Doctor Who: The Shining Man

by Cavan Scott

  ‘What is it?’ Schofield asked. ‘Nothing or filming?’

  Charlotte flashed her a nervous smile. ‘I can email it to you, if you want?’

  ‘We’ll see, after you’ve given us a statement.’

  The Doctor’s shoulders visibly slumped. ‘Must we?’

  Bill couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘He jumped me!’

  ‘And paid the price,’ the Doctor said, rubbing his hands together as if he was about to stroll away. ‘Everyone’s happy.’

  ‘I’m not!’ the dishevelled Shining Man piped up.

  ‘You’re under arrest,’ the hulking policeman told him, reading him his rights before shutting him in the car.

  ‘Bravo,’ the Doctor cheered, piloting Bill and Charlotte towards the stairs. ‘Justice is served. You’ve got your man, so I guess we’ll be off.’

  ‘Then you guess wrong,’ Schofield said, stepping in front of them. ‘What were the three of you doing here?’

  The Doctor nodded in the direction of the shops. ‘Bargain hunting.’

  ‘Is that right?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘Do we need to arrest you as well?’ Schofield’s partner said, crossing his arms across an imposing chest.

  ‘No,’ Bill said, stepping forward. ‘We were looking for him, OK?’ She nodded at the creep in the back of the car. ‘Well, not him exactly, but …’

  ‘But a Shining Man,’ Schofield said, the frustration evident in her voice.

  ‘We saw him on a webcam,’ Charlotte cut in. ‘It’s all over the net.’

  Schofield looked them up and down. ‘So you came looking for monsters.’ She fixed the Doctor with a glare. ‘Aren’t you a little old to be hanging around with these two?’

  ‘More than you know. But tell me, what did you mean by “another one”?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘ “Not another one.” That’s what you said. This is becoming a problem, yes? People dressing up.’

  ‘That’s an understatement.’

  ‘Around the shops. Near Noah Holland’s school.’

  That got Schofield’s attention. ‘What do you know about Noah Holland?’

  The Doctor flicked open his psychic paper. ‘Doctor John Smith. UNIT.’

  ‘I knew it!’ Charlotte hissed behind him, only to be silenced by a look from Bill.

  ‘Am I supposed to be impressed?’ Schofield said, although her jaw had clenched the moment the Doctor had made his claim.

  ‘You know what UNIT is?’

  ‘I’ve heard rumours.’

  The Doctor returned the wallet to his pocket. ‘Then you should listen to them.’

  Bill tried her best to keep her expression neutral, but couldn’t help but be surprised. She’d never heard the Doctor speak like this. She knew he had his secrets – his mysterious vault back at the university, for one – but this didn’t sound like him. What – or who – was UNIT?

  Whatever the word meant, it had the desired effect. Schofield’s lips thinned to an angry line, but her attitude became one of grudging compliance. ‘It’s getting out of control. We’ve arrested three jokers in the past week alone, all in the same get-up, all out to cause trouble. Hanging around schools, in alleyways—’

  ‘In car parks?’ the Doctor offered.

  ‘But what’s the point?’ Bill asked. ‘It’s the middle of the night. No one’s here.’

  ‘You are,’ Schofield countered. ‘You saw him on a webcam and came running. Exactly what he wanted. As for the others, maybe it’s a cry for help, maybe they’re just doing it for kicks.’

  ‘Could be a protest,’ Charlotte cut in.

  ‘Against what?’ Bill asked.

  Charlotte shrugged. ‘Law and order? The Nanny State? Giving all those CCTV cameras something to look at?’

  ‘Whatever it is,’ Schofield said, talking over her, ‘we’re the ones who have to clear up the mess.’

  ‘What mess?’ the Doctor asked.

  Schofield sighed. ‘Yesterday, a bunch of kids saw a Shining Man hanging around in Stamford Park. You know what kids are like – they exaggerated, the story grew. Before long they were telling everyone that the Shining Man had a baseball bat and had tried to shove one of the lads into a sack. It gets back to one of the dads. He rounds up his mates and heads down to the park. They find the guy, they put him in hospital, all because he decided to put a costume on one morning. He was lucky; he got away with three broken ribs and a punctured lung.’

