Tales of Terror

by Jacqueline Rayner, Mike Tucker, Paul Magrs, et al (retail) (epub)

  ‘Sand,’ confirmed the Doctor, blowing it away with a single puff. ‘Someone’s been through here. And recently, too.’

  ‘But who?’

  ‘More likely what,’ the Doctor corrected, gesturing back to the mismatched footprints. ‘You know, I’m starting to believe in this Pierrot of yours.’

  An unearthly wail echoed around the Big Top.

  ‘What was –’

  The Doctor pressed a finger to his lips, cutting her off, and Mona couldn’t help but back away. The Doctor stayed put.

  The creature howled again, this time with greater fury, and two things crossed the Doctor’s mind: first, the scream reminded him of something, but he wasn’t quite sure what; and second, and frankly more urgent, where was it coming from?

  Whatever the answers to those two questions were, one thing was certain: the thing that was making these noises most definitely wasn’t human.

  The Doctor threw out his arms, gesturing up to the darkness above. ‘Come out and show yourself!’ he demanded.

  This only seemed to make the howling stutter, reducing it to a terrible, gurgled laugh. It was a sound that chilled Mona’s blood, prompting her to back even further away.

  ‘Where are you?’ the Doctor repeated, searching for his invisible prey.

  It sounded like the wails were coming from somewhere above them, hiding in the shadows of the rigging. The Doctor aimed the sonic upwards, when suddenly the laugh screeched louder. A dreadful, inhuman image darted in front of him, moving at speed: a tall, lithe silhouette, hurtling through the gloom, suspended upside-down from a trapeze.

  What happened next happened all too quickly. In a single, swift, slick movement, the figure swung past the Doctor, out into the centre of the ring, snatched Mona round the waist and hauled her skywards.

  She felt its breath on the back of her neck, followed by a short, sharp scratch at the top of her arm. It hurt at first, but within seconds she felt her senses starting to blur. She could just hear the Doctor shouting up at her, promising that he’d save her. Then the darkness swallowed her up …

  When Mona recovered consciousness, the very first thing she became aware of was an almost overwhelming stench of rotting meat. She took short, shallow breaths, resisting the urge to retch. Then, as she regained her composure, she realised she couldn’t move.

  She was bound to a chair, forced into an upright position. Her wrists and feet were strapped to the chair’s arms and legs. She cocked her head from side to side, scanning the area for any clues as to where she might be. A shaft of moonlight fought to be seen through a small, grimy window, which made her think she must still be inside. As she tried to move, she felt the floorboards rock beneath her and guessed she must be in one of the trailers.

  ‘Hello!’ she called quietly, her voice catching at the back of her throat. ‘Can anybody hear me?’

  She waited for a moment – a moment that felt like a lifetime – but nobody answered.

  Fine, she thought. So she was on her own – at least she knew that much. She also knew she was in a trailer, which meant she couldn’t have been taken far, even if the trailer was on the furthest edge of the field. And, of course, she was still alive … for the time being, anyway.

  She peered into the moonlit gloom, scouring the shadows for further clues. In one of the corners there seemed to be a mass of filthy rags, heaped up like some kind of bedding. Above that, hanging from a set of rusted hooks, she could just make out the glint of metal: a dozen or so different objects gleaming beneath what little light there was. Tools, perhaps?

  Before she had time to focus, the door of the wagon slammed inwards. In the frame of the tiny doorway, she could now clearly see the silhouette of the Pierrot. It looked much like any other clown, except its costume was tattered and grimy, the once-pristine white of its tunic stained with flecks of red and yellow.

  It lumbered clumsily into the wagon, stinking of rotten flesh and iodine. It ran its fingers through Mona’s hair and she flinched, recoiling as it then made to stroke her cheek. She thought she heard the Pierrot sigh appreciatively. Of course, it was impossible for her to know precisely what the creature was thinking; it hadn’t yet spoken a word, if it even could speak. Its breathing was slow and laboured, wheezing unsteadily through a now-decrepit processor. Its face gave nothing away, hidden beneath the permanent grin of its mask.

  Mona once more resisted the urge to gag as it leaned in even closer.

  ‘Knock knock!’ a familiar voice sounded, and someone rapped on the wood of the open door. ‘Sorry to have kept you. Is this a private party or can anyone join in?’

