Doctor Who: The Crawling Terror (12th Doctor novel) (Dr Who)

by Mike Tucker

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  About the Author

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Copyright

  About the Book

  “WELL, I DOUBT YOU’LL EVER SEE A BIGGER INSECT.”

  Gabby Nichols is putting her son to bed when she hears her daughter cry out. ‘Mummy there’s a daddy longlegs in my room!’ The the screaming starts... Kevin Aplerton is on his way to school when he is attacked by a mosquito. A big one. Then things get dangerous.

  But it isn’t the dead man cocooned inside a huge mass of web that worries the Doctor. It isn’t the swarming, mutated insects that make him nervous.

  With the insects becoming more and more menacing, the Doctor knows that unless he can decode the strange symbols engraved on an ancient stone circle, and unravel a mystery dating back to the Second World War, no one is safe.

  About the Author

  Mike Tucker is an author specialising in books for children and young adults, and has written several original ‘Doctor Who’ novels, a number of ‘Merlin’ novelisations, and original fiction for other shared universes. He has also written numerous factual books relating to film and television, including a history of the BBC’s Visual Effects Department, where he used to work.

  Alongside his writing, Mike works as a Visual Effects Designer, and his company – The Model Unit – recently won a BAFTA Craft Award for its miniature effects work on the 50th anniversary ‘Doctor Who’ episode ‘The Day of the Doctor’.

  For Karen

  Prologue

  Gabby Nichols gave a deep sigh of relief. She had been starting to think that Wayne was never going to stop crying. Watching him now, curled up in the blankets of his cot, silent and content, it was difficult to believe that this was the same red-faced, screaming baby that she had been carrying around the house for the last hour.

  Not for the first time that evening, Gabby wished that her husband were here. Wayne always seemed to go to sleep more quickly in the arms of his father. Roy Nichols was part of the team building the new high-speed rail link between London and the South West. It had meant relocating from their house in Manchester and renting one down here in Wiltshire, but it was a seven-year contract, and it paid well. The downside was that Roy was doing a lot of shift work. Gabby had barely seen him over the last three nights.

  She gave another sigh. At least he was going to be back at the weekend. In the meantime she had promised herself that as soon as Wayne was asleep she was going to treat herself to a couple of hours in front of the TV with the DVD box set of Call the Midwife and a glass of wine.

  Turning on the baby monitor, she closed the door to Wayne’s room and started to make her way downstairs. As on every other night that she had been here alone, Gabby was struck by how utterly silent their new house was. She had been brought up in Manchester, and had lived in cities all her life. She was used to the constant background hum of traffic and aircraft, and the constant yellow glow of streetlights. Here the silence was total and the nights… Gabby had never know such a complete darkness, or seen so many stars in the night sky.

  As her thoughts drifted back to the house that she had left behind, Gabby felt the same pang of uncertainty that had plagued her ever since they had arrived in Ringstone. It wasn’t that they hadn’t been made welcome. On the contrary, the villagers had gone out of their way to make them feel at home. Their cottage on the edge of the village green was huge compared to their old house, and the children were going to be able to grow up in clean air and beautiful surroundings. Her daughter, Emily, was already starting to drop unsubtle hints about wanting a pony.

  It was just… a feeling, a sense of unease that Gabby found herself unable to escape.

  She shook her head, telling herself not to be stupid. It was just going to take her time to get used to a new home and a new routine, that was all. When Roy got back at the weekend they would go out, explore the area a bit. Try and get to know some of the neighbours.

  Taking a clean wine glass from the dishwasher, Gabby opened the fridge and poured herself a large glass of Pinot Grigio. As she was raising the glass to her lips a shrill voice rang out from upstairs.

  ‘Mummy!’

  Gabby gave a groan of despair. Her daughter was 3, and prone to being very loud if she wanted attention. If she woke up Wayne…

  ‘Mummy! Come quickly!’

  Gabby frowned. There was a note of panic in her daughter’s voice. Placing her wine glass down on the kitchen table, she hurried up the stairs.

  ‘Emily?’ She pushed open the door to her daughter’s room. ‘What is it, baby? Are you all right?’

  Emily was pressed tight against the wall. Her eyes were wide with fear. She ran to her mother, hugging against her legs.

  Gabby felt a jolt of panic. She had never seen her daughter so frightened. She lifted Emily into her arms. ‘What’s wrong?’

  Emily had her face buried in her mother’s shoulder. ‘There’s a huge daddy longlegs in my room.’

  Gabby almost sobbed in relief, angry with herself for becoming so spooked. ‘You’re going to have to get used to that, sweetie.’ She stroked her daughter’s hair. ‘We’re in the countryside now. There’s lots of insects here.’

  ‘It’s over there! It came through the window.’

  Emily was still tucked tight against her. From the other side of the room Gabby could hear the paper-like rustling of the insect as it fluttered against the glass behind the curtains.

  ‘Well, I’ll just get rid of it and then we can get you back into bed.’

  Gabby pulled the curtains back from the window and the breath caught in her throat as she caught sight of what was there.