  ‘Doesn’t sound lucky to me,’ Bill said.

  ‘It could’ve been worse,’ the Doctor commented.

  ‘Much worse,’ Schofield agreed. ‘How long before one of these idiots jump out at someone with a heart condition? Or a victim fights back, that little bit too hard?’ Schofield glanced pointedly at Bill. ‘The papers don’t help, blowing everything out of proportion. People are scared around here.’

  ‘And not just here,’ the Doctor said. ‘All over the country.’

  ‘Exactly. Now, are you going to give me a statement, or do we have to discuss this at the station?’

  Bill stepped forward before the Doctor could answer. ‘Sure. No worries. What do you need to know?’

  Half an hour later, Bill had explained what happened and given her home address and mobile number.

  Realising that she wasn’t going to get much further with the Doctor, Schofield told her colleague to get back in the car. Before she joined him, she turned back to the Doctor. ‘Remember what we said. It’s only a matter of time before someone gets hurt.’

  He nodded. ‘I promise. That’s the last thing I want.’

  Schofield didn’t look convinced as she opened the car door. Then she stopped, noticing Charlotte’s mobile held surreptitiously in her hand.

  ‘Are you still filming? Exactly what evidence are you collecting?’

  The Doctor stepped between them, blocking Charlotte’s shot. ‘She’s not collecting anything. Probably taking a selfie. You know what young people are like. It’s all about them, them, them.’

  The police officer looked as if she was going to retaliate, before giving up. She slipped back into the car, slammed the door and drove off, their prisoner scowling from the back window. The Doctor gave a friendly wave as the police car disappeared down the ramp and they were alone again. No police. No Shining Man. Just Bill, Charlotte … and the Doctor’s bad mood.

  ‘Seriously?’ he said, turning on Charlotte. ‘You were filming her for your vlog?’

  Charlotte sniffed, trying to look nonchalant. ‘It’s a free country.’

  The Doctor pointed a bony finger at her mobile. ‘That phone will be the death of you.’

  ‘Melodramatic, much?’ Charlotte scoffed, shoving the handset into her pocket, but the Doctor wasn’t listening. He had turned to Bill, resting a hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, his voice as gentle now as it had been furious a moment before.

  Now it was Bill’s turn to act as though she wasn’t bothered, even though he could probably feel that she was still shaking. ‘Yeah, course I am. I can look after myself.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have to. I’m sorry. I should never have suggested splitting up. It was stupid of me. It’s just been a while since I’ve done this.’

  ‘Done what?’

  Sadness filled his ageless eyes. ‘Had a friend. I’m out of practice.’

  ‘What about Nardole?’ Bill asked. Nardole was the Doctor’s factotum back at the university, a funny little man in every sense of the word. Bill hadn’t quite worked him out yet, from the strange things he said to the nuts and bolts she kept finding wherever he’d been.

  The Doctor gave a half-smile. ‘Nardole’s a special case.’

  She grinned. ‘Ain’t that the truth.’ She leant closer, dropping her voice as if imparting a great secret. ‘And don’t worry, you’re doing fine with the friend thing.’

  ‘Shhh,’ he whispered back. ‘Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to protect.’ Then, without warning
that he was about to change tack, the Doctor held out his hand to Charlotte. ‘Give it here.’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘Your phone. You’ll want to give it to me.’

  ‘I don’t think so!’

  ‘Oh, you don’t think so.’ He produced his sonic, waving it in front of his face. ‘And there was me thinking you wanted to produce a killer video.’

  She narrowed her eyes. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I have data on here that will blow your socks off.’

  Now they went wide. ‘UNIT data?’

  ‘Not here!’ he hissed, looking around. ‘Walls have ears.’ His hand went out again. ‘May I?’

  Without hesitation this time, Charlotte pulled out her phone and handed it to him.

  ‘Thanks for trusting me,’ the Doctor said, firing the sonic at the mobile. The handset beeped and he passed it back. ‘Now, don’t look at that until you’re safely back in Velma.’

  Charlotte’s thumb hovered above her touchscreen. ‘Why?’

