DOCTOR WHO AND THE HORROR OF FANG ROCK

by Terrance Dicks

  On a remote rocky island a few miles off the Channel coast stands the Fang Rock lighthouse. There have always been tales of the beast of Fang Rock, but when the Tardis lands here with Leela and the Doctor, the force they must deal with is more sinister and deadly than the mythical beast of the past.

  It is the early 1900s, electricity is just coming into common usage, and the formless, gelatinous mass from the future must use the lighthouse generators to recharge its system. Nothing can stop this Rutan scout in its search and its experimentation on humans...

  ISBN 0 426 20009 8

  DOCTOR WHO

  AND THE

  HORROR OF FANG ROCK

  * * *

  Based on the BBC television serial The Horror of Fang Rock by Terrance Dicks by arrangement with the British Broadcasting Corporation

  * * *

  TERRANCE DICKS

  published by

  The Paperback Division of

  W. H. Allen & Co. Ltd

  CONTENTS

  Copyright

  Prologue

  1 The Terror Begins

  2 Strange Visitors

  3 Shipwreck

  4 The Survivors

  5 Return of the Dead

  6 Attack from the Unknown

  7 The Enemy Within

  8 The Bribe

  9 The Chameleon Factor

  10 The Rutan

  11 Ambush

  12 The Last Battle

  A Target Book

  Published in 1978

  by the Paperback Division of W. H. Allen & Co. Ltd.

  A Howard & Wyndham Company

  44 Hill Street, London W1X 8LB

  Text of book copyright © 1978 by Terrance Dicks

  'Doctor Who' series copyright © 1978 by the British Broadcasting Corporation

  Printed in Great Britain by

  Richard Clay (The Chaucer Press) Ltd, Bungay, Suffolk

  ISBN 0 426 20009 3

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Prologue

  The Legend of Fang Rock

  Fang Rock lighthouse, centre of a series of mysterious and terrifying events at the turn of the century, is built on a rocky island a few miles off the Channel coast. So small is the island that wherever you stand its rocks are wet with sea-spray. Everywhere you hear the endless thundering of the waves, as they crash on the jagged coastline that has given Fang Rock its name.

  The lighthouse tower is in the centre of the island. A steep flight of steps leads up to the heavy door in its base. This gives entry to the lower floor where the big steam-driven generator throbs steadily away, providing power for the electric lantern. Coal bunkers occupy the rest of this lower area.

  Winding stairs lead up to the crew room, where the men eat, sleep and spend most of their leisure time. Next to the crew room is a tiny kitchen.

  Above, more store rooms and the head keeper's private cabin, and above them the service rooms, where tools and spare parts are kept, together with rockets, maroons, flares and a variety of other warning devices.

  Finally, a short steep iron stairway leads up into the lamp room, a glassed-in circular chamber at the very top of the tower, dominated by the giant carbon-arc lamp with its gleaming glass prisms.

  Fang Rock has had an evil reputation from its earliest days. Soon after it was built two men died in mysterious circumstances, and a third went mad with fear. There have been strange rumours, stories of a great glowing beast that comes out of the sea...

  But all is forgotten now. It is the early 1900s, and the age of science is in full swing. Newly converted from oil to electricity, Fang Rock lighthouse stands tall and strong, the great shining lantern warning ships away from the jagged reefs around the little island.

  As night falls one fine autumn evening the lamp is burning steadily. The three men who make up the crew go peacefully about their duties, unaware of the night of horror that lies before them, little knowing that they would soon be caught up in a strange and terrible conflict, with the fate of the Earth itself as the final stake.

  1

  The Terror Begins

  It began with a light in the sky. It was dusk, and the lamp had just been lit. High up in the lamp room all was calm and peaceful, no sound except for the steady roar of the sea below. Young Vince saw it first. He was polishing the great telescope on the lamp-room gallery when he saw a fiery streak blazing across the darkness. Through the telescope, he tracked its progress as it curved down through the evening sky and into the sea. For a moment the sea glowed brightly at the point of impact. The glow faded, and everything was normal.

