Watch over

Stan is afraid of the dark and its past his bedtime but he’s been told that he’ll be safe –he’ll be looked after. He has someone to watch over him. The wood is dark and he shivers in the cold, the dressing gown and jim-jams doing nothing against the cutting wind, the slippers already soaked and mud caked but still he walks to the magic place just as he was told to. He tries not to feel the brambles snarl his hair, rake his flesh and he chokes back the tears. He mustn’t cry, this is his secret: he’s been blessed as one of the chosen and this is his night. The owls herald his approach, he can see the clearing at the bottom of the daffodil dell and there his friends are waiting for him to join them. He walks towards them and lets the night envelope him. No one can hurt him anymore.

Jeez… Another nightmare…Who was it who said that if you haven’t settled in to your new house during the first week you probably won’t do at all? Esme asked herself. She knew that it didn’t bode well. It should have been perfect: the dream home in the country miles away from anywhere, the ultimate seclusion: paradise. So what was wrong with it? It was miles away from anywhere, slap bang in the middle of the country in a secluded nook in Sussex where no one knew your name but everyone knew your business.

Staplewood was ideal for Tristan, her husband, less than half an hour’s drive from the nearest commuter town of Haywards Heath but it gave him somewhere quiet to return to after the busy, turbulent days he spent in the office.

She still didn’t know exactly what he did for a living –something to do with selling, or overseeing property abroad… every time he told her she just glazed over, so after a while he stopped trying. She was interested (almost) but he wasn’t the greatest of raconteurs and had the habit of explaining the minutiae of the job rather than the job itself. ‘But the job is in the details’ he would reply, to which she’d just nod.

It sounded trite and stereotypical to say that it was his decision to move here rather than hers; his needs over-riding hers. He needed the peace and quiet and wanted so desperately to be the country mouse, but having already lived in the country and hating it as a child this was the last place that Esme wanted to be; especially going back to the very village… not to mention house that she’d escaped from all those years ago. The trouble with stereotypes, as every writer knows in their heart of hearts, is that they’re, more often than not, true.

Esme had inherited the familial home when her mum passed away and she just wanted to sell it, forget about the past and put the money to better use.

Tristan was in the midst of one of his existential mid-winter crises and was feeling cramped and suffocated in the town; he wanted away from the hustle and bickering, the drunkenness and vandalism. He knew that living in the country would solve all his problems and it didn’t matter how many times Esme tried to tell him the realities behind his sad fantasies he wouldn’t listen. He never did.

Two children, which he was very rarely at home for, were a living testament to this. Two desperate attempts to increase the love that he wanted to feel for her and for the ‘honeymoon period’ after each child was born he couldn’t do enough for them both. He was there in every way possible, giving support and love wherever it was needed, but when the paternity leave ran out so did he –right back to work.

So the latest ‘chance at happiness’ was moving into the country and he had suggested it the same way he had suggested having children – the same way a child would: incessantly, with pouting and the silent treatment when not getting his own way. Esme no longer had the wherewithal to refuse him, he had managed to wear her down. She had even tried leaving him but he had ceaselessly hounded her, begging to be forgiven, pledging anything to be allowed to make it right, promising everything that it would never happen again. And, just like a child, after the initial week of contrition he went back to his old ways… worse, he then sulked for a while afterwards.

Staplewood itself was a small village; just a handful of houses, a restaurant (with delusions of grandeur) and a Norman church. There was an overbearing wood nearby, and two ponds in the immediate vicinity where her father had fished but the bulk of the village itself was a single street which was almost an afterthought to the main Steaplecross road and tapered off to a single dirt track which led to Hardings.

She had been indifferent to the village when she was growing up, aware that everyone in her year at school knew the comforts of living in the towns of Haywards Heath and Cuckfield. They had a social life and were in constant contact with each other; she was the social pariah, outcast because of a situation out of her control. Such was life.

By contrast, her brother Stan had loved Staplewood and saw himself as Alan Quartermain searching through the woods trying to find the lost city full of treasure, but he was the one lost to the wood. He often played there on his own; mum and dad so part of country life they could see nothing at fault –no harm could come to him. Things like that happened to other people, didn’t they?

He was missing just short of a few days when someone found him, his little body swaying in the morning mist; almost peacefully but for the pain etched on to his once ecstatic face. One of Esme’s skipping ropes (which had been used both as a mountaineering rope and a lion-tamers whip up until that time) was tied around his neck but he had died of suffocation rather than by a broken neck. From the clumsy knots used and the choice of the skipping rope the police listed the case as death through misadventure rather than investigate as a suicide, or possibly something far worse. Those were the days, after all; things like that never happened and what was worse no one seemed to question it.

The bereavement was like a tidal wave sweeping the old life away leaving only desolation and guilt. The marriage didn’t last and her father left and tried desperately to live a new life; start afresh. He had been blamed for not looking after Stan by Esme’s mum –after all, it was easier laying the blame on someone else rather than take it on yourself and he died a few years later. Esme’s mother stayed, wanting to stay close to her boy, not prepared to accept that he was never coming back. Esme could only take so much and moved as soon as she got the chance, only visiting when it could no longer be avoided.

She tried feeling guilty over abandoning her mum but after her father left she became the focus point of the blame: she should have been keeping a closer eye on him rather than cavorting with her friends. (What friends, she would shout back.) But the truth was no one had doted on Stan as much as Esme had; no one loved him more. To her mum and dad he was just the latest pawn in their mind games, and now the same thing was happening in her own family.

So moving to Staplewood had been a mistake and Tristan was adamant that they were going to make the most out of the opportunity, despite Esme explaining the history of the house and what had happened to her mum and dad. Tristan was impervious to her pain.

However much Esme loathed to be back there was no way she was going to let it impact on her kids. Luckily Tristan earned more than enough money to allow her the luxury of not having to work, which meant she could enjoy the time with Jacklyn and Beth. Jacklyn was old enough to go to the local primary school at Wardinghurst but Beth wasn’t old enough yet; the two of them could go exploring the local area doing the things that Esme had enjoyed.

She knew that Jacklyn had always found it hard to settle in mainly due to the other kids picking on his name. Tristan had wanted a girl as a first born and had had his heart set on the name and refused to change it, despite her protestations.  Jacklyn often tried his best to shorten the name when introduced but his father would have none of it. Tristan’s will be done regardless of who else it hurt, so there was a constant resentment between father and son with Esme slap in the middle. In one way it had brought her closer to Jacklyn as he seemed to appreciate what she was going through, having to deal with someone as obtuse and obstinate as Tristan.

The village hadn’t changed at all; it still had the ‘old world charm’ complete with shuttered windows and closed minds. Her mother had been ‘a villager’ and trusted but Esme knew that she never would be; she had raised too many questions about Stan’s disappearance and death that no one wanted to answer. It was easy to silence a child, especially when the parents were complicit but when she came of age the village made it very clear what would happen to her if she tried sticking her nose in where it wasn’t wanted.

She had been on her way home from the pub (which was now a shamelessly over-priced restaurant), just a hundred yards door to door; it was a close night and she wore a light summer dress and a leather jacket her boyfriend, Steve, had given her the week previously. It looked good on her, everyone loved it (except her mother) and she was happy with how things were going in the relationship. It wouldn’t be long now, she thought to herself, and quivered with anticipation. She didn’t heard them come up behind her. It wasn’t that they were particularly stealthy but her guard was completely down. There were three of them, two men and one woman.

Her arms were suddenly pinned by one of the men, the woman clamped her hand roughly over Esme’s mouth and did most of the talking. “If you know what’s good for you then you’ll shut up.” They didn’t try to hide their identities; what was the point? She couldn’t see the third person but she knew he was there in the darkness. “Don’t ask questions, don’t rock the boat.” The woman hissed. “Keep your mouth shut.”

The third man now stood in front and pressed up against her, running his hands around her in a way he hadn’t done before, his smile predatory, nasty. “She knows… don’t you, babe?”

“Don’t call me that. Don’t ever call me that again.” Esme bit back against the hand, causing the woman to flinch before slapping her.

“Does that mean we’ve broken up?” Steve mocked.

“Keep quiet about this; and stop trying to dig up the shit. No one wants to know.” The other man had said before kneeing her in the back, sending her sprawling into the road. The three walked back to the pub leaving her sobbing and alone.

When Esme finally managed to get back home her mum was sitting in the lounge, opposite the door, in darkness. She didn’t say anything but her eyes were full of recriminations, the message was obvious –Esme was alone. No one else cared.

Even though that had happened eight years ago the village hadn’t forgotten. She was still greeted by hostile silences when she walked along the street, even her kids were shunned (another reason why Jacklyn was picked on by the other kids, perhaps?). They were one of the few families to have the luxury of two cars and Esme knew enough not to park her car in the street; parking was bad enough in such a small village and it was only right that Tristan parked his in the drive. They had a garage but it was so full of boxes from the move that it was decided Esme would park in the churchyard for the time being.

Then came the vandalism; subtle at first: broken wing-mirrors, muddied graffiti, scraped paintwork –all of which Tristan put down to kids. The church car park was right on the main road and easily accessible, he said –anyone could have done it, he said...but Esme knew differently. Ultimately it was the red paint that made it untenable. “We’re still watching” said one; “stay quiet” another. Tristan never asked what it was about but moved the boxes from the garage instead, for once making no comment.

Things changed for the better on a walk around Centenary field behind the churchyard. She’d had a tree planted in her brother’s name when the field had been planted with saplings for the new millennium and had been meaning to visit it for ages. She took Beth and Jacklyn on a walk and tried to persuade Tristan to come but he was too busy watching football on TV. Neither of the kids seemed too interested in her family history and were more intent on playing amongst the maturing beech trees. She didn’t mind too much, she was just pleased to have found it after so many years away.

It was doing well and hadn’t been overshadowed by any of the other trees in the clump. She knelt by its base and sent her love to Stan, hoping that he could feel it.

“I’m sure your brother would be proud to see the tree, just as I’m sure he can feel your love even now.” The voice was deep but gentle and she couldn’t place it at all. She looked up and saw a lofty man standing to one side of her, just on the rim of the tree clump. Upon standing she realised that he was a priest.