  The Pierrot jerked round to face the intruder, and Mona saw the Doctor leap into the trailer.

  ‘Of course.’ The Doctor sighed the moment he saw the Pierrot’s face. ‘I thought you looked familiar. Then there were the readings from the sonic: electromagnetic signals way too advanced for this period.’

  ‘Wait,’ Mona interrupted. ‘You know this thing?’

  ‘I’ve seen things like it, yeah,’ confirmed the Doctor. ‘It’s a Cyberman – or at least it was a Cyberman, once. This one’s a little crude, even by their standards.’

  ‘Cyberman?’ Mona repeated, and the Pierrot cocked its head upon hearing the name. Then, to her surprise, it started talking.

  ‘WHY – are you – HERE?’ it asked the Doctor in a strangely sing-song voice. ‘WHERE have you – COME from? WHO – who – who – WHO are YOU?’

  ‘Never mind who I am!’ snapped the Doctor, aiming his sonic screwdriver at the Pierrot.

  ‘What IS that – DEVICE?’

  ‘This? Just a trick of the trade,’ the Doctor replied. ‘Funny, I don’t remember you lot being quite so chatty.’

  Mona watched as the screwdriver’s tip glowed blue, accompanied by an unnatural, high-pitched whine. The Pierrot looked on impassively, as though it was processing this development.

  ‘Doctor!’ Mona hissed. ‘What the heck is a Cyberman?’

  The Doctor checked the readings from his sonic, considering whether to answer, then a solemn expression fell across his face. He knew he had very little time before the Pierrot designated him a threat – or worse, a potential resource.

  ‘The Cybermen were once people like you and me,’ the Doctor started, slowly edging closer to Mona. ‘They lived on a world much like this one. The only difference was, that one drifted out among the stars. The planet grew steadily colder and harsher, more and more inhospitable, until eventually their only option to survive was to reinvent themselves. Literally.’

  Mona stared at the Pierrot. It seemed somehow sadder now, though it still grinned with that blank, impassive face.

  ‘Their bodies grew weak,’ the Doctor continued, ‘so they replaced them bit by bit, swapping organs for machine parts. The only trouble was, doing that drove them mad. So guess what? They sacrificed their emotions, too.’

  ‘So what are you saying? That thing’s a machine?’

  The Doctor shook his head. ‘Part machine, part human. This one must have fallen through a breach in space–time and ended up here: nineteenth-century America, an era without technology. Normally it would upgrade itself with whatever technology it had to hand, but here?’ He glanced at the metal tools – surgical instruments, it was now clear – hanging neatly from the hooks. ‘Here it’s had no choice but to regress. If it can’t replace its machine parts when they fail, it replaces the flesh instead. Hence the missing people. This place is the perfect cover. People go missing everywhere you go, and no one ever stops to ask questions.’

  The Cyberman turned back towards Mona and stumbled forward. ‘I WILL become – LIKE YOU!’ it boomed, and Mona felt suddenly sick. As the creature moved, she noticed it was horribly lopsided. One leg was long and muscular, the other about two inches shorter, and looked like it had been attached to the body backwards. Its arms were similarly mismatched, with one hand a completely different colour from the rest of its body.

  ‘That’s why it brought me here, isn�
��t it?’ Mona realised. ‘It wanted me for … for …’ She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.

  ‘I WANT – your HEART,’ the Cyberman told her matter-of-factly.

  ‘No!’ The Doctor stepped between them. A quiet fury burned in his eyes. ‘You want a heart, you’ll have to go through me. I’ve got two of them, after all. But I’m warning you, leave her out of it!’

  ‘I want – HER heart,’ it repeated.

  ‘Well, you can’t have it!’

  ‘You DO NOT – underSTAND,’ the Pierrot Cyberman persisted. ‘I WANT – her – heart. I WANT – her heart. I WANT – I want – HER …’ It paused before continuing. ‘Mona. I WANT – MONA.’

  Suddenly the Doctor understood. ‘But that’s not possible.’ He stared into the Pierrot’s blank expression. ‘I think …’ The Doctor hesitated, then turned to Mona. ‘I think it has feelings for you!’

  Mona looked appalled. ‘That thing? Don’t be revolting. It’s a monster!’