  Vince turned away from the telescope. 'Reuben! Come and look—quick now!'

  With his usual aggravating deliberation the old man finished filling an oil-lamp. 'What is it now, boy?'

  'There was this light, shot across the sky. Went under the sea it did, and the sea was all glowing. Over there.'

  Old Reuben rose stiffly, hobbled across to the telescope and peered through the eyepiece. 'Nothing there now.'

  'I told you, it went into the sea.'

  Reuben grunted. 'Could have been a what d'you call 'em... a meteor...'

  He left the telescope and Vince took his place, scanning the area of sea where the fireball had vanished. 'Whatever it was it come down pretty near us...'

  'Sight-seeing are we?' asked a sarcastic voice. 'Hoping to spot some of them bathing belles on the beach?'

  Guiltily Vince jumped away from the telescope. Ben Travers, senior keeper and engineer of Fang Rock lighthouse, was regarding him sardonically from the doorway. He was a tough, weathered man in his fifties, stern-faced but not without his own dour humour.

  Reuben chuckled. 'Young Vince here's been seeing stars.'

  Vince reddened under Ben's sceptical stare. 'I saw a light, anyway. Clear across the sky it came, and down into into the sea.'

  'Must have been a shooting star, eh?'

  'Weren't no shooting star,' said Vince obstinately. 'Seen them before I have. This was—different.'

  'Get on with you,' cackled Reuben. 'That were a shooting star, right enough. Bring you luck, boy, that will. Bit of luck coming to you.'

  'What, on this old rock? Not till my three months is up!' Keepers worked three months at a stretch, followed by an off-duty month on shore.

  Ben went to the telescope. But there was nothing to be seen but the steady swell of the sea. 'Well, whatever it was it's gone now. As long as it's not a hazard to navigation, it's no business of ours.'

  That's Ben for you, thought Vince. Duty first, last and all the time. 'I saw it, though,' he persisted. 'It was all glowing...'

  'I've heard enough about it, lad. Just you forget it and get on with your work. I'm going down to supper. Coming, Reuben?'

  Ben went down the steps, and Reuben followed. Vince returned to polishing the brass mounting of the telescope. He stared out at the dark, rolling sea. 'All the same,' he muttered, 'I know what I saw...'

  It surfaced from the depths of the sea and scanned the surrounding area with many-faceted eyes. Just ahead was a small, jagged land mass. Crowning it was a tall slender tower with a light on top that flashed at regular intervals. Clearly there were intelligent life-forms on the island. They must be studied, and eventually disposed of, it thought weakly.

  It had been severely shaken by the crash, and its energy-levels were dangerously low. The bright flashing light meant power�
��and it desperately needed power to restore its failing strength. It had already taken precautionary measures to conceal its presence and isolate the island. Slowly it moved through the sea towards the lighthouse.

  In the cosy, familiar warmth of the crew room Ben and Reuben were dealing with plates of stew, and continuing their never-ending argument.

  Reuben swallowed a mouthful of dumpling. 'Now in the old days it was all simple enough. You filled her up and trimmed the wick. That old lamp just went on burning away steady as you please.'

  'Wasn't only the lamp burned sometimes. How many oil fires were there in those days, eh? Towers gutted, men killed...'

  'Carelessness, that is. Carelessness, or drink. Oil's safe enough if you treat her right.'

  'Listen, Reuben, I've been inside a few of those old lighthouses. Like the inside of a chimney. Grease and soot everywhere, floor covered with oil and bits of wick.'

  'Never, mate, never!'

  Ben was well into his stride by now. 'And as for the light! You couldn't see it inside, let alone out. Clouds of black smoke as soon as the lamp was lit.'

  Reuben changed his ground. 'All right, then, if electricity's so good, why are they going back to oil then, tell me that?'

  Ben groaned. They'd been over this hundreds of times, but Reuben couldn't—or wouldn't—understand. 'That's an oil-vapour system, different thing altogether. They reckon it's cheaper.'