“Thank you, father…?”

“Jim. Father Jim.” He replied. Tall and thin with strawed yellow hair, he was of a singular appearance, the clerical collar seemed too loose for comfort and his rounded glasses too thick to see clearly, but his face was kind, understanding. “I suppose I should have said Father James, which would be more in the biblical vein but… well, Jim is more familiar. In fact, just dispense with the Father bit completely. Just call me Jim.”

“Jim it is, then.” Esme could feel herself warming to Father James, which made a complete contrast to the last few vicars who had served the village. “How did you know I was thinking of my brother? Or that I even had a brother?”

“Elementary my dear, Esme. May I call you Esme? Thank you. Well, although I’m fairly new here myself I haven’t seen you here before –the village is small enough that it doesn’t take long to memories names and faces.  I deduced that you must have had a family connection to the village (or had lived here yourself) otherwise you wouldn’t have chosen a specific tree to kneel before. And I saw the name on the label there; Stan Woodward –he was one of the children that was… lost, if you pardon the expression.”

“Yes; lost in more ways than one. I’ve got to say you’ve done your homework…. Does that mean you know about…”

“I know how the other villagers have shunned you, yes. I can’t say that I understand why… it doesn’t make sense to me at all. You want to know the truth behind the deaths –is that why you’ve come back?” Jim asked.

“No. To be fair I didn’t want to come back, Father… sorry… Jim.” Esme blushed.

“Either or any combination. I’ll answer to anything these days!” he smiled. “Why have you come back, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“My husband’s idea, would you believe? When mum died he saw it as an opportunity to escape his little rat race… I’m sorry, that sounds terrible.”

“Not at all. I’m sorry for your loss, by the way. Does your husband know about the history of the village?” Jim asked and Esme nodded. “And about your brother? And he still wanted to come here.”

“I can see that I’m going to have be guarded around you, Jim. I’ve only known you five minutes and already telling you far too much. It must be your priestly robes.”

Jim laughed good naturedly. “Would you call yourself a Christian then?”

“If I’m brutally honest, no. I’m sorry – I know how that must sound.”

“Ha. I do understand and I don’t hold it against you. To be honest.. and I’m speaking confidentially, mind..” He put the side of his hand to his mouth as if conferring a secret at this. “I can’t say I blame you.”

“Father Jim.” Esme said in mock seriousness and laughed when he put his hand to his mouth in shame.

“The church doesn’t exactly make it easy anymore; it hasn’t always grown with the times. In fact, I was faced with a bit of a dilemma –I could either become a shrink or a priest.”

“Or a bar tender?” Esme replied, drawing a laugh of delight from Jim.

“If only I thought of that! I’ve missed my calling; it’s just a shame I don’t drink…”

“You don’t need to partake of the product to become a barman…. Is that why you became a priest?”

“I do have faith… and I wanted to help people. I trained as a psychiatrist but it felt wrong charging people just to exacerbate their problems. I mean, seriously… when did therapy really help anyone? Surely the whole point of therapy is just prolong the treatment and keep them coming back for more?”

“So what’s the difference from becoming a priest?” Esme was enjoying this chat too much, it had been too long since her last adult conversation (somehow the moans and chiding from Tristan didn’t really count). She was still aware where Jacklyn and Beth were, however; they’d just found the stone mushrooms and so she started to walk towards them. Jim followed her.

“Touché.” He replied. “And, again, I can only agree with you. However I felt that by becoming a priest I could potentially help more people.”

“Then you’re to be commended.”

“Thank you.” He nodded. They had reached the stone mushrooms where the kids were sitting. “Hey, kids!”

“Say hi to Father Jim.” Esme said to them both. She turned to Jim and added, “There’s still got to be some respect, don’t you agree?” She winked.

“Oh, absolutely!”

That evening she couldn’t help but think about that chat. Tristan, as usual, had fallen asleep that afternoon despite the ‘big game’ and was now catching up with the edited highlights in bed. The kids had warmed to Jim just as quickly as she had, it was difficult not to. He was quite an enigma and Esme could easily see him as a lifestyle coach or guru –maybe she’d suggest such a thing next time they met… There’d been something niggling during that whole afternoon which she’d only just remembered: Jim had mentioned noticing a name label on the tree but there hadn’t been one on there in years!

Later that night… she knew that Beth had gone missing. She woke up, a sheen of cold sweat covering her body but it was the knowledge that Beth was missing that chilled her more. Tristan was unresponsive to her shaking him, oblivious to the pain she was suffering –she had lost her brother to this.. this plague of suicides, she wasn’t going to lose her daughter as well. She grabbed her parka and quickly pulled on her wellington boots not caring whether she made any noise; she didn’t even bother to shut the door, she just rushed out to the wood.

It was bitch cold; the wind lashing at her, goading her. It was not going to happen again, not her daughter. The ground was sodden, muddy as hell but she paid no attention to it, going as quickly as she could along the path to the entrance of the wood. She was oblivious to everything else; the only thing that mattered to her was getting her daughter back alive. She found herself pausing at the mouth of the wood, the holly maw almost mocking her –was it the inevitability that stopped her for that second? She wouldn’t be denied though and headed straight for the daffodil dell –the same place where they had found her brother, all those years ago.

The body hung limply like a discarded doll with its back to her, the night abruptly silent, mournful. Esme ran to the limp form barely able to see for the panic stricken tears stinging her eyes; just one thought echoing constantly in her brain: “No.. No.. No..!” She scrabbled at the form, tearing at the coat, turning it round. She screamed.

The sudden hand on her shoulder made her slip as she turned and she fell at Tristan’s feet. “What the fuck is going on? I’ve been calling you for ages!”

“Stan…my baby brother –he’s there!” She turned back only there was nothing there, no body hanging at all. “Beth!! What happened to Beth? Where is she?” She suddenly panicked, that was why she had left so abruptly.

“Beth is at home, in bed. Tucked up asleep. What the hell are you up to? Why didn’t you hear me?” Tristan snapped. “Do you know what time it is? What’s going on?”

“I’m sorry –I thought Beth was missing… I thought she…” She said, unsure whether she had been dreaming or sleep walking. Tristan didn’t seem to care.

“I’ve got an early start, for Christ’s sake.” He turned his back on her and walked back to the house leaving Esme to sob into the chilled night. In her hand she held the glove that her brother had worn the night he had gone missing. What the hell was happening to her?

Father Jim was no stranger to nightmares. It was the same reoccurring dream: leading a group of five children across the icy pond. All the children were tied together; their arms roped in a mock gesture of prayer; their legs tied so they could only shuffle along single file. He was in front, his arms and legs free but tied by the waist to them. The snow covered ice was hard going, made harder by the children’s scuffling gait. Without warning the ice cracked; hairline at first but quickly giving way; the children never had a chance, barely able to scream as they disappeared. Jim knew he would be next just as he knew that it was all his doing, just as if he had tied the ropes himself.

He wasn’t surprised to see Esme sitting in the church, waiting for him later –her children sitting with her quietly. It had barely gone ten.

“I need to talk to you, Father.”

“Is this a confession?” he replied, trying to sound more upbeat than he felt.

“Sometimes I think it’s far too late for that.” Esme then retold the events of the previous evening, even explaining about the glove. “The thing is, there’s no one I can turn to. Tristan just doesn’t want to know. He’s always been insensitive but this is something else entirely. I think someone in the village has already spoken to him; he barely seems to tolerate me now. You probably think I’m mad.”

“Then we’re both mad because I find myself believing you…. One of my biggest fears is that madness is hereditary.”

“What do you mean, Father?”

“I don’t know whether I should tell you this. I’m almost afraid of what you’ll think of me.”

“It can’t be any worse than what’s happened already.” She looked at Father Jim’s pained face. “Can it?”

“I have ties to this village as well. Did you know that?”

“No. I didn’t.”

“My father was Tony Bane… Father Tony Bane.” He saw the colour drain from Esme’s face.

“I can see why you’d want to keep all that a secret. Christ, if the village found out!”

“The sins of the past work by association, unfortunately.”

“Did you know?” Esme asked, her voice now no more than a whisper, not wanting her kids to overhear.

“That my father was a paedophile? That the first suicides that happened here were because of him? Well, I didn’t know at the time but even I knew that things were… wrong in our household. All of a sudden no one talked about him, as if he never existed. Things went bad to worse, as you can imagine and I only found out the truth when I grew up. That was the main deciding factor why I became a priest and ended up here, I wanted to atone for his sins.”

“Did they ever find the body of Juliet?”

“No… that was the only thing that stopped them from lynching him…”

“And then he killed himself… bastard.” She looked up, suddenly realising what she’d said. “Sorry. I can’t imagine how you’ve had to deal with this.”

“It’s not been easy, but he was a sick man… and I’m nothing like him.”

“A sick? You can’t seriously believe that? Or is that the shrink in you?”

“I’m not excusing what he did on the grounds of mental incapacity, far from it. I meant he was sick to do what he did –it’s something that I could never countenance doing. He knew what he was doing and, both as a man and as a priest he should have known better. My only release is that he’s suffering in hell not only what he did to those poor children but because he took his own life.”

“Hell’s a big thing for you Catholics, eh?” Esme said snidely, her world rocked by Jim’s revelation.

“Please. I don’t want to fight.”

“So why did you tell me? You must have known that it would affect me!”

Jim looked heavenward as if trying to draw strength. “Why did I tell you? Good question.” He turned back to Esme and looked her in the eyes. “I wanted you to know that you could trust me. I know what you want to do and you’re not the only one who needs absolution.”

“Big words again, Father.”

“Don’t try to hide from your truth. For whatever reason, Esme, you’ve been brought back to get to the truth. Staplewood has a disease that’s destroying the children. Your family fell victim to it and I’m trying to atone in my own way. Together we may be able to get there, but the whole village is going to be against us. You were given a sign last night….and I think I was as well.” He sighed and recounted his dream to Esme. “I think one of the children on the pond was your brother; I think they’re trying to tell me something too.”