  Then she started to scream.

  Alan Travers drained the last mouthful of his pint and shrugged into his heavy jacket. It was nearly the first day of spring but there was still a chill in the air at night and he had a long walk home.

  ‘Sure you’ll not stay for another, Alan?’

  The tiny public bar of the Wheatsheaf was busy with its usual weekday mix of locals and tourists. Brian Cartwright was at the bar, a £20 note in his hand.

  Alan shook his head. ‘As unusual as it is to see you buying a round, I’m afraid I’m going to pass. I’ve got an early start in the morning, even if you layabouts don’t. I’ll see you gentlemen tomorrow.’

  Pulling on his hat, Alan threaded his way through the jostling drinkers towards the door.

  ‘Well you just be careful cutting through that science park!’ Brian called after him. ‘You know they’re breeding monsters in there!’

  As the door swung shut behind him, Alan could hear laughter ring out through the pub. That joke had been a regular one ever since the park had been built of the edge of the village. Alan gave a snort of derision. Bio-fuels and GM crops. As far as he was concerned that was almost the same as breeding m
onsters.

  Pulling up the collar of his jacket, he set off through the pub car park towards the industrial estate. It was a clear night, and a distant moon was casting a pale glow across the fields. Alan shivered. He should have had a coffee instead of that last beer. He lived in the next village over, and even cutting through the science park it was a good twenty-minute walk to get home.

  The footpath around the village was accessed by a stile in the corner of the car park. He clambered over it unsteadily, almost losing his balance as he landed on the well-trodden path on the other side. He definitely shouldn’t have had that final pint. He breathed in deeply, taking in a good lungful of the cool night air, then set off along the path.

  As he approached the underpass that cut beneath the railway line, a tall shape suddenly loomed up from the darkness, making him start. With a barking laugh he realised that he’d been startled by one of the standing stones that formed the circle in the field close to the pub. In the moonlight the monolith could almost have been a hunched figure. Alan walked over to it, running his fingers over the swirls and patterns carved into the ancient rock.

  Alan had always liked the stones. He liked that they were a reminder of the natural world, not the clean, clinical science that dominated modern life. It had been the stones that had nearly scuppered the plans for the science park altogether. When the plans had first been published, there had been a huge public outcry at the desecration of an ancient site. Even though no burial ground had ever been found associated with the stones, public pressure had forced the development of the park to be moved to the other side of the railway line.

  Alan couldn’t understand why Ringstone had been chosen as a site for the park anyway. It wasn’t exactly convenient. That in turn had started all the rumours about it concealing something untoward. That, and the fact that the businessman behind it had some kind of facial disfigurement. Poor beggar had to wear some kind of plastic surgical mask.

  Patting the stone with approval, Alan set off along the path towards the underpass. Clouds had started to crawl across the face of the moon and Alan was beginning to regret not bringing a torch.

  As he entered the tunnel, something brushed his face. With a cry Alan swiped at it with his hand, then immediately berated himself for being so jumpy. It was just a spider’s web.

  He wiped his hand on his jacket. The stuff was sticky, and strong. As he tried to brush off the strands, his arm caught in more of it. He pulled, but his arm was caught fast. He tugged hard at the web. He could barely break it.

  Alan heaved with all his strength. There was a tearing noise and the stitching on his jacket ripped at the sleeve. Suddenly free of the sticky grip, Alan lost his footing and stumbled backwards, falling into something soft and clinging. It was yet more of the web, great clumps of it clinging to the wall and ceiling of the underpass. Alarmed now, he tried to get back onto his feet, but the web held him fast. Alan started to panic, but the more he struggled to free himself the more of the strands tangled around him.

  A sudden scrape from the end of the tunnel made him start. A shadow flickered across the far entrance.

  ‘Is someone there?’ Alan called out. ‘I could do with some help!’

  To his annoyance there was no reply, just the rustle of something brushing through the undergrowth.

  ‘Come on, I’m not mucking about, I’m stuck here!’

  The shadow started to move towards him, but as it came closer Alan realised with a sudden chill that the shape casting it was not remotely human. He became aware of a low rasping breathing, and the scratch of something harsh and bristly against the tiled walls of the underpass. The shape filled the tunnel.

  As the patchy moonlight revealed what it was that had found him, Alan felt his heart give out.

  Kevin Alperton woke with a jolt. For several moments he lay there in the dark, listening to the familiar sounds of the house, trying to determine what had woken him. He had been dreaming about ice cream. He’d been on a nice warm beach, with no school to think about, no teachers pestering him, nothing but sand and the distant swoosh of the sea on pebbles. That soothing noise had turned into something harsh and piercing, cutting into his dream and bringing him back to reality with a start.

  He glanced over at his clock. It was gone eleven. Chances were that his parents were still up. It must have been them moving around downstairs that had woken him.

  As he rolled over and tried to get himself comfortable again, a horrible howling shriek cut through the silence. The noise was like a cross between a wailing cat and a crying baby. It made the hairs on the back of Kevin’s neck stand on end.