  'Well of course it's cheaper,' grumbled Reuben. 'By the time you've ferried out all that coal for your generators..

  There was a whistle from the speaking-tube on the wall. Reuben got up, unhooked the receiver and bellowed, 'Ahoy!'

  Vince snatched his ear from the receiver and winced. Reuben always bellowed so loud he hardly needed the tube. He put the tube to his lips and said, 'That you, Reuben?'

  He held the tube to his ear and grinned at the reply that sizzled from the tube. 'Oh, it's King Edward himself, is it? Well, your majesty, be kind enough to tell the principal keeper as there's a fog coming up like nobody's business.' His voice became more serious. 'Funny looking fog it is too. I never seen anything like it.'

  Reuben replaced the speaking-tube. 'Vince says there's a fog coming up.'

  'Fog? There was no sign earlier.'

  'He reckons it's a thick un, Ben. Something funny about it.'

  Ben pushed his plate back. 'Best go and see for myself. Boy's only learning, after all.'

  He hurried out of the room. Reuben mopped up the last of his stew with a hunk of bread, stuffed it into his mouth and followed him.

  Ben stared out of the gallery, shaking his head. 'Never seen a fog come up so fast—and so thick!'

  The fog seemed to be rising straight from the surface of the sea like steam. It surged and billowed round the lighthouse, isolating it in a belt of swirling grey cloud.

  Reuben looked out into the grey nothingness. 'Terrible thing, fog,' he said with gloomy relish. 'Worst thing for sailors there ever was.'

  Ben shivered. 'And feel that cold. Corning right across from Iceland that, I reckon.'

  'It's coming from where I saw that thing go into the sea,' said Vince.

  Ben rounded on him irritably. 'Give over, boy. Go and start the siren going.'

  Unexpectedly, Reuben came to Vince's support. 'He might be right though, Ben. It do seem unnatural, this fog, coming up so sudden like. I never seen anything like it.'

  'Not you too,' said Ben wearily. He nodded to Vince. 'Well, get on with it, boy. Frequent blasts on the foghorn—and I do mean frequent.'

  Reuben couldn't resist trying to score a point. 'Pity we're not still using oil. Everyone knows an oil-lamp gives better light in fog.'

  As always Ben rose to the bait. 'Rubbish, that's just an old wives' tale. Electricity's just as good in fog, and a sight more reliable.'

  The lamp went out.

  Reuben gave a satisfied cackle. The timing was perfect. 'You was saying something about reliability, Ben,' he said with heavy irony.

  Ben grabbed an oil-lamp, lit it and ran from the lamp room.

  On the other side of the tiny island there was a wheezing groaning sound and a square blue shape materialised out of the fog. It was a blue London Police Box. Out of it stepped a tall man with wide inquisitive eyes and a tangle of curly hair. He wore loose comfortable clothes, a battered soft hat and a long trailing scarf. He was followed by a dark-eyed, brown-haired girl in Victorian clothes. The man was that mysterious traveller in Space and Time known as the Doctor, and his companion was a girl called Leela.

  Leela looked round at the wet rocks and swirling fog. She shivered. 'You said I'd like Brighton. Well, I don't.'

  'Does this look like Brighton?' asked the Doctor exasperatedly.

  'How do I know? I don't know what Brighton's supposed to look like.'

  'It isn't even Hove,' mused the Doctor. 'Could be Worthing, I suppose...'

  Leela looked at the Police Box—in reality a Space/ Time craft called the TARDIS. 'The machine has failed again?'

  'No, not really,' said the Doctor defensively. 'Not failed, exactly. It's still the right planet, and I'm pretty sure we're still in the same time-zone—though we may have jumped forward a year or two. We're even in the right general area—assuming this is Worthing, of course.'

  'You can't tell!' accused Leela. 'What's gone wrong?'

