Wishing Well

by Trevor Baxendale

  He wondered where the Doctor and his friend had gone.

  Abruptly concerned, Nigel went quickly to his room. It was at the top of a narrow flight of stairs, right at the front of the pub. It had a wardrobe, a TV and a single bed. There was a desk in front of a small window that overlooked the village green. It had a clear view of the well.

  Nigel locked the door of his room and went straight to the window. He didn't turn on the light, because he didn't want to be seen. He pulled back the curtain and looked out. It was getting dark now, but there was plenty of moonlight.

  The Doctor and his friend were standing by the well. They were talking to someone else – a familiar-looking old man. Barney Hackett.

  Nigel watched the three of them for a full minute before he took the stone out of his pocket.

  The blood raced through his veins as he sat down at the desk and took hold of the stone. He could already hear it whispering to him, urging him to take action. It had led him here to the village, to the well, all the way to the treasure. It had guided him and urged him and cajoled and, yes, even punished him. But now it was nearly over.

  He wouldn't let anything jeopardise his work here. Certainly not some interfering busybody.

  'What should I do?'

  -no one must interfere-

  'How can I stop him?'

  -i will stop him-

  Nigel allowed the chilly fingers to caress his mind, letting them gently search for a way into his innermost feelings, his deepest sense of self. He thought about the Doctor. The fingers probed his thoughts... touched... suddenly gripped. He had to stop himself from crying out loud. It had been an almost instinctive reaction, a reflex, as if the Doctor represented some kind of threat that was even greater than he had first realised.

  -look at him-

  Nigel's eyes snapped open, black and blood-rimmed, and he stared across the village at the Doctor and his friend.

  -watch-

  And Nigel knew then, beyond all doubt, that there could only be one option.

  The Doctor had to die.

  SIX

  The Doctor, Martha and Barney Hackett were all looking down into the black depths of the well.

  'I can't hear anything,' said Martha. She glanced at the Doctor, who just shrugged.

  'Well, he don't call up all the time,' Barney said. 'Otherwise he'd lose his voice, wouldn't he?'

  'What does it sound like?' Martha asked.

  'Like a cat of course. Sort of yowling noise. I think he misses me...'

  The Doctor straightened and scratched the back of his neck. 'Well, he's not saying anything now.'

  Martha looked at him and rolled her eyes. Barney Hackett was probably a bit daft, not to mention rather drunk. She could smell the booze on his breath. It was one thing humouring him, but this was getting silly.

  'Tell us about the legend,' the Doctor said. 'The one about the highwayman and the treasure.'

  Barney Hackett sniffed loudly. 'Some say it were Jack the Lad himself...'

  'Jack the Lad?' smiled Martha.

  'Jack Shepherd, highwayman,' explained the Doctor. 'Caused quite a stir in Regency times. Tall, thin, cool as a cucumber. Your mother would have hated him. It's where the term "Jack the Lad" comes from.'

  '... but it weren't him, really,' Barney continued. 'No one knows who it was, but let's say 'is name were Joe, an' he were on the run from the law, He'd stole gold an' jewels worth a king's ransom from the Duke o' York by all accounts an' they'd set the Bailiffs after him. Now Joe had already lost his horse, 'cos it fell lame a mile out from Buxton an' he used his last bullet to put the poor animal out of its misery. But then he were on foot, see, with the sound of gallopin' hooves close behind. If the Bailiffs caught him he'd be 'anged for sure. So he had to find somewhere to hide an' quick.'

  He was a good storyteller, Martha thought. She smiled and leaned in closer as Barney lowered his voice dramatically. 'Joe came right through Creighton Mere with the militia hot on his heels. He took one look at the well an' knew what had to be done. He tossed the bags o' loot down and then climbed over the wall. Carefully, he lowered himself down and hung on by his fingertips inside the well.

  'The militia arrived a minute later. The place was deserted. The captain rode his horse right around the village but they couldn't find old Joe. Not until a dog trotted up to the well and started barkin' loud enough to raise the dead, anyways. Suspicious, the captain checked the well and found Joe hangin' inside, holdin' on for dear life. His arms must've been gettin' tired an' he would hardly be able to feel his fingers any more. He'd hoped the horsemen would've ridden right through the village an' left him be. But when he heard the dog bark he knew the game was up. He looked up an' saw the captain of the militia looking right down at him, a cruel smile on his face.

  'Well, what was Joe to do? He'd led the Bailiffs a merry old race all the way from Leeds. He'd dropped the treasure down the well, and there was no hope of gettin' it back now. All he could do was plead for his life. But how was he to do that? What could he bargain with – him in that position, danglin' from his fingertips?' Barney leaned back and smiled. 'Well, Joe told the captain that he'd dumped the loot in the woods, an' if he pulled him up out of the well he'd show him where it was hid. Then it could be returned to the Duke, or else the captain and Joe could split the takings between 'em and call it quits. Most of the lawmen were crooked in those days anyway, so it were a perfectly reasonable suggestion.'

  Martha was captivated. 'So what happened?'

