appointment?’

‘Well, I say appointment. It’s not exactly an appointment. . . it’s not like we booked it with his secretary or anything. You’re not his secretary, are you?’

The woman glared at him.

‘Course you’re not. Silly of me. Well, it’s a bit more informal than 39

that. Less of an appointment, more of a ‘drop by if you’re passing’

sort of thing. Not that Mr Morton said that as such, it’s just we were passing and we thought we’d drop by. . . ’ The Doctor tailed off. ‘He does actually live here, doesn’t he? Mr Morton?’

‘I’ll deal with this, thank you, Miss Peyne.’

With a squeak of tyres, an ancient wheelchair rolled from the shadows. The man sitting in it was pale and gaunt, with wisps of grey hair lying untidily over his head. The wheelchair slid to a halt and the man looked up at the Doctor quizzically.

‘I’m Nathaniel Morton. You have business with me?’

His voice was weak and wavering but his eyes blazed with a fierce intelligence and Rose got the impression of someone very dangerous trapped within that frail body.

The Doctor pulled the wallet holding his psychic paper from his pocket and handed it to Morton. ‘Dr Jones. From Cardiff. Conducting a survey of medical facilities in the area. Surprise inspection. Hope you don’t mind.’

Morton took the wallet and studied the paper. There was a long awkward pause and Rose held her breath. Then Morton abruptly snapped the wallet closed and handed it back to the Doctor.

‘You’d better come into my office.’

Gripping the wheels of the wheelchair, Morton spun it on the spot and rolled back into the gloom of the house. The Doctor and Rose followed. There was a loud bang as the door slammed behind them and the clatter of keys in the lock as Miss Peyne locked the door.

Rose tugged at the Doctor’s sleeve. ‘Didn’t think it was going to work that time!’ she whispered.

‘Yes, wasn’t sure myself for a moment. And I don’t think Miss Peyne was too keen about letting us in.’

‘God, she couldn’t have a better name! How scary was she!’

‘I know!’

They followed Morton down the dark hallway, their footsteps echoing off the high ceilings. At the end of the passage was a wide staircase, with weak light filtering through a tall window on the landing.

Rose jumped as two pale figures padded down the stairs, their faces 40

hidden by surgical masks, long lab coats flapping behind them. There was an unpleasant smell of disinfectant as the figures hurried past them, vanishing down another corridor. Rose shivered. She didn’t like places like this. It reminded her of the old people’s home her gran had had to go in for a little while before she died: a stale, soulless place full of people with dead eyes and no hope. Her mum had made her promise that she’d never put her in a place like that.

Morton rolled to a halt in front of a heavy oak door and pushed it open, gesturing for the Doctor and Rose to enter. They stepped through into a large, gloomy office. The walls were mostly lined with bookcases that groaned under the weight of heavy tomes and dust motes glinted in the shafts of weak sunlight that cut across the room.

Wheeling himself across to a large wooden desk, Morton shuffled papers to one side. Rose glanced around the room nervously. The walls that were free of books were hung with huge, ugly paintings.

Jars with strange twisted forms stood on glass-fronted cabinets and trays of surgical instruments gleamed on tables.

‘Sit down please, Dr. . . Jones, Miss Evans, and tell me what I can do for you.’ Morton regarded them balefully.

The Doctor slid into one of the old leather chairs, seemingly quite at home.

‘We’re interested in the work you’re doing here, Mr Morton. And the effect it might be having on the local community.’

‘This is a rest home for the elderly, Doctor, nothing more.’

‘An unusual place for a retirement home, surely? A bit out of the way?’

‘The clients in my care are wealthy. They have a desire for solitude, somewhere they can spend the twilight years of their life without prying eyes and unwelcome questions.’ The threat in his voice was obvious. ‘As for any effect on the community, I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.’

‘One of the locals seems to think that whatever you’re doing here is affecting the well-being of their children. You don’t exactly seem to have gone out of your way to fit in. I can’t really see you and Miss Peyne joining in the local darts night down at the Red Lion.’

41

‘This community is averse to change, Doctor, to anything new. And forgive me, but if I wish to keep myself to myself that is hardly any concern of yours.’