  He groaned.

  Foxes.

  Every spring it was the same. As soon as it got dark and the roads were free of people then the latest batch of fox cubs came out to explore. When they were youngsters they were quite cute, but as soon as they got older they were a menace; pulling over bins, rummaging through compost piles and keeping half the village awake with their incessant howling.

  Kevin buried his head in the pillow as the piercing sound rang out again, but he knew that it was pointless. Once they started, they would only stop if he scared them away.

  Yawning, Kevin threw back his Godzilla duvet and hauled himself out of bed. After the sleepless nights that he had put up with last summer he had taken to leaving a ‘Super Soaker’ water pistol on his bedroom windowsill. He had wanted to use his catapult but his mum had told him that was cruel and dangerous and confiscated it.

  As he neared the window, the howling cry came again, but this time there was something about the pitch, the level of the sound, that made Kevin’s blood run cold. This wasn’t the usual noise that he had heard before. This was a sound of pure primal fear and pain.

  Nervously, Kevin pulled back the curtains and peered out of his bedroom window. The cloud-shrouded moon had turned the back garden into a patchwork of shadows, but in the centre of the lawn Kevin could just make out a writhing shape. It was a fox all right, but there seemed to be something wrong with it. Kevin pressed his nose to the glass, straining to see clearly. The fox seemed to be rolling on the scrubby grass, snapping and biting at its fur, whining and growling as it did so.

  As Kevin tried to work out what on earth was going on, the moon suddenly emerged into a patch of clear sky and milky white light illuminated dozens of hard black shapes swarming over the stricken fox.

  As Kevin jumped back from the window in alarm, there was a final desperate howl from outside, and then silence descended once more.

  Kevin stood in the dark quiet of his room for a moment, unsure as to what he had just witnessed, and not sure if he wanted to look again. For a second he wondered if he should go downstairs and tell his parents what he had seen, but the thought of the withering look that he knew his father would give him made him think better of it.

  Clambering back into his bed, Kevin tried to put the terrible sounds out of his head, but when he finally did get back to sleep, his dreams were no longer of ice cream and beaches, but of glistening black shapes, and terrible, doomed cries.

  Chapter

  One

  The fields surrounding Ringstone were wreathed with mist as the morning sun slowly started to inch its way above the crow-filled trees. Abruptly, the chattering birds were sent spiralling into the air, cawing in annoyance as a grating, grinding rasp shattered the peace of the English countryside, and the bulky, blue shape of the TARDIS slowly faded into existence.

  The instant it had fully materialised, the door was snatched open and the Doctor poked his head out into the morning air. In this incarnation the Doctor was a tall, thin-faced man with a tousled mop of silver-grey hair and intense eyes framed by unruly, expressive eyebrows.

  Satisfied that he was in the right place, he stepped from the TARDIS, allowing a young, elfin-faced woman to follow him out.

  ‘Where’s this then?’ asked Clara, looked around with mistrust. ‘Distant past? Far-flung future? Alien planet that just happens to look like the English c
ountryside?’

  The Doctor glared at her. ‘Wiltshire.’

  ‘Wiltshire?’ Clara gave him a nod of mock approval. ‘You really are showing me the exotic corners of the universe.’

  ‘Not entirely my choice,’ said the Doctor turning slowly around on the spot as he tried to get his bearings. ‘The TARDIS picked up some ley-line disturbance. Not much, but enough to warrant a brief investigation.’

  ‘Ley lines?’ Clara stared at him in disbelief. ‘Please don’t tell me that you’ve regenerated into a hippie.’

  ‘I’ll have you know that my tambourine solo was one of the highlights of Woodstock. Ah, There we are…’ The Doctor was squinting through the clearing mist at a distant church spire. ‘So, that should mean…’ He traced an imaginary line in the air from the spire to the TARDIS then onwards to the far side of the field. ‘This way.’

  He set off through the mist, arm held out in front of him like some suited and booted scarecrow. With a sigh of weary resignation Clara pulled the TARDIS door shut and set off after him.

  As soon as it was light, Kevin hurried downstairs and, pulling wellingtons on over his pyjamas, unlocked the back door and cautiously made his way over to where he had seen the fox.

  Secretly he was hoping that there would be nothing to see, that he could dismiss what he had caught a glimpse of last night as nothing more than the result of an overactive imagination, but as he approached the end of the garden he could see a bundle of reddish-brown fur lying in the flowerbed.

  Nervously, Kevin approached the remains of the dead fox. It looked strange – shrunken somehow. Picking up a discarded bamboo cane from his dad’s vegetable patch, he prodded at the corpse. As he did so the fox seemed to collapse in on itself. To Kevin’s horror he realised that there was nothing left of the flesh of the animal; it had all been eaten away by something. All that was left was skin and bone, a shell.

  As Kevin knelt down to get a closer look, something rustled in the shrubbery, and he caught a glimpse of something black and shiny scuttling along the bottom of the fence that bordered next door’s garden. Gripping his stick, Kevin pushed aside the branches, trying to get a better look at whatever the creature was.