“What do you want me to do?” Esme asked, earnestly.

“It’s always bothered me that Juliet’s body was never found.” Father Jim replied. “The moment a body is found then it becomes a murder investigation…”

“.. I don’t see how that would make any difference… it didn’t with my brother!”

“No… but those were different circumstances. Your brother’s death was put down to death by misadventure –did that never strike you as strange?  An investigation would have brought up a whole different kind of investigation; more searching questions. A missing child in the countryside is one thing; another suicide in a closed community –as Staplewood was back then? Well, that’s a whole different story; the police probably would have uncovered something closer to the truth.”

“You don’t mean?” Esme was shocked. “They were complicit in it?”

“Not in the way that you think…. But did they allow the molestations to happen in their own way? No one wanted to face the reality –that it was a man of the cloth made it so much worse. The fact that my grandfather killed himself actually did them a favour.”

“But that’s sick! I can’t believe they’d sink that low.”

“Don’t you? Are you really so surprised? You’ve already told me how your parents reacted to you. Your brother was the first child to go missing since Father Bruce killed himself; and when he was found hanging it was proof of the wrong that had been done.”

“Surely my brother was murdered? I’ve never truly believed that he killed himself.”

“I hate to be the one to say this but it does look as if he took his own life. The autopsy was very thorough, probably at the villager’s insistence.”

“How do you mean?” Esme asked, confused at the turn of events.

“In some ways a murder would have given them the chance to blame an outsider… Do you remember the body of the tramp who was found at roughly the same time?”

“Oh my God… yes, I do. I know I was only a kid at the time but the news was rife around the school as one of the kids found him in the shallows of the Furnace pond. You’re not saying that…”

“Yes.” Jim interrupted. “I’m saying just that. I don’t know who did it but if it’s as I suspect; it would have been far easier to pin the murder on the tramp, especially if the tramp had died of ‘natural causes’.”

“But that’s disgusting. I knew the village was screwed up but I never thought they were that fucked up.” She blanched suddenly at the turn of phrase. “Sorry. Force of habit.”

“I understand completely. But now you know what we’re dealing with and I want… I have to get to the bottom of it all.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Are you sure? This could be dangerous – what I’m going to propose is pretty radical for a priest.”

“You want to find Juliet’s remains, don’t you?”

For the second time in the week Esme found herself in the wood after dark. Father Jim was with her this time and they were near the spot where Esme had been led during her nightmare.

This time she had been careful to sleep in the spare bed– which was happening with more regularity, she had noted. Ever since they had moved to Staplewood they had made love once and once only –the first night. Ever since then he had hardly touched her and the arguments had started over nothing in particular. Often the arguments led to her sleeping alone in the spare bed, and for the first time she was grateful for this; it was easier for her to sneak off to the wood.

Jim was already waiting for her at the mouth of the wood, holding the canvas bag they were going to use to transport the remains back to the churchyard. “Are you sure you want to go through with this? You won’t be able to go back from this if we find something.”

“We are going to find her, Jim; I can feel it.”

“So do I. Right… I’ll be guided by you.”

The blind night made it easier for Esme to orientate herself; for some reason she could tell where she had to go by the feeling in the pit of her stomach. It didn’t take them long to reach the daffodil dell; she half expected to see the body hanging from the tree again and could still see it in her mind’s eye.

“That’s it!” She whispered. “That’s why I was shown the vision. She’s buried by the tree there.” She pointed to the base of the tree and the two of them got on their hands and knees. The loamy dirt was cold and wet as it soaked through their jeans; they’d bought hand trowels as they had no idea how deep the body lay; they didn’t want to disturb the body more than necessary. It didn’t matter how long it took or how uncomfortable they were; neither of them spoke for the hour that they moved the earth away; carefully scraping the dirt rather than digging –more like an archaeological dig than an exhumation.

“I think I’ve found her.” Esme hissed. Jim came round to where she knelt and used his hands to verify what she had uncovered. It was indeed a human skull.

“You’ve found her alright… and a whole heap of trouble.” The sudden voice was punctuated by the stab of a torch beam followed by others.

“You just couldn’t leave it alone, could you?” She recognised Tristan’s voice amongst the group.

“She never could, mate – regardless of how many warnings we gave her.” The blast from her past; it could only have been Steve, her previous boyfriend.

“Bastards. We’re only trying to lay this to rest.” She snapped back, cradling the skull in her hands now.

“If you knew where she was why didn’t you give her the burial she deserved?” Father Jim replied, incredulous at what was happening.

“You’ll be the one buried if you’re not careful.” One of the mob snapped.

“What are we going to do with them now?” Tristan asked.

“Nothing’s changed… we stick to our plans, but things have been made easier now.” Steve replied. “We’ve got the one final victim and now we’ve got the prime suspect who killed himself as a final act of contrition.”

“What? What do you mean? You’re going to kill him? Kill the Father?” Tristan was shocked, this was going much farther than he had ever imagined.

“You’ve got no say in this. You don’t know his family –it’s because of his father that we’re in this situation in the first place. It’s only right he pays the price for it.”

“You don’t want to go through this, Tristan. You’re contemplating murder.” Father Jim pleaded, his hands tied behind his back as he lie on the sodden mound from the earth they’d dug up whilst searching for Juliet. Tristan had almost finished making up the noose that would be his undoing. “You can’t do this. Think of what it will mean.”

“Shut up.” Tristan snapped back. “You don’t understand.” Tristan pulled Father Jim up by the scruff of his neck, seemingly ignoring his attempts to shake free.

“Nor do you, Tristan. You’re not even from the village, you’ve got no stake in this at all. You can back out and leave and no one would be any the wiser.”

“Shut up. I have to do this.” He put the noose over Jim’s head and tightened it.

“What about your wife? What about Esme?”

“We’ll both be damned then.” It took three sharp pulls on the rope to hoist Father Jim aloft and there was nothing he could do to prevent it. It would have been a perfect end if not for damning Esme in the process. His last thought was of pain and regret.

Esme was not going down without a fight; they had to drag her back to the churchyard; her hands cuffed behind her back but she made damn sure that at least two of her captors would never be having children again.

“Why are you doing this? What the fuck do you think you’re going to accomplish by killing me and Father Jim?”

“You’ve never listened to us; never left it alone like the rest of us.”

“None of you had your brother taken from you; none of you know what it’s like!” Esme snarled back. They were reaching the churchyard where she had been christened all those years ago. How apt that here was where she was going to die.

“All of us have suffered here. You’re not the only one. That bastard took all our children away from us.”

“How fucking dare you? How can you say it’s the same thing? My Stan killed himself. You damned yourself by ignoring what Father Bane did. How many of you knew and did nothing? How many?!” Silence. Damning silence. “It must have been torture; the longer it went on the more of you suffered knowing that by rocking the boat for one you rocked it for the rest… Damning you for the ineffectual parents you are; so much for community spirit. So now you’re going to end it by killing me and Father Jim? Do you really think it will end there?”

It was neither heaven nor hell that greeted Jim Bane; he felt disembodied; numb. The blackness was comforting but disconcerting at the same time. Where was he? What was happening?

“You must help her. This must end..” It was impossible to quantify what it was; had he been incarnate then he could easily have said that he ‘heard a voice’ but he was both the voice and the receiver. It was part of him as he was part of it. More than that, he knew what it meant.

“How can I? What can I do to end it? They’ve gone too far this time…”

“Have a faith… help her and we will help you.” The presence replied.

“With all my heart.” Then nothing. A deafening absence of any sensation. The silence receded into pain; the pain increasing as sensation flooded him and he found himself lying on the woodland floor, his throat lacerated and bruised where the rope had….

He opened his eyes; Tristan knelt over him, wringing his hands. “Thank Christ.” He whispered.

“Wha… what happened?” It hurt Father Jim to talk but he knew that he had to. There was still much to be done. There was still Esme to be saved and the wrong righted.

“I couldn’t do it… Lord help me, I just couldn’t do it. I don’t know what came over me, I’d never do anything to hurt Esme but….” The tears streaming down Tristan’s face were real, something had made him cut Jim down but now wasn’t the time for rationalising. They could still make it.

“What are you fucking waiting for? You’ve got the gun!” Esme wanted this nightmare to end. There was nothing she could do to get out but there was no way she was giving up; she was damned if she would make this easy for them. She was surrounding by the men in the graveyard, Steve just stared at her. It was obvious that they wanted her to just lie down and give up but there was no way she was going to do that, not whilst there was a breath in her body. “Call yourself men? None of you got the balls to just shoot me.” She spat, thrashing out as much as she could to anyone who got close enough.

“You should never have come back. You should’ve left alone when you had the chance.” Steve replied, holding the gun so it was level to her head; his face emotionless just as it had been that night when he confronted her with the group. This was it, she thought. This is how it ends, her brother unavenged and Father Jim framed for it.

“This ends now!” The voice seemed to echo around the graveyard. Everyone was startled by the shout. “You have no idea what you’re doing.” It was then that they saw Father Jim approach them from the entrance of the church, the porch light suddenly triggered by his presence giving him an unearthly glow. Tristan was behind him holding the canvas bag.

“Oh, I think we know exactly what we’re doing, Father.” Steve replied coldly; his face devoid of emotion. He turned to Tristan and said, “I knew you weren’t one of us.”

“Think about what you’re doing, what you’re all doing. You’re going to kill, murder in cold blood two people.” Father Jim implored.

“It’s not too late. This can’t go on any longer.” Tristan agreed, realising now just how he had been caught up in the maniacal fervour.

“You don’t know what’s happened to us; what it’s done to us.” One of the villagers shouted back.

“You have no idea what it’s like to lose someone.” Another agreed. “You’ve no idea how this has eaten us up from the inside.”

“But I do!” Esme cried out. “And yet I’m the one that you’re punishing the most.”

“You won’t let us forget what happened. You keep trying to dig up the past…”

“My brother died because of it. Why can’t you understand that?”