‘And the noise of ravenous creatures roaming the hills doesn’t disturb the rest of your
clients
at all?’ Rose chipped in.

Morton gave a blustering laugh. ‘Creatures? Really, young lady. . . ’

‘And the death of a young man on the shore, that’s no worry to you either?’ The Doctor’s voice was harsh now.

Morton’s smile faded.

‘If there had been such a death, then it would be a matter for the police and not for a doctor.’

The two men glared at each other across the desk for a moment, then the Doctor broke into a broad smile.

‘Quite right!’ He rose from his seat. ‘Well, thank you for your time, Mr Morton. Most helpful. I hope that we haven’t disturbed you too much with our unwelcome questions. Miss Evans. . . ’

The Doctor hauled Rose from her seat and thrust her towards the door. Morton struggled to extricate his wheelchair from behind the desk. The Doctor waved a hand at him.

‘Please don’t bother showing us out. I’m sure we can find our own way.’ He bundled Rose out of the door into the hallway. ‘This is right, isn’t it?’ he called back over his shoulder.

They hurried along the dark passage, heading past the staircase and down another corridor. In the distance they could hear the ringing of a bell – a relic of the time when the house was full of servants, no doubt – and Morton’s voice calling for Miss Peyne.

‘Did you see which door those two in the masks went into?’ asked the Doctor.

‘This one, I think.’ Rose pointed at an ornate oak door.

‘That’s what I thought too.’

There was a flare of blue light and a high-pitched whine as the Doctor pressed his sonic screwdriver to the lock. The door swung open and they slipped through into the room beyond.

∗ ∗ ∗

42

Rose stared in horror at the room before her. It was long and high-ceilinged. Tall windows lined one wall and an elaborate chandelier hung from an elegant ceiling rose. It had obviously been a dining room of some kind for the rectory’s previous owners, but Nathaniel Morton had found another use for it.

The tall windows were shuttered and dark, the chandelier disused and covered in cobwebs. Beds lined the walls, bathed in pools of soft light from concealed sources. Stacks of gleaming medical machinery hummed and bleeped quietly, while transparent tubes and arm-thick cables snaked their way across the scuffed and faded parquet floor and along the peeling skirting.

But it was the figures in the beds that made Rose stop and stare.

Six of them, silent and motionless, faces pale even against the white of the sheets and pillows, their breathing shallow and faint. Four men, two women: old, no, ancient, their skin almost transparent, their hair wispy and silver. Thin, positively skeletal hands rested on the blankets covering them, while needles protruded obscenely from their veins.

The entire room smelt antiseptic, clinical.

White-coated figures padded softly from bed to bed, adjusting tubes, peering at machines, their faces masked and anonymous. The Doctor and Rose walked between the beds, watching as one of the nurses – if that’s what they were – jotted down a set of readings from one of the machines.

‘What are they doing to them?’ Rose whispered.

The Doctor shook his head. ‘I’m not sure.’

When he moved as if to examine a sleeping figure, the white-coated attendants immediately turned as one, pushing him backwards.

The Doctor held his hands up. ‘All right, all right, I was only looking.

I wasn’t going to touch.’

The door behind them swung open again and Rose turned to see Miss Peyne pushing Morton down the length of the room. The old man had a face like thunder.

‘What are you doing in here?’ he hissed.

The Doctor tried his best to look apologetic. ‘Took a wrong turn.

Sorry about that. Thought we were heading for the front door and 43

ended up here.’

‘You have no right to be in here. No right at all!’ Morton was almost shaking with fury. ‘You could have caused incalculable damage.’

Rose suddenly felt guilty. Perhaps this was just a nursing home after all.

‘Look, we didn’t touch anything. But what’s going on here? Who are these people?’

‘No business of yours!’ snapped Morton. ‘As I told you, we came here for seclusion and that is what we want. Seclusion. Now, get out!

Both of you!’

The Doctor shot a quick glance at Rose, then nodded. ‘Of course.

Sorry for the intrusion.’

Morton just glowered at him.

The Doctor shrugged and, with a final glance round the room, ushered Rose back out into the hallway.