  ‘All those upgrades must have overridden its Cyber heritage,’ the Doctor said, turning back to confront the Pierrot. ‘This isn’t right. Can’t you see? She doesn’t want this! You have to let her go.’

  The Pierrot shook its head. ‘I KNOW – what she – WANTS!’ it rasped.

  ‘No,’ protested Mona. ‘You don’t know at all! The Doctor’s right. I don’t want this. I don’t want you. I don’t want any of this. I love someone else!’

  ‘CORRect!’

  The Cyberman didn’t seem at all surprised by this revelation. It simply raised its hands, released two clasps at the side of its head, and gingerly removed the mask that had covered its face.

  Mona screamed.

  Even the Doctor struggled to deal with the sight of what now faced them.

  It had been human, once – there was no doubt about that – but all trace of humanity had long since been discarded. A ring of metal instruments had been welded into its scalp, connecting to a unit on its chest. Its eyes were just empty sockets, and the right-hand side of its jaw had apparently failed, exposing a terrible mouth of gaping flesh beneath. And the face – if you could still call it that – the face had been stolen from someone else. Thick black thread criss-crossed round the edges, fixing new skin awkwardly to old. It was a face that Mona recognised all too well.

  ‘Jacob?’ she whispered, horrified.

  The Cyberman nodded. ‘You HAVE – AFFECTION for this – VISAGE,’ it said coldly.

  Mona couldn’t bear to look any longer. That awful voice, coming out of those beautiful lips. It was all too much for her. She closed her eyes.

  ‘Okay, enough’s enough!’ the Doctor barked. ‘This ends now!’

  He wielded the sonic screwdriver squarely at the Pierrot. It looked at him from Jacob’s lifeless face, then reached out and casually plucked a bone saw from one of the hooks.

  ‘I WILL become – like YOU,’ the Cyberman told him.

  The Doctor stood his ground. ‘You’ve killed too many innocent people,’ he warned, still brandishing the sonic. ‘You cannot be allowed to carry on!’

  ‘YOU cannot – STOP me!’ The Cyberman raised the bone saw slowly above its head.

  ‘Doctor, please!’ Mona yelled. ‘You’re going to get yourself killed! Just go, please. You heard what it said. It’s not going to hurt me.’

  ‘Oh, Mona.’ The Doctor smiled sadly. ‘It already has.’

  Without another word, he activated the screwdriver and drove it firmly towards their foe. The Cyberman instantly started to scream: a horrible electronic wail mixed with feedback. It clawed at the sides of its head and dropped to its knees.

  ‘WHAT – have you – DONE?!’ it demanded feebly, a series of sparks erupting from its chest.

  ‘You’re more human than machine now,’ the Doctor told it, working at Mona’s bonds. ‘Didn’t take much to shut down your systems – including your emotional inhibitor. Thought it was time you realised you can’t just pick and choose what you want to feel!’

  ‘But it – HURTS!’ the Cyberman screamed at him.

  ‘Yeah, I know. That’s part of being human!’

  The Cyberman started to sob, crumpling in a heap on the pile of rags.

  The Doctor released the final strap and within seconds Mona was free again.

  ‘Thank you.’ She hugged him tightly.

  The Doctor shrugged it off. ‘Don’t mention it,’ he replied. ‘Now come on. It’s about time we got you away from here!’

  He ushered her out of the door, casting one last glance back at the prone, pathetic figure of the Pierrot. It made no attempt to follow. It simply whimpered, struggling to comprehend the pain it was feeling.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said the Doctor. ‘Truly, I am.’

  Then, without another word, he closed the trailer door.

  It was now the dead of night. The Doctor and Mona returned to the carnival, and Mona was silent as she tried to make sense of what had happened. She wasn’t sure how she’d ever explain Jacob’s fate to those who hadn’t seen him for themselves – or even if she should explain it. All she knew was that she’d managed to survive, but Jacob hadn’t. Jacob was gone. At that thought, a wave of nausea swept through her body, and her chest suddenly ached. It just didn’t feel real.

  The Doctor offered to stay with Mona, but she was insistent; he should go. She didn’t need anyone. That was part of why she had joined the carnival in the first place: she wanted to fight her own battles, to look out for herself. And besides, if the Doctor could save others like Jacob from such terrible monsters and terrible fates, then the last thing she wanted was to stand in his way.