“You think that by killing me and Esme it’ll stop you from feeling the guilt over what happened to your children?” Father Jim edged ever closer to the crowd, closer to Steve and the gun. “So what happens when you realise that you’ve killed two innocent people… and the guilt over them becomes too much to bare? Whose turn will it be to die then? Don’t you understand? When is this going to stop?” He motioned to Tristan to come forward with the canvas bag.

No one tried to stop him; they knew what it contained and all were shamed. Tristan opened the bag and nestled within were the skeletal remains of Juliet. Steve saw the bones, finally faced with the truth behind his fears. He dropped the gun and fell to the ground before her, sobbing.

“She was the only girl who ever showed me kindness in school.” He wept. “We were in love the only way kids can be…and I said…  I said that I’d always look after her.”

“Now you can.” Father Jim walked up and placed his hand on Steve’s shoulder in reconciliation. “We can bury her and her soul will be finally at rest.”

“But what about the village?” Tristan asked.

“The village will carry on.. it has to, but it can heal now. We should never forget what has happened but we must move on and rebuild. We all need to watch over each other now. Who knows, maybe someone has been watching over us all along.”

The Final Judgement

<Translated into English>

For over a hundred years humanity has been dreaming of contacting an ‘intelligent’ species outside their own measly little planet. One look at their media and ‘cinema’ shows just how dissonant their view of reality really is. Of those films that deal with ‘alien invasions’ they are always war-like or feature conquests or persecution and even dissection in some cases! Why would any one visit such a backward planet?

The irony is that the hostility they display is not just limited to the infantile fantasies they create; for such a young species they are truly schizophrenic and one could almost say suicidal… which brings us to the current situation: the human race: should it be allowed to spread its disease to other worlds; should it be confined to its own planet or should we simply treat it as a failed experiment and sterilise the Earth and start again? The evidence is very simple and my case hinges on two angles: the desecration of the planet and the subjugation of the human race… by the human race. I’ll look at each one in turn.

The planet Earth is roughly 4.5 billion years old (give or take a few million) and humans have inhabited it for only 200,000 of those and in the course of that heartbeat they have drastically changed the face of the planet; granted for the first 198,000 of those very little had changed. Man lived in harmony with the planet; sought to understand the mysteries of the worlds around it but did nothing to drastically alter the landscape or damage her in any way. With the advent of a reductionist way of thinking man started to place itself on a higher plane of existence than the rest of the species that lived around it. One could say that, as it was still in its infancy it was still growing, allowing its ego free reign; exploring through its senses. But nothing has changed in the following years, if anything it’s gotten worse –rather than maturing and losing its sense of self-importance it has become even more egotistical!

With the advent of technology it has developed so many ways to rape and defile the planet; scourging the seas and polluting the air; literally defecating where it eats, never thinking about any of the consequences of its actions. It mines the land, scraping out the mineral deposits for no other reason than to pollute the land and make a desperate gamble for immortality. Are these the actions of a rational, mature, intelligent species? If this were the behaviour of an individual it would surely be considered suicidal!

But let us turn our view one hundred and eighty degrees then; let us look at the subjugation of the human race by the human race! Here we look at a schizophrenic entity with delusions of grandeur. Caught between the blind alley of what it calls ‘science’ and the sheer lunacy of it’s religious credo the human race has no real way of extricating itself. The religions are all juvenile attempts at controlling the mass population and the worrying thing is just how willing people are to be led. For such a ‘scientifically advanced’ species, they seem to enjoy being told stories no better than fairy tales and then go to war against those that hold differing views (equally as pathetic and fantastical).

Place a handful of humans in a room for more than twenty four hours and you will see violence erupt between them. Even though they are all alike it is amazing at just how many differences they see in themselves. From these ‘differences’ stems the other, and anything that is ‘other’ is feared and then hated. Human history is rife with this, but we must also factor this into the equation –one can only recognise that which rests in oneself. How can you hate something in someone else if it does not first reside within yourself? Therefore all of the hates and fears are down to mankind’s deep loathing of itself.

There is, of course, another factor that needs to be taken into account as a motivating force behind religion and that is power and ‘wealth’. There are certain humans that seek to rise above the norm and establish themselves as something superior –they do this by subjugating others; amassing great wealth at the cost of other’s who are their equals. These are the people behind the wars, behind the religions and though they might hide behind other excuses there is but one reasoning: fear. Fear of their own ineptitude; fear of their own mortality; of their own inequality and from that, again, breeds hatred. These are the ones that wield power like an unruly child in a temper tantrum –destroying the earth around them so they don’t have to look at the pain and fear that festers within.

There are those that follow neither creed; that live in accordance with the natural laws and should the decision be reached their souls will be taken in the balance and they will not suffer.

We have given the human race over two thousand years to improve itself; more than enough chances to reset it’s global karma, but it has snubbed these continuously.

From what we can tell there are three future outcomes for humanity – it will either pollute the planet and destroy it from within; destroy it from without through increasing conflicts and literally go nuclear or it will spread like a pestilence and infect the rest of its immediate galaxy when it finally works out the key to interstellar travel.

None of these are acceptable and each of these are equally as probable. There is but one solution therefore to this question but only you can make the judgement.

The face in the mural

Back in the 1980’s there was a resurgence of the ‘old world’ religion, re-packaged as the ‘New Age’. New labels and a new vocabulary: Ley lines, for example, were once called paths of the dragon; UFOs were just Will O’wisp energies, direct from the earth itself. One thing this did mean was that everyone involved in this paradigm shift could become rich if they knew how to market themselves properly.. so I quickly established myself as a local shaman, looking to take on new initiates. It wasn’t long before I had amassed a following; my own flock. Of course, I gave them nothing of any value; the true magicks were not to be undertaken lightly, it meant dedication and will power and a great deal of sacrifice –things that the current generation knew nothing about. But fools are ever after the glamour –always willing to accept iron pyrites over the genuine alchemical element.

Every so often, however, I would be introduced to a prodigal; one that showed true promise and I would always take time to nurture them; teach them a bit more than rest. Allowed them to be my disciple, if you will. Leonard was by far the brightest and most promising of them all and I often think of him fondly. I owe a lot to him, after all. Leonard was pretty nondescript; one could hardly call him a character –certainly not one of any note. Neither short nor particularly tall; neither fat nor thin, he just was... Destined to be ignored by most others, he had one thing that stood him apart from the others: his intellect. If anything he belonged to a by-gone age, as I did. His way of thinking was too radical for many of the up and comings mages who believed in chaos energies and crystal unicorns. Leonard was far more rooted in the earth; able to keep the bigger picture in mind whilst focusing on the minutiae. And he wasn’t afraid of getting his hands dirty.

I first met him at the first meeting of the Earth Energies Alliance that I had set up in.. ’86, I do believe. I was based in Haywards Heath at the time, in Priory Way (which was once dense woodland) around the Priory of Our Lady of Good Counsel –a fact that caused me no end of mirth. The group would meet once a fortnight and we would talk about the latest fads: Uri Geller and psychokinesis, Edgar Cayce, Crystal Skulls, Arthur C. Clarkes World of Strange Powers… anything that stimulated their little minds and brought me a few extra pounds on the side. But Leonard was actually well read on the subject, knew of Paul Deveraux, Chaos Magik and psychic questing. He wanted to know more about that sort of thing, which intrigued me immensely. So, against my better judgement, I indulged him. I wanted to see how far I could take him, whether he really was the ‘right stuff’, so to speak; and so the classes became more intense, much to the chagrin of the other hangers-on. Each time we met there would be fewer people, which was fine by me as it meant we had more interesting conversations. One day Leonard suggested the group try our own psychic quest and I readily agreed. Now was the chance to see what he was made of.

We met the Saturday after the group and much to Leonard’s dismay (and my amusement) he was the only one of the group to attend. I had expected as much as it was raining… and cold, but nothing seemed to dampen Leonard’s enthusiasm. The location was ‘chosen’ by Leonard to be The Long Man of Wilmington, a chalk figure holding two staves carved into the Sussex Downs near Eastbourne. The origins of the figure are clouded in mystery and Leonard was keen to see whether the questing could shed any light on it.

Psychic questing uses meditative techniques and a highly tuned intuition to gather clues and information from the landscape; to interact with the local energies to find out information otherwise impossible to discern. I knew that there was promise in Leonard and that he was receptive to psychic information as he picked up on the location I ‘gave’ him.

We sat at the round barrow at the base of the chalk figure and I told Leonard to envisage the two staves as one giant door. (This couldn’t be further from the truth of the figure, but it helped my purpose to lead him far from the truth) The door would shine with a black light, become a portal where he would be able to traverse through and talk to the Spirit form that inhabited the area. He would then be directed to an object of worth.

Leonard took this all in his stride and did as I asked. He sat cross-legged, his duffle coat making him look like a troll – it was with that image that I sent him the tulpa of a rock troll to converse with. Rather than balk at such a sight he readily conversed with it and seemed to take great enjoyment talking to himself. After a while the ‘conversation’ ceased –I was getting too cold to indulge Leonard’s whimsy any longer- and he took me to the church in Wilmington. I hadn’t been here in many a year and remembered the ancient yew and the lovely smell as the pews burned. Leonard used the dowsing rods that I had brought expressly for this excursion and it wasn’t long before he found a curious stone, buried amongst the roots of the yew. It was wrapped in a loose fabric that looked like old leather. He unwrapped it and dropped it immediately with a cry of disgust.

Inside was a sheep’s heart, still bloody, it had been pierced thirteen times. 12 of these looked like twigs from a tree, possibly a thorn of some kind, and the thirteenth from a rough hewn dagger of some kind. The dagger had markings scraped into it –some kind of ancient alphabet of some kind. Leonard scurried off to the bushes to vomit and I supressed a grin. Taking a phial of Holy Water I cleansed the heart and dug a hole to bury it properly.  I could hear Leonard shuffle up behind me with some embarrassment.

“Sorry about that… I’ve never seen anything like it before. Why do you think it was there?”

He asked.

“To serve as a warning of some kind, I’m not sure.”

“What were the markings on the stone dagger?”

“Does it matter? You were the one that dug it up –are you ok?” I asked.

“Yes, I think so. I feel a bit light headed.. probably down to the shock.”