  The Doctor tapped the side of his nose. ‘Ask no questions, get told no lies. But, it’ll be worth it, just you wait and see.’

  She beamed, slipping the phone back into her pocket. ‘So what about you two?’ She looked at Bill, a little too hopefully. ‘Do you need somewhere to crash?’

  The Doctor answered for her. ‘We have the TARDIS.’

  Bill smiled as Charlotte tried to hide her disappointment. ‘Your blue box?’

  He was already walking towards the stairs. ‘Our home away from home. Come on, Bill.’

  ‘So what’s UNIT?’ asked Bill as they trudged back through Boggle Wood.

  ‘Useful when I want it to be,’ the Doctor replied, searching through his pockets for the TARDIS key. ‘But one thing at a time. It’s getting late.’

  ‘Getting late? It must be two o’clock in the morning?’ Bill said, glancing at her watch, not that it would do her any good. Time zones got hazy when you travelled by TARDIS.

  ‘Exactly,’ he said, as the police box came into view. ‘We need to be up and at ’em in the morning. Fresh as a daisy!’

  Bill had never been so glad to see anything in her life. Their walk through the woods had been free of incident, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that eyes were crawling all over her from the shadows. Still, she couldn’t believe the Doctor was calling it a night.

  ‘How can you sleep with all this going on?’ she asked as he opened the door and disappeared inside.

  ‘Who’s sleeping?’ he shot back, marching over to the console and getting busy with the controls. ‘Shut the door, will you?’

  Bill did as she was asked, joining him at the ship’s controls.

  ‘No, sleep is for tortoises.’ The Doctor finished his calculations and slammed down the dematerialisation lever. ‘Besides, we’re taking a short cut.’

  A pair of glowing eyes watched as the TARDIS faded away to nothing. The wood was silent again, save for the sound of sobbing in the darkness.

  Chapter 12

  In for Christmas

  The last person Rob Hawker wanted to see was Harold-blooming-Marter. It was bad enough that the boys were expected to work on a Saturday, without the owner appearing unannounced at the building site to stick his oar in.

  Just the sight of him put Rob’s back up. Marter had perfect clothes, perfect hair and perfect teeth, none of which stopped him being a perfect pain in the backside.

  ‘Well,’ Marter said, stomping into the house, ‘what have you got to say for yourself?’

  There was a lot Rob wanted to say. That they should be left to get on with their jobs. That the build wouldn’t be so far behind schedule if Marter didn’t keep changing his mind. That he could stick his new house where the sun didn’t shine.

  But telling the man who paid the invoices where to go was never a clever idea, so Rob bit his tongue and told him that everything was going all right instead.

  Matter looked at the foreman as if he was dirt, and particularly stupid dirt at that. ‘Is that what you call it? None of the windows are in and most of the rooms are still missing floorboards!’

  ‘We’ll get it done,’ Rob promised, willing to say anything if Marter would leave. The firm’s builders mate, Tim, would be back with the bacon butties any minute. Rob wanted to eat his breakfast in peace.

  ‘That’s what you said last week,’ Marter reminded him.

  ‘And we’re getting there. I had two men off with the flu last week—’

  ‘Not my problem,’ Marter interrupted.

  ‘But they’re back on the job now,’ Rob continued, gritting his teeth. ‘So we’ll make up the time, no worries.’

  ‘You’d better. The electrician is coming in on Monday.’

  ‘I know. I booked him.’

  ‘And the plasterer needs to get started by the end of the week.’

  Rob forced himself to nod. It was either that or throttle the jumped-up little prat. ‘Trust me. The guys know what they’re doing.’

  ‘I promised Kate that we’ll be in for Christmas.’

  ‘And you will be,’ Rob assured him, imagining Christmas in the Marter household. Dinner parties with their posh mates, comparing log burners and holidays in the south of France. The Christmas tree would be pristine, of course, with colour-coded baubles carefully aligned. She’d probably already bought the decorations, ready to impress the new neighbours.

  Rob had nothing against people with money. Why would he? People with money wanted large houses, and as long as Rob was the one building them, then everyone was happy. Everyone except idiots like Marter who thought that money in the bank was a licence to throw your weight around. He doubted Marter had ever done a proper day’s graft in his life. Pushing numbers around a computer before rushing to the gym to work off the carbs; what kind of life was that? Marter had it all. The looks, the cash, the soon-to-be-completed dream house, and yet the bloke never even cracked a smile.