  The Doctor soon returned to the trailer, knowing he couldn’t just leave the creature there, suffering. But the Cyberman was nowhere to be seen. It couldn’t have ventured far – it was too badly damaged – though with its life support disabled, he couldn’t even track it with the sonic. Perhaps it had already shut down? In any case, it couldn’t have survived for much longer. Not in the state it had been in. He left the carnival as Mona had asked, thinking sadly of the young man whom he had been too late to save.

  Time passed, and the creature did not reappear. It seemed that it had simply vanished without a trace, like so many of its unfortunate victims, and all that had survived of it was its story.

  Though sometimes, carnival folk will spy something from the corner of their eye. The quick movement of something pale, flitting past them in the darkness. Or they’ll hear a soft echo of a scream, and suddenly feel that they are being watched from the shadows. And just for a second, they’ll wonder if the Patchwork Pierrot ever really left after all …

  Nancy hurried along the narrow, gleaming corridor towards the next junction. With only her intuition to guide her, she turned left … and found herself face-to-face with a grotesque mockery of a human child. Its body was outlandishly long and thin, drawn out like stretched dough. Lank, spindly arms drooped at its sides. The features of its bizarrely long face were ghoulishly misshapen.

  Nancy halted in front of the mirrored wall that blocked her path. She paid little attention to her distorted reflection. Instead, her eyes darted anxiously around the edges of the mirror’s warped image. She was seeking what she thought she had seen out of the corner of her eye in several of the other mirrors: a flicker of movement at the very edge of her vision; a fleeting glimpse of something blood red, right behind her.

  There’s nothing there, silly, she told herself firmly. Just me. But the unpleasant sensation of being watched still prickled her skin. She turned away from the dead-end and tried her luck in the other direction.

  Nancy dearly wished she had spent her pocket money on any one of the fair’s many other attractions. Right now, it seemed that only she in the whole of Farringham had opted to experience the MIRACULOUS MIRROR MEGA-MAZE. She had done so because of a strong sense that she was meant to. As she had walked past the sideshow, images of its glittering, labyrinthine interior had flashed across her mind’s eye. Nancy knew better than to ignore he
r mind-pictures. Grandpa – the only one who knew about them – had told her to treat them as a kind of guidance; her own special sixth sense.

  So Nancy had bought a ticket and entered the mirror maze, unsure why she was supposed to, but hoping that its ‘Mind-bending, Rib-tickling Reflections!’ might make her laugh – and give her the opportunity to admire her brand-new dress.

  In reality, wandering the deserted maze alone was proving more frightening than amusing. All Nancy wanted was to find her way out, as quickly as possible. She wanted her big sister. Ruthie should have finished her ride on the dodgems with that boy from the posh school by now. She had promised to take Nancy for some candy-floss.

  As she picked a random path through the corridors of silvered glass, Nancy found it impossible not to glance into each of the mirrors she passed. A host of weird and wonderful Nancy Latimers peered back at her. A freakishly short, squat Nancy. A scrawny beanpole Nancy. A Nancy whose face sagged and drooped like melting wax. At one spot, a pair of facing mirrors on opposite walls created two infinitely receding lines of identical eight-year-old girls in canary-yellow dresses.

  To her relief, none of the mirrors held what she feared they might.

  I imagined it, she thought, feeling a little reassured. How could anything live in a mirror?

  On a hunch, Nancy took another left turn … and pulled up short, her heart suddenly in her throat. A smooth silver wall blocked the way ahead: a plain, flat mirror. Her true reflection stared back at her from it – as did that of the little girl standing right behind her.

  Nancy spun round. The corridor was deserted. Pulse thumping, she turned back.

  The girl in the mirror looked about Nancy’s own age. She was dressed for winter, in a rather old-fashioned woollen coat, scarf and gloves. There was a pretty silk bow in her hair, and she was clutching the string of a bright red balloon. She had the forlorn look of someone lost, lonely and frightened.

  Reason dictated that the mirror-child must be just another of the maze’s clever optical tricks – but all Nancy’s instincts told her otherwise. Her initial swell of fear gave way to pity. Screwing up her courage, she approached the mirror. Slowly, she reached out and laid a hand flat against it. Both girls in the mirror reflected her nervous movement, the stranger’s hand merging with that of Nancy’s reflection. They stood palm-to-palm. The glass between them felt icy cold.