“It’s ok –we can go home now, I’ve deactivated it. The holy water will have dispersed any negative energies that might have dwelt within the heart.”

“But I touched it! What will it do to me?” Leonard asked, nervous now at what he was involved in.

“Nothing; you barely had hold of it and you didn’t actually touch the heart itself; you’re just suffering from shock. We’ll go home and have some tea, you’ll be fine, Leonard. Trust me.”

The next week Leonard was the only one at the meeting; everyone else had given up which suited my purposes perfectly. Leonard looked quiet and withdrawn and he had been suffering from nightmares since the incident with the heart.

“Just psychic backlash from such a traumatic episode.” I consoled him as best I could, secretly pleased that things were working out perfectly. During that session I taught him about psychic protection and gave him the tools to ensure he wouldn’t be attacked by nightmares any more. He soaked up all the information just like a sponge; by far one of the best pupils I had ever had. Such a shame really, but by the end of the session I knew he was ready for the second stage. I suggested that he had to put all the information to the test so I suggested a visit to Clapham wood, one of my old haunts of yesteryear.

That Sunday was a complete contrast to the last time we undertook a quest and Leonard was brimming with confidence, having practiced the protection ritual religiously. The weather was warm and sunny; sheepish clouds adding comfort to the day.

We parked by the church and took a walk through the wood, stopping at the ……….  About half an hour into the walk Leonard starting complaining.

“I… my legs… “

“What is it now, Leonard? I know you’re having second thoughts about the group but I certainly didn’t force you to come.”

“I’m starting to feel weak; my legs… they’re starting to go numb.”

“I’ve a Marathon bar in my knapsack if you think it’s your blood sugars.”

“No, it’s not that… It feels like I’m being pulled back; like something doesn’t want me to be here.”

“We’ll be stopping in a minute so just use the techniques I taught you –do you remember? They’ll help you through; not much further to go.” Leonard nodded and carried on walking. We reached the area of the wood which was once the site of an old lime pit and I told Leonard to sit on a log at the base of it and to sit quietly. There was nothing around us; no one walking around – there was no bird song either. Leonard didn’t notice, of course, but that was only to be expected.

“This is a place of power where one can become open to the unimaginable. I’ve already prepared you so you will be protected as long as you do as I have told you. Open yourself to the power, Leonard –just like I told you. Trust me. Become part of the pit.”

He was so trusting; opening himself up to the energies without the true protection, soaking in the negative potential. All through the ritual he had his eyes tightly closed and he intoned the words of power I had given him without understanding. Soon the light began to fade with the dying of the afternoon and the mist began to rise; dense and cloying. It got very cold and I knew that the ritual was nearing its conclusion. I saw his hands reach down to the base of the log and start to move the damp loam around. It didn’t take him long to find them. He opened his eyes suddenly and started shivering.

“Well done.” I told him, feigning an interest. “You never cease to amaze me –you managed to find them!”  He looked at what he was holding with disbelief; in each hand was a large silver sovereign.

“What are these for?” He asked, surprised by what he’d found.

“Payment, maybe?” I replied.

The ordeal in Clapham woods had tired him out and it was several weeks until I saw him again. Part of me was concerned that I’d pushed him too hard; it was a danger to be sure but it was something I could easily salvage. As luck would have it I didn’t need to. There was a knock on the door one evening and I couldn’t have timed it better if I tried.

“I can’t stop the nightmares.” He said at the doorway. It was a little after nine on a moonless night and his face was drenched in cold sweat. “I thought the words you gave me would help but nothing seems to. It’s got to the stage that they’re invading my day to day thoughts. All I can see is this figure, like something out of Blake’s paintings –it’s a lizard thing with horns coming out of its head, and it’s swathed in fire. I can’t stop thinking about it; please help me. What am I doing wrong?” He pleaded. I put my arm around him and just smiled.

“It’s ok, Leonard.” I said to him, like a priest.  “It’s time. It’s almost over now, you’ve done well.” I led him to the car and he stopped before getting in.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“To complete your training. That’s what you want isn’t it? To be initiated? To be one of the chosen?” He hesitated and the nodded slowly. “Trust me, Leonard. It will soon be over.”

We drove for an hour in the rain drenched billowing darkness, Leonard just shivering against the weight of his inevitability. We reached the farm house and I could see the flickering light in the downstairs room, everything had been prepared.

“Close your eyes now and I will blindfold you.” I whispered to him “I will tell you when to open them.” He looked at me warily. “The initiate must always enter the threshold blindfolded so he can be birthed into the new. Come now, you know that, Leonard.” He smiled weakly and let me place the blindfold over his eyes. I led him across the gravel driveway, the crunch sounding so much louder in the darkness. I could feel his hand getting sweaty in mine and I smiled to myself. We stepped into the room and I bade him kneel down and face the far wall. I took off the blindfold and asked him to keep his eyes shut for a few seconds more.

When he opened his eyes he finally realised. He was surrounded by my true disciples, seven of my finest students all dressed in ceremonial robes and headdress. Strewn around the floor were the offerings; severed heads of cows, mouths and eyes wide in supplication and prayer. He started to moan and rock in place and actually tried denying that it was taking place. I kissed him on the forehead and directed his attention to the wall in front of him. It was his worst fears made flesh, the Master himself; he who had been invading his thoughts and nightmares. The mural, vivid and bloody, a serpentine face, long in tooth and horn, rising from the flames to devour all who cross his path. And now Leonard was its final victim as the face in the mural turned to him…

Doctor Who: Homeostasis

He had been hunting the giant Ushcra for almost a day now –not that Gaiafrax had either day or night, being bathed in a permanent cerulean glow all the time. This made the flora –basically just varying degrees of grass-like tendrils growing wildly about- glow a vivid magenta. Had he been possessed of a poetic nature he might have bathed in the luminescence; but then he would have been dead for the grass was covered in a sticky type of pollen grain which could eat into most materials, except for what he was wearing –the clothes were laced with a metallic polymer that could withstand almost any acid burn. His gloves were thicker but he felt no loss of response as all were cybernetically linked via the polymer which also acted as an advanced neurological conductor. All his body was covered in this suit which was thick where it needed to be –most of his torso and feet especially- and skin tight over his face and head, allowing the pollutants to leave his body. He could sweat and the liquid was drawn into the special fabric and cooled where it flowed into his water reserves that he could then use once it was recycled –alongside his waste water.

There was no water on this planet, it was 100 times more toxic than an T-type planet (or Tirron-type) but being one of the best hunters on Graduflax, where he hailed from, he was used to harsh environments -in fact, the more hostile the better.

That’s why he was on Gaiafrax; it was known as the safari planet and, had he known any different, he would have thought it had been genetically modified to create that environment. But it was completely natural and despite spending hundreds of hours studying the records, processing the reports of those hunters that had come before him, nothing had prepared him for this. It was the closest thing to ecstasy he had ever known; just five known species all of which were potentially hostile to him but managed to live in almost perfect homeostasis. Of the five species there were only two viable targets for his hunting, or so he’d been told –the gLoax, which was a globular creature, gelatinous, that had complete control over its size and shape, and the oOlum which was the closest thing to a food animal he had seen on this planet. It was docile and moved either by contracting and extending its massive body along the floor or, in dire occasions, growing pairs of sturdy legs. It was harmless enough and just ate the grasses. It’s only main predators were the sKythyrn, which was basically a large flying wing with an eye on either end of the wing, and the uSchcra, which was a mass of hairs, tentacles and feelers coming from a central pustule; each of these hair like appendages could grow longer or thicken depending on what it was needed for; all were formed of the same substance and all versions of it were deadly. The uShcra was not on the list of viable game but as it was rated as one of the most dangerous creatures in E-Space he was not about to let a little bureaucracy get in the way of a good hunt.

He had been tracking this particular uShcra too long to give up now; he could see the circling sKythyrn hovering over a recent kill and he could hear the jabbering kItterings, the only insectoid species on the planet, and he tensed up. The uShcra were very sensitive to atmospheric changes which is why the hunt had taken so long; he had to move very carefully but it would soon be over. There was one in front of him, 400 shrims away and it was magnificent. It was feasting on the carcass of an unlucky gLoax and the hunter knew that as long as he hit the central body he could guarantee a kill –the collector chip on the gun would register and record the kill for posterity. The body of the uShcra was made purely up of a noxious liquid-like substance; once it ruptured the acidic liquid would explode, killing the beast and anything unfortunate to be anywhere close to it. He raised his standard hunting rifle….

He never heard the bang, or even pulled the trigger; instead he felt the plasti-membrane of his mask shatter as something exploded on it. He couldn’t see anything; the area around his eyes was scorched and the wounds cauterised already. He could, however, hear the sKythryn’s high pitched wail’s as they saw him now for the first time. He also heard the growl of the uShcra and it was just a matter of which one would kill him first.

I)

Despite travelling for many hundreds of years and visiting thousands of planets there were only a few places that the Doctor never wanted to visit again –Skaro was an obvious one, as was Telos… and therefore Mondas… Kembel for cetain… Alfava Metraxas and, at the top of the list, E-Space. The first time he had travelled here by accident and barely managed to make it back out… this time he travelled purposely to rescue Missy from the clutches of the Rani, only for that to end badly. The Rani somehow managed to hide in E-Space during the Time War and had actually, misguidedly, restored the Master’s form and start him on a new series of regenerations -at the cost of her own life. The Doctor was now trapped in E-Space out of his broken sense of duty to Missy –after all, she had made an attempt to rehabilitate herself and the Doctor wasn’t about to let that go to waste.

He had travelled to Gallifrey to get K-9’s help on navigating through the C.V.E. but had never thought about the journey home! To make matters worse, the TARDIS had sustained some damage trying to escape the Rani’s TARDIS due to the gravity bubble she used to trap the Master. He was now piloting his TARDIS blind trying to find a planet he could use as a temporary base whilst he sorted things out.

Emily was just sitting in the corner watching him with a concerned expression. Her whole world kept going from crazy to ridiculous and the Doctor had no idea how she –or indeed any of the other companions he had travelled with over the years- coped. He was finding this particular trip difficult and he was supposedly used to it!