  The Doctor cleared his throat. 'Well, you see, a localised condition of planetary atmospheric condensation caused a malfunction in the visual orientation circuits, or to put it another way, we got lost in the fog!'

  He took a few paces around the rocks and paused in surprise. The sea winds had cleared the fog for a second or two, and he caught a glimpse of a tall thin shape towering above them. 'How very strange!'

  'What is?'

  'A lighthouse—without a light!'

  Holding his oil-lamp high above his head, Ben hurried into the big generator room that occupied the whole of the base of the tower. The generator was still chugging busily away. It should have been producing power—but it wasn't. Puzzled, he went to examine the power feed lines. Perhaps a faulty connection... The electric lights came on again.

  Ben looked at the throbbing generator. Although he'd never admit it to Reuben, electrical science was still in its infancy, and puzzling things like this still cropped up occasionally. Something in the atmosphere perhaps. Something to do with this strange fog.

  With a last puzzled look at the generator, Ben turned and began to climb the stairs. As he left the room, the door to the coal storage bunker opened a fraction. There was a glow, and a faint crackling sound...

  As the light came on again, Vince turned triumphantly to Reuben. 'There, that didn't take long, did it?'

  Reuben scowled. A major power failure would have been a big point on his side. 'Working, not working, working again! Never know where you are with it, do you?'

  Vince shivered and slapped his arms across his chest. 'Perishing up here. I'll just go down and get my sweater.'

  'You do that, boy, and bring mine up as well.'

  Vince ran down the stairs, bumping into Ben on the landing. 'Come down for my sweater,' he explained: 'Freezing up there it is.'

  Ben followed him into the crew room. 'Same in the generator room, even with the boilers.'

  Vince went to his sea-chest, pulled out a heavy fisherman's jersey, and began pulling it over his head. 'Didn't take you long to repair her, though.'

  Ben went over to his desk and took the log book from its drawer. 'I did nothing. Came on by herself.' He took pen and ink out of the drawer and opened the log book.

  Vince stared at him. 'Came on by herself? What, for no reason?'

  'It's got me fair flummoxed, Vince. There's something going on here tonight. Something I don't understand.'

  He started writing in the log in his laborious copperplate, then paused and looked up. 'You and Reuben find all the oil-lamps you can get hold of and fill 'em up. I want several in every room—and one left burning. If the power goes again we won't be in the d
ark.'

  The Doctor and Leela were working their way over slippery wet rocks towards the lighthouse. They were very near the coastline and Leela shook her-self like a cat as a particularly violent shower of spray drenched her to the skin. She saw a light shining high above them. 'Look, Doctor!'

  'Good. We'll just knock on the door and get directions and a date and be on our way. Once I know our exact Time-Space Co-ordinates..

  Leela jumped again, as a low booming note came through the fog. 'What was that? A sea beast?' She felt for her knife, then remembered, the Doctor wouldn't let her wear it with these clothes.

  'It's only a foghorn,' said the Doctor reassuringly. 'It's to warn ships to stay away from these rocks. They might not spot the light in this fog.'

  Leela stood still, poised, staring intently into the fog.

  The Doctor said impatiently, 'Come on, Leela, you know what ships are? You saw some on the Thames, remember?'

  The Doctor had first met Leela in the future on a faraway planet. She was a descendant of a planetary survey team that had become marooned. Over the years they had degenerated into the Sevateem, a tribe of extremely warlike savages, and Leela had been one of their fiercest warriors. Her travels with the Doctor had civilised her a little—but she reverted to the primitive immediately when there was any hint of trouble.

  Part of Leela's savage inheritance was a kind of sixth sense that alerted her to the presence of danger. It was clear from the expression on her face that this instinct was in operation now. 'There is something wrong here, Doctor. Something dangerous and evil. I can feel it...'

  Vince filled another oil-lamp, lit it and set it to one side. 'Old Ben's really worried!'

  Reuben's head emerged tortoise-like from the neck of his sweater. 'So he should be, boy. Him and his precious electricity. I told him often enough...'