  At least he’d stopped arguing. ‘OK, if you say so.’

  ‘I do,’ Rob reassured him, putting on his best get-the-customer-out-the-door smile. ‘We’ll be back on track in no time. You’ll see.’

  Marter didn’t look convinced, but turned to leave all the same, and just in time too. Tim was back from the café, swinging a plastic bag and whistling tunelessly.

  ‘Laters then,’ Rob said, cheerfully.

  But Marter stopped at the door, fishing his phone out of his pocket. ‘There was just one more thing.’

  Rob’s shoulders sagged. Of course there was.

  Marter flicked through pictures on his screen. This was a bad sign. Pictures meant that Mrs Marter had spotted something in a magazine that she just had to have, no matter what the cost, or the delay to the project.

  Sure enough, Marter walked back to him. ‘Kate wanted me to ask you about the patio doors.’

  Oh no. Not that. Harold’s missus had changed her mind about them three times already.

  ‘They’re going in this morning,’ Rob told him.

  ‘Then you’d better let me see,’ Marter said, striding through to the room that would eventually be his living room.

  ‘Wait! You need a hard hat!’ Rob turned to Tim. ‘Chuck us one over, will you?’

  Tim grabbed a yellow helmet from a pile near the front entrance and threw it across the hall.

  ‘Thanks,’ Rob said, catching it. ‘I’d hate for something to fall on his head.’

  ‘Yeah,’ the lad sniggered. ‘Nightmare.’

  There was a flash of light from the living room. Marter must be taking photos.

  ‘Seriously though,’ Rob said, following the owner into the bare room, ‘if you want the wiring done on Monday …’

  He trailed off. The lounge was empty. He peered out of the hole that had been left for the patio doors. Outside was a muddy patch of land that would one day be transformed into a beautiful garden.

  Marter wasn’t out there either.

  ‘Mr Marter?’ Rob said, walking back into the hall, and ch
ecking in the similarly empty kitchen. ‘Harold?’

  There was no sign of the man.

  ‘Where’d he go?’ he asked Tim.

  The crater-faced lad shrugged and produced a sandwich from his plastic bag. ‘Did you want red or brown sauce?’

  Chapter 13

  Lore of the Land

  Bill had heard of breaking into houses, she’d heard of breaking into banks, but she’d never heard of anyone breaking into a public library.

  As if she needed more proof that the Doctor wasn’t just anyone.

  ‘Are you absolutely sure this is a good idea?’ she asked, looking furtively over her shoulder. The high street was quiet, most of the shops still shut, but cars were already passing back and forth, a single-decker bus trundling by.

  ‘Of course it is,’ the Doctor insisted, unlocking the door with the sonic screwdriver. ‘When have I ever have a bad idea?’ He bundled her in before she could answer, locking the door behind them.

  ‘Just tell me that you’re not going to steal any books!’

  ‘What do you take me for?’

  ‘The man who tried nick a diamond on Saturn?’ she said, remembering their recent visit to the far future.

  ‘That was different,’ the Doctor said, disappearing between the stacks.

  ‘Then what are we looking for?’ she called after him.

  ‘Books and stuff.’

  ‘What kind of stuff?’

  ‘Interesting stuff. Useful stuff.’

  ‘Yeah, that narrows it down …’

  She looked up at the clock above the librarian’s desk. Quarter to nine. Bill removed her watch and twisted the dial.

  ‘What are you doing?’ the Doctor said, poking his head over a bookcase.

  ‘Setting my watch to local time,’ she said, slipping it back on her wrist. ‘First rule of travel.’

  ‘That’s the second rule,’ he told her, vanishing again. ‘The first rule is never forget the Wirrn repellent.’

  ‘Either way, we haven’t got long,’ she said, finding him with his nose in a copy of A Bear Called Paddington. ‘The library opens at ten.’

  He slipped the book back into a rack. ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘The sign on the door. The last thing we need is an angry librarian.’