For her part Emily was more concerned with the Doctor. Having the chat with Leela had been exactly what she needed; with Leela coming from such a primitive background how much more frightening things must have seemed to her! At least Emily was civilised and could count herself as an enlightened individual –at least as far as Victorian England allowed a woman to be… she certainly outstripped her ‘peers’ in terms of self-awareness, thanks in part to her empathy (something the Doctor picked up on the first time they met).

“How are you holding up, Emily?” The Doctor asked, trying to figure out how he could find the nearest planet when his short and long range scanners were malfunctioning.

“I’m ok, Doctor. Just another big adventure!” She sounded more confident than she felt but the Doctor needed to concentrate.

“Something like that.” He replied scratching the goatee he had just recently grown.

“You know… that really doesn’t suit you…” Emily chided. “Leela was right!”

“Really?” The Doctor sounded disappointed and looked up with a hurt expression, like a child. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s pink!”

“I never had much colour coordination. You think this is bad, you want to see some of the other costumes I’ve worn in the past!”

“I’d rather not…. What are you trying to do?” Emily asked.

“Find a place to land… not the easiest thing to do when you can’t see where you’re going.”

“It’s a shame you can’t send a probe of some kind…” She muttered.

“What? Well.. that’s brilliant, Emily! A psychic ping! You’re a genius!” He went over and gave Emily a peck on the forehead.

“A psychic…ping?”

“Well… that’s a layman’s description of it. I’m going to send a psychic summons out via the TARDIS,” The Doctor explained, “and if it reaches anything with a highly developed central nervous system I should receive a ‘PING’ back!”

“And that means that there’s a planet we can land on! Brilliant!” Emily enthused. The Doctor grinned at her and moved round the console to a circular instrument that looked like a loud speaker.

“This is the psychic amplifier; I can use this to transmit my thoughts (or receive the thoughts of others). I’ll send out a psychic ‘PING’ and will be able to tell from the time it comes back roughly how far away it is. I can then use the TARDIS to hone in on the ‘PING’ and use it as a homing beacon!”

And that is exactly what the Doctor did; to Emily it just seemed as if he had his head bowed to the speaker; she heard the sound as a ‘PING’, exactly as the Doctor described and just marvelled at what was happening. The next thing she knew the materialisation circuits kicked in and the refreshing wheezing, groaning sound of the time rotor was heard before the TARDIS landed with a muffled thump. They were down…  but were they safe?

Emily was about to open the TARDIS doors when the Doctor stopped her.

“Don’t be too eager, we don’t know what’s out there. We’re in E-Space; we can’t take anything for granted.” He moved round the console, checking various dials and tapping various monitors. When he had done a complete circuit he looked at Emily and said, “Well, that told me absolutely nothing –all the circuits are fried. I really need to spend some time before we go anywhere just on maintenance.”

“What do you want me to do?” Emily asked.

“Well, don’t think that I’m going to let you go outside until I know what’s out there, my dear. I’m not that irresponsible.” Emily looked at him askance. “I’m not! You’re not going out there yet, and that’s all I’m going to say on the matter. Why don’t you go for a swim whilst I sort this out –I won’t be too long!”

A swim was not on the top most of Emily’s priorities; but equally she understood a little bit of what the Doctor was saying –he didn’t want her to dash out of the TARDIS just in case the planet was inhospitable to them both, which did make sense. She just hated waiting though; the expectations of Victorian women were very little: one had to learn one of the subtle arts such as needlework or embroidery; best to be seen as little as possible and heard even less –which never worked for her. She believed in making herself heard and going against the grain. Old habits were hard to shuck off, but the Doctor was different. He did treat her as an equal and if he asked to be alone it was simply so he could concentrate –in this instance Emily could add nothing of consequence in the fixing of the TARDIS.

She didn’t feel like a swim though, but did enjoy sitting on the loungers that lined the pools edge with a good book –and his library was extensive! As she walked into the pool room she saw something totally at odds with the rest of the ambience: floating two feet above the water was a large stone ornate statue; so lopsided and clumsy looking it just had to be male but it had two eyes that glowed a malicious red as it turned its head to look right at her. Emily didn’t need to look twice she just turned and ran back to the console room. As she ran she could have sworn that she heard a sinister, throaty chuckle.

“Doctor! You’ve got to come and see this. Something strange has just happened!” Emily said as she rushed into the console room.

“It’s not so strange, Emily – I didn’t say that the repairs would take that long, did I?” He replied with that smug grin he sometimes wore to prove a point. It didn’t suit him and she’d made a habit of telling him.

“You’ve… what? The console’s fixed itself?” She asked.

“What do you mean fixed itself? It took great care and concentration to fix her!”

“That’s not what she said…”

“I keep forgetting that you’re a low level telepath.” He replied sulkily.

“But it’s fixed nonetheless and you can tell me what kind of planet we’re on?” She ignored his petulant attitude and had totally forgotten about the floating statue in the pool room.

“Yes… and we’re going to have to be careful if we’re going to explore it.”

“Why should we explore it?”

“Are you really going to pass up such an opportunity? I thought you were made of pluckier stuff, young Emily.” She looked at him severely. “Ok… the TARDIS is going to take a bit more time to right itself after all it’s been through. After a few more hours it might be able to tell us where we are in relation to the next C.V.E. I don’t fancy being cooped up in the TARDIS when I can do a bit of exploring. What about you?”

Never in her wildest dreams had Emily thought alien worlds could be like this. She was one of the few women who indulged in science fiction but the works of Jules Verne, H.G. Wells and even the odd translation of E. Gaspar’s The Time Ship had nothing on what she was experiencing now.

Everything was of an azure luminescence, except for the luscious pink grasses that swayed by some unknowing rhythm. It was enchanting! But the Doctor had urged caution; although everything looked pretty the atmosphere was hazardous to them both and the grasses could very well be deadly. This was an alien world, after all, in a different universe, no less –nothing could be taken for granted; hence the reason why they were both dressed in these ridiculous, bulky suits –more akin to suits of armour than tailored clothes but the Doctor maintained that all the time their air supply ran smoothly they’d be in no danger. The suits they wore had thick linings, made of some kind of metal that Emily had never heard of. The helmets were small enough; a transparent bubble that barely covered their head; it allowed them both to have an uninterrupted view of all around them and also meant they could talk to each other.

The ground was spongey and was quite delightful to walk along but Emily made sure she didn’t stray too far from the Doctor. She was excited to be in the strange environment but also very afraid –so much could happen to her if she got lost. She was a long, long way from home.

“Look at this, Emily.” The Doctor shouted to her. There was a mound lying haphazardly on the ground in front of him; it seemed incongruous as the rest of the ground was flat. The mound was covered in newly growing grasses and upon walking around it she found something very disturbing –there was a hand poking out of the mound. The Doctor saw it at the same time and made her look away as he investigated it further.

He didn’t want to get too close and rifled through the pockets of his protective suit to find something suitable to prod it with. Sure enough there was an extendible metal pointer which he used to move the grasses away from the corpse. There were the remains of a body but it had been chewed up by some kind of creature; or several creatures of different kinds. The body was of a humanoid nature; two arms and two legs and a head… but with no discernible face. It looked charred around the edges as if something had burnt it.

“Best not look in this direction, Emily –it’s not a pretty sight. Someone’s fallen to foul play of some kind; I’m not sure how long he’s been dead.”

Emily was so distracted by the Doctor’s words she wasn’t aware of the large jelly-like creature that was rapidly oozing up to her. This was a gLoax, one of the more deadly entities on the planet; able to change its physical constituency at will –moving from a gelatinous slime to something far more solid and everything in-between. It killed its prey by enveloping them and letting its molecular acid do the rest. This particular gLoax was large, even by Gaiafrax standards and all it saw was prey. This was a new species it had never encountered before and, had it thought it might have had second chances before attacking; but the gLoax had no rudimentary thought it was governed by hunger only and it was very hungry now. It contracted its body into one compact mass before launching itself at her in one fluid motion; Emily never stood a chance.

ii)

“Watch out, Miss!” The shout alerted her just as the blast shattered the gLoax in mid-air. Emily turned and fell at the same time and was only partially covered by the creature’s blood.

“Doctor!” She shouted, fear taking over now for the first time in her life. The blood was starting to eat into the suit she wore; slowly to be sure but it wouldn’t be long before she would be exposed to the elements.

The Doctor ran to her and looked to where the TARDIS was –it was still some way away; he was unsure whether the suits integrity would hold long enough. He had to take the chance though, what other alternatives were there?

Suddenly he saw a woman run towards Emily, motioning for her to calm down and lie still. She wore a similar suit to the man that had been killed and had a backpack on which she unslung and rooted inside. She pulled out a large packet which she tore open and poured the contents on to the armour –it was a white powder which seemed to react with the creature’s blood and actually stopped it from eating into the suit any more. The Doctor was amazed at the ingenuity of her. When Emily had calmed down the Doctor turned to the woman and noticed an insignia on the right shoulder before thanking her.

“That was very quick thinking, I thank you for saving my friend! I didn’t even see what was happening until it was too late!”

“You are welcome. That was a gLoax, and a particularly nasty one at that. They don’t normally attack people… You must be lost.”

“You could say something like that.” Emily replied, ashamed at the way she had reacted. She considered herself a strong woman but had screamed like a child.

“Are you part of the latest tour?” The woman asked.

“Yes! Our craft’s stabiliser went a bit haywire and we were forced to land haphazardly.” He replied; the years of travelling in the TARDIS had made lying so much easier now. There was always a reason to be found somewhere you weren’t supposed to be –you just had to be creative!

“I’ll say – haphazard is right.” Emily replied. “But who are you? How did you manage to find us?” She asked before realising she’d forgotten something vitally important. “Please excuse me. I haven’t thanked you for saving my life. Thank you; I could never have reacted in time.”

“You are most welcome. My name is Tier… I’m a.. straggler as well. I got lost on my way to the tour-zone. It’s just as well that I did otherwise I might not have been able to save you.”

“Thank you, Tier.” The Doctor replied, already suspicious as he’d noted that in the back-pack was also a Specular Gun which could easily have produced the wounds he’d seen on the other persons face; but why had this woman saved them?

“Yes, thank you, Tier. Thank you for saving my life.” Emily was enraptured by this person; though there were no specific gender-defining characteristics to Tier it was obvious that she was the female of the species. She was tall and, though she was wearing a full body suit as everyone else wore, her pastel-blue skin was shiny and hairless; rather it was covered in very small pock marks which opened and closed in waves. Emily then noticed Tier wasn’t breathing in the same way that she and the Doctor were –her chest wasn’t rising and falling, so it must have been her skin that was breathing. Incredible. The suit she wore must be of a different material –maybe she needed a different chemical composition to breathe… It was Tier’s eyes and mouth that seemed.. .sensuous to her…  She suddenly realised that she had been staring at Tier for a bit, much to her embarrassment (and the Doctor’s bewilderment) so she quickly asked: “Will my suit be ok? Won’t the blood have damaged it?”

“No – the powder I coated it with not only neutralises the acid but calcifies it as well; causing a chain-reaction in the molecular cohesion thereby sealing it up again. Good as new…” Tier replied. Normally she couldn’t stand the terran-types; there was something unknowable about them, but this one intrigued her; the way she stared and held herself. Tier’s day was getting better by the minute!

“Ahem – where do we go for the guided tour then?” The Doctor interjected. He sensed the mutual attraction between the two and found it a little exasperating. Here they were, possibly stranded in E-Space with no real way of getting home, on an alien planet with a dead body within feet of them (and the possible killer standing over them) and here was Emily unable to take her eyes off Tier, despite knowing nothing about her! Lord, how strange these mortal’s were!

“You want me to show you to the tour zone? Of course, it’s just over there.” Tier motioned to the left of her and they started walking. “Don’t worry, although there are a few strange creatures here they won’t attack.” She explained to Emily. “They’re more frightened of you than you are of them.”

“What about the creature that tried to attack Emily?” The Doctor countered, but Tier just put her arm around Emily and walked faster.

On the trek towards the safari zone the Doctor noticed Emily looking behind her as if there was someone following them, but every time he checked he saw no one.

“What have you seen, Emily?” He asked.

“I’m not sure, Doctor. I get the feeling that something is behind us; almost as though it’s just out of sight but when I look back there’s no one there. It’s strange.”

“You might be picking up on their psychic emanations – they might be trying to ‘read’ you, to see if your hostile or not. I’m getting that feeling as well. Do you get any visual clues to what it might be?” Emily thought for a bit before replying.

“I think it’s taller than us, over seven foot tall, completely covered in long flowing grey robes; but it’s actually serene. I can feel it now; it’s sensed me and I just get this feeling of warmth. It’s… beautiful, Doctor. I’ve not experienced anything like it.”

“Yes.. I feel the same. It certainly means us no harm, Emily. We’ll leave it to contact us if and when it desires.”

“That sounds like one of the Gard’ners that you’ve contacted.” Tier explained. “It’s an overseer species that is rarely seen. I don’t know what function it has, it seems to live independently of the other animals here.”

Strange that Tier knows so much about them, the Doctor thought. There’s definitely more to her than she lets on. He was about to ask her a question when she motioned to the Safari Zone that was now just a few feet in front. There was a small landing zone with a Hopper-craft waiting; a few people huddled together inside.

“There’s always a few stragglers.” Came a jovial voice from inside the Hopper. “Luckily we’ve room for three more. Hop inside the Hopper!” The man was obviously the safari guide; somehow it didn’t matter which planet or universe you belonged to the same traits applied. This man was gaudily dressed; even his safety suit was a mismatched blend of odd colours.

The Doctor, Emily and Tier stepped on board the Hopper and barely managed to sit down before it shot off into the outback.

“The name’s M’Braxifacon and I’ll be your guide for the safari. Please keep all appendages within the craft unless you wish to shoot at the designated species –and only then at the allotted times. For the benefit of our late comers let’s go round the hopper and introduce ourselves.”

“My name’s Aminda, ‘his is my Wife Z’Ruul and child Nikcha. We’re no’ here to hun’ jus’ sigh’ see.” They were all slightly smaller than the Doctor and were a particularly vivid pink colour. Their suits were grey in colour and slightly bulkier than the others.

“I be Menta and this Scarsa” Menta explained. Neither Menta or Scasa wore suits, instead their skin were covered in metallic hairs, thick and constantly contracting and dilating.

“This is Brundle.” Brundle said, who looked very similar to Tier but was obviously male. The Doctor introduced themselves and all nodded.

“Well.. that was simple.” M’Braxifacon said, eager to continue his show. “We’re about 30 clicks away from the first hunting area. Until then please take the time to get acquainted with each other.”

Tier moved over to Brundle and they started talking, but it wasn’t a language that the Doctor had come across before. He was a little concerned by the synchronicities that had happened in such a brief time. Tier had saved them both, but was there another reason behind it all; did she have a connection with Brundle?

“Doctor?” Emily interrupted the Doctors reverie. “How come we can understand most everyone here?”

“’ha’s down ‘o ‘he universal ‘ransla’or field imbedded in ‘he hopper –and in sui’’ everyone is wearing.” Nikcha replied. Aminda and Z’ruul beamed at her.

“She’s wonderful –‘he las’ in a long line of sires. We’re very proud of her.” Z’Ruul said, placing a hand on Nikcha’s arm. Nickcha glowed back at her.

“Don’t forget, the TARDIS is also translating for us. I’ve never understood exactly how it managed to do it, but it’s never failed yet.” The Doctor whispered.

“Doctor; how can you not know how your own craft works?” Emily asked, exasperated.

“It’s something I’ve been meaning to do but never got round to it.” Emily just sighed but the Doctor turned to M’Braxifacon as there was one question in particular he wanted an answer to. “You mention this is a safari tour? Do you mean that you actually hunt what’s on this planet?” Everyone else seemed to find this funny, except for Brundle and Tier.

“How you on the tour if you don’t know why you here?” Scarsa asked, giggling. Emily could see the hairs jiggle in time with the laughter.

“Maybe I didn’t see the small print.” The Doctor replied. “You know the reasons behind everything you do?” Scarsa nodded emphatically. “Lucky you.” The Doctor said, pretending to sulk.

“Yes; this is an organised hunt, Doctor.” Tier explained. “Not everyone agrees with it but the sport is very popular. So popular that the hunt has been restricted to only those people who can afford it.”

“Nothing changes.” Emily said, dismayed at this. “It’s always the rich who place themselves on a plain above others –killing other animals for sport.” Brundle and Tier looked at each other again and the Doctor felt a telepathic charge travel between them.

The family groups kept to themselves for the most part but the ones that kept most quiet were Tier and Brundle; they just didn’t seem to fit in at all.

“What kind of emanations do you get off those two?” The Doctor whispered to Emily, trying to remain inconspicuous as he looked out at the rapidly changing landscape.

“Are you asking me to read their minds?”

“No… well.. you can’t do that any way…” The Doctor looked at her now, eyebrow raised. “Can you?”

“No….No! I can’t. My telepathy doesn’t work that way, I just pick up on feelings unless something is beamed directly towards me.”

“I thought as much… so what do you pick up from those two?”

“Nothing much. From everyone else I get excitement; the thrill of the hunt.. but from Tier and.. Brundle? I get nothing.”

“I thought as much.” The Doctor replied. “They’ve either been trained to stop psychic leakage or they’re genuinely unimpressed with their surroundings! If it’s the latter why go on such a safari? Unless you don’t want to be there but have to be. Hmmmm.”

“Do you want me to go over and talk to Tier?” Emily asked with a hopeful glint.

“No… I wouldn’t recommend it. Whatever’s going to happen will kick off soon… probably when we land.”

“What do you think’s going to happen?”

“I don’t know.. but whatever it is, it’s not going to be pretty. Stay by me, Emily – things could go badly very quickly.”

Upon landing M’Braxifacon ensured that Hopper was level and camouflaged. He flicked a switch and all the hazard suits that the passengers were wearing changed to a neutral colour –all except the Doctor’s and Emily’s which stayed the same off-blue.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to keep your head down, you two… Can’t have you frightening the animals!” M’Braxifacon quipped.

“That wouldn’t be good sport at all, would it?” Emily replied.

“Emily…. This is a completely different world to ours; we can’t judge it the same.” The Doctor replied, though he felt exactly the same. All species had this need to prove superiority over others by killing them…even the Time Lord history was drenched with its own share of corpses. “We’ll just keep our heads down as you say.”

“I’m afraid that you’re all going to have to keep your heads down… and your hands up.” Brundle said, suddenly standing up with something large and metallic in his hand. To Emily’s dismay Tier was also standing with a rifle pointing at the Doctor. “I have in my hands an explosive device. For too long there’s been mindless bloodshed on this planet all in the name of ‘sport’ and entertainment. With your deaths a message will be sent that this can no longer continue. This safari can only end up in bloodshed… yours.”

iii)

“It’s the first time you’ve ever done anything like this before, isn’t it?” The Doctor asked Brundle, much to Emily’s dismay.

“Doctor.” She hissed. “Now is not the time!”

“What makes you so sure, Doctor?” Brundle replied, his hand slightly shaking now.

“That’s a bomb, yes? Detonated when you let go of it, right?” Brundle nodded. The Doctor just watched the reactions of the others in the Hopper. “Anyone else see the one fundamental flaw in this argument?”

“Do you honestly think I won’t carry out this threat?”

“No…  But unless you want a long walk home I don’t know how you’re going to explode that.. thing with us in the Hopper! In fact, I’m not so sure you want to kill us at all.”

“What makes you say that, Doctor?” Teir asked, trying to sound intense.

“The small fact that you could have done so a lot earlier.” The Doctor replied. Emil agreed and said,

“That’s right – you actually saved me from that creature! Why would you do that if you were only going to kill us later? I don’t think you want to kill anyone.”

“There’s nothing stopping us from leaving you stranded though, is there? That way we still succeed in shaming the safari company and highlighting our cause without actually physically killing anyone!” Brundle stated, pleased with his deductive logic.

“Happy now, Doctor?” Emily asked, unsure exactly how they were going to get out of this situation.

“Well… I’ll admit, that didn’t go exactly as planned.” Emily shot the Doctor a filthy look as they all exited the Hopper. Everyone was so busy they never noticed the sKythyrn circling closer and closer. Brundle was about to put the Hopper’s controls on to manual when two of the sKythyrn dived for him, taking both he and Tier unawares. One covered his face, the other round his midsection, bringing him down with chilling screams. The hand which was holding the explosive device suddenly went into spasm, throwing the device into the Hopper.

“Down!” The Doctor shouted, but it was too later, the device exploded as soon as it hit the Hopper floor, throwing Teir from the craft. Luckily the other passengers had dived for cover as soon as the sKythyrn had attacked and they were all unharmed. Brundle was dead and the Hopper was only so much charred wreckage.

“Grea’.” Zruuh snapped. “How we going home now?”

“With difficulty, I should imagine.” M’Braxifacon replied. “What I want to know is why the sKythyrn attacked at all. They never have before!”

“Really? Are you sure?” The Doctor asked, puzzled by this new information.

“Surely; do you really think we’d be here so unguarded without the proper protection if that wasn’t the case?” M’Braxifacon stated. “Good salesperson I may be but I’m a better coward!”

“Tier; we need your help now.” The Doctor said, turning to Tier who had only sustained a couple of minor wounds –now sealed up thanks to the powder that had saved Emily. Tier still carried the rifle but seemed unsure of what to do with it.

“That body.. the one that Emily and I stumbled on to, before you saved us… was that your doing?” The rest of the passengers looked shocked by this; they had no idea of a body before then. The Doctor knew that they were in a precarious position.

“Yes… I shot at his visor; he was going to kill one of the uShcra –one of the species that it’s actually forbidden to kill.”

“So you killed him instead?” Emily chided. Tier looked shocked at this.

“No! I never wanted to kill him. I only meant to wound him, or frighten him…. But… it’s the first time I ever shot one of those rifles outside of a firing range. But my shot didn’t actually kill him, it was the combined attack of the uShcra and the sKythyrn. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, we had been told that this was a planet peaceful to any outsiders, but this was frightening… It was then that I heard your ship land.”

“You seriously believe this, Doc’or?” Aminda replied, holding his wife and child close. The Doctor didn’t reply and just rubbed his chin.

“Would you say that you’ve witnessed the creatures here become… more violent disposed towards each other in recent times, M’Braxifacon? Even becoming aggressive towards the passengers?”

“How did you know that?” The tour guide replied, shocked that the Doctor had guessed what had been happening.

“I have a nasty feeling that things are escalating and we’ve now got to be really careful if we’re going to survive and get back to the landing hangar.” The Doctor looked at Tier. “And you’re going to have to help us. Can you do that?”

“You’re kidding!” Z’ruul snapped. “She’s part of the reason why we’re in this situation in the first place.”

“But what if she’s not? What if what she’s saying is true?” Emily calmly replied, she suddenly understood what the Doctor was getting at. “Why wasn’t she attacked at the same time that Brundle was? She was holding the rifle after all.” The rest of the passengers were stumped and Emily could tell that they hadn’t thought things through. Everything had happened so fast. There was movement in the corner of her eye and what she saw chilled her to the marrow; there was a carpet of sKittering’s –small insectoid creatures- swarming towards them.

iv)

“Everyone keep very still.” The Doctor calmly said, motioning with his hands. “I don’t think they’ll attack us.”

“Are you daft?” M’Braxifacon hissed. “They’ve never done this kind of thing before –they’re not swarming insects!”

“Well they are now.” Emily whispered back. She felt the calm from the Doctors mind and it helped her to be the same.

“It’s her fault.” M’Braxifacon hissed back. “She’s the one they’re after!” Without warning he suddenly snatched the rifle away from Tier and stood away from the rest of the group, aiming it at her. “If I kill her we’ll all be ok. You’ll see!”

“Don’t!” The Doctor went to intercept him but Emily stopped him.

“You can’t do anything, Doctor –look.” She said and looked on in horror as the sKittering’s changed the direction of their swarm and went for M’Braxifacon. Some crawled for him, others took to the wing but none of them deviated from their target, leaving Tier shaken to the core, even though she was less than a few feet away. The Doctor took her gently by the arm and led her to the main group, he then motioned them to walk calmly away, knowing that there was nothing to be done for the Safari guide.

When he was sure they were far enough away he stopped and made sure everyone could hear him.

“That settles it –I know what’s going on now.” He said.

“I thought you might… has it got to do with the feelings that we’re generating?” Emily asked.

“Yes. I had a feeling you’d pick up on it too.” The Doctor replied, proud of how Emily was adapting.

“For untold millennia this planet has lived without outside interference and it has lived in harmony, a balanced existence; a self-sustaining one. Then the safari’s started happening, allowing the rich and deluded to shoot creatures in the name of sport, thereby upsetting the natural equilibrium. The emotions triggered by these overgrown children has had time to seep into the matrix of the planet and the creatures have been feeding on that, changing the way they interact with each other –to the extent that they are now hostile to the very people that are trying to hunt them.”

“But only to those people who show bad emotions.” Emily concluded, the Doctor nodded.

“So how the hell are we going to get back to the landing bay then? How do we know that they’re not going to attack us again?” Menta snapped.

“We don’t… not for sure. “ The Doctor conceded. “So far the creatures have acted in accordance with my theory, but there’s no reason why they should carry on.. but as there are no other alternatives.”

“We could run.” Scarsa said.

“No. The moment you tried the creatures would sense your emotional state and cut you down before you got too far.”

“Why is ‘his happening ‘hough? Are ‘he flying crea’ures and ‘he slimy ones and ‘he buggy ones working ‘oge’her?” Nikta asked.

“That’s because you’re looking at them all in the wrong way –you’re seeing them all as separate creatures when they’re not. They’re all one entity; just as your hands and feet and nose and ears are of you. We’re lucky that we’ve discovered this now before too many more of the safari parks opened up… who knows how bad things could get?”

“How do we get back?” Tier asked, afraid for her life now.

“By being sensible and calm. I have a feeling….” The Doctor paused before looking around him.

“Can you sense it too, Doctor?” Emily asked.

“Yes… If we remain calm and just walk slowly back to the landing pad we’ll be fine.”

No one argued, no one protested –they had seen what happened when people got angry; and so they walked slowly, hand in hand back to the landing pad. An hour passed, then two -the Doctor looked around him all the time. On the horizon he could see the sKythyrn circling them widely and the uShcra could be heard in the distance – how long before the creature would make itself known?

 “Now you are ready for me to be joined with you, Doctor.” One second nothing was there in front of them, the next there stood the grey robed creature that Emily had glimpsed earlier. “Please do not be afraid.” He said to the rest of the people, holding out his arms in the universal sign of peace. “They will not harm you now, you are under my protection.”

“Thank you.” Emily replied, craning her neck to look into the eyes of this new magnificent creature.

“I am… a Gard’ner.” The creature intoned, nodding at Emily. “That is the word that you will probably understand the most. I have not been able to contact you before now as your vibrations were too erratic and noisy. Although the Doctor and Emily were able to notice me occasionally and through them I was able to calm the rest of you. The creatures will no longer attempt to attack you as you aren’t broadcasting the emotions of hate or fear.”

“So ‘he Doc’or was righ’, ‘hen.” Nikta exclaimed and beamed at the Doctor, who smiled back.

“Well.. had to happen sooner or later.” He replied. “It was Emily who noticed you back at the TARDIS; she’s far more empathic than me.. sometimes I feel I’ve seen far too much.”

“That may be true, Doctor… though with time and practice even you would be able to unsee things.” Gard’ner replied.

“Time – well.. you know what they say about that? And who has enough time to chase a broken watch?” Emily looked at him askance, and then back at Gard’ner.

“What will happen now, oh Gard’ner?” She asked.

“You and the Doctor can now leave.” The creature replied, pointing to the TARDIS in the distance. “And I will look after the others.” The Doctor was about to speak but Gard’ner interrupted him. “Do not worry, Doctor. There is no need to be concerned, they will be perfectly safe. I will not harm them in any way –that would be my undoing, after all. You were quiet right. They will leave here and tell other planets not to come back here. They will listen.”

“Gard’ner… will I be able… can I join you?” Tier asked. “I don’t know if I can but I feel that I have to atone for all I have wrought.”

“If you should wish that, then it can happen. It will not be easy for you, but it will be worth it.”

“Thank you.” She replied, humbled by Gard’ner.

“You really are special.” Emily said to her, liking her even more; it was going to be so difficult to leave her and part of her wanted to remain so she wouldn’t be alone. “That is an amazing gesture.”

“It’s no gesture, sweet Emily; but thank you.”

The Doctor took Emily in her arm and turned to the TARDIS after saying good bye to the rest of the passengers.

“Before you go, Doctor; seek out the Tharills.” Gard’ner interrupted. “They will be able to help you get back home.”

“Of course. Thank you, Gard’ner, for all you have done.” They walked into the TARDIS, the doors shutting behind them.

Inside they were both happy to be finally free of the hazard suits, able to breath the sweet air from their own lungs and not through a re-cycling unit.

“Who are the Tharills, Doctor?” Emily asked.

“They’re travellers of the wastelands of E-Space, but I heard that they had left this plane of reality… but if Gard’ner says that they’re the key to get back, who knows? Maybe things won’t be as difficult as I thought for once.”

Deep inside the TARDIS a lopsided statue stood solemnly, a distinct him coming from inside. However this was not just a statue but the Master’s own TARDIS, and he was witness to everything that had happened over the last few days. It had been most entertaining. When the Doctor had made his last statement the Master chuckled to himself, “My dear Doctor, things are going to be far, far worse than you could ever imagine. There’s something out in the darkness of E-Space that is waiting for you and there’s nothing you can do to prevent it from destroying everything you care about.”

With that the Master laughed and his TARDIS dematerialised.