  'The captain wanted the treasure for himself of course. They always do – the greed of men knows no bounds. But he'd guessed by now that Joe had already dropped it down the well. So he leaned over and, looking Joe right in the eyes, plucked his fingertips off the wall one by one.'

  Martha swallowed.

  'They say he let out a terrible scream as he fell,' Barney continued. 'A scream that carried on an' on until they couldn't hear it no more – as if Joe had fallen all the way to Hell itself.'

  'Well,' said Martha, feeling slightly ill now. 'That's quite a story.'

  'Oh, it doesn't end there, love,' said Barney with a gleam in his eye.

  'I had a feeling you were going to say that,' said the Doctor.

  Barney just smiled. 'Joe drowned along with his loot, but his bones never did rest easy. He'd sworn vengeance on the greed of men as he fell to his death, a vow that he never gave up. The next time the captain came to the village, which was a good ten years later, when he were newly married an' was on leave, he stayed at the inn overnight. Joe was waitin' for him, though. That night he climbed up out of the well, found the captain an' his bride, and murdered 'em in their beds...'

  'All right,' said Martha after a pause, 'now it's just getting silly.'

  'Don't scoff, love,' warned the old man with a frown. 'It don't do to scoff about these things.'

  'Did Joe ever kill again?' asked the Doctor blandly. Martha could hardly believe her ears. Surely the Doctor, of all people, couldn't be taken in by this lurid tale of revenge from beyond the grave?

  'Oh yes,' Barney replied eagerly. 'Many a time have Joe's cold, wet fingers closed around the throat of some poor wretch...'

  'Now I know you're having us on,' laughed Martha. '"Cold, wet fingers"?'

  'You really don't believe me?'

  'No,' said Martha. 'I really don't. Doctor?' She threw him a challenging look.

  The Doctor opened his mouth to reply and then closed it again, as if reconsidering. He blew out his cheeks and raised his eyebrows. Finally he stuffed his hands into his pockets and said, 'Well

  'Oh shut up,' Martha said, slapping him lightly on the arm.

  'I was just going to say,' the Doctor continued, turning to look at the well, 'that there's something strange going on here and it's connected with this well. I don't know exactly what it is yet—'

  'A dead highwayman with cold wet hands?' Martha wondered drily.

  '—but I intend to find out.'

  'It's nothing but old wives' tale
s,' insisted Martha. 'You heard what Angela and Sadie said. People love this kind of stuff. They can use it on the tourists.'

  'Wait a minute, Martha.' The Doctor turned back to Barney. 'You said something before about the greed of men... What did you mean?'

  Barney Hackett said nothing. He was staring at the Doctor with a strange look in his rheumy eyes.

  'Barney?'

  The Doctor and Martha looked at him, waiting for a response, but none came. He stared back at the Doctor, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open.

  'Barney?' asked Martha. 'Are you OK?'

  A thin strand of saliva ran from the old man's mouth as he stood, unmoving. Then his eyes rolled up into his head, showing only the whites, and a gurgle of pain welled up from his throat.

  Instantly Martha moved forward to catch him. 'He's having some sort of fit!'

  'Don't touch him!' yelled the Doctor, grabbing Martha's hand and yanking her back. 'Look!'

  A strange green light was shining from Barney Hackett's open mouth. It flickered briefly and then a thin spark leapt out, like a fluorescent green tongue, and Martha jumped back with a shout of alarm.

  The light faded, but worse was to come. The old man let out an unearthly howl as his teeth seemed to move in his mouth, extending and pushing outwards like thin grey spikes from between his lips. He raised his hands and the fingers grew into long, bony sticks. Suddenly, with an unnatural crunch of breaking bones, long spines erupted from his flesh, emerging through his clothes like knitting needles.

  'What's happening to him?' gasped Martha as Barney staggered backwards. The spines were all moving, waving like the antennae of a giant cockroach, probing the air around them. The old man – hardly recognisable now – fell back and his heels drummed on the grass as the terrible metamorphosis continued. A piercing shriek of pain died on the night air as the writhing mass of twiggy legs and arms and spines looked up at the Doctor and Martha through terrified eyes.

  'What is it?' Martha demanded as the Doctor produced his sonic screwdriver. 'What is he? Some kind of alien?'

  The Doctor quickly scanned the creature with the screwdriver. 'He's as human as you are,' he said. 'Or he was...'

  A crackling green light covered Barney's body like a sheet. The Doctor said, 'His molecular structure can't cope with the accelerated mutation... it's going to collapse!'

  And with a final, deathly sigh, whatever was left of Barney Hackett turned grey, and then black, and tiny cracks spread over the remains of his body like a swarm of insects. The ashes broke into flakes of dead tissue, falling in on themselves until the chill evening wind blew them away. In seconds there was nothing left of him except a patch of grey dust in the grass.

  Martha backed away, feeling sick and weak, until she came up against the well. 'It's like he never even existed...'

  'No.' The Doctor fixed her with a burning stare. 'He existed all right — he was every bit as much alive as you or me. Something did this to him – something killed him!'

  'But... what? What could have done that?' A horrible thought suddenly hit Martha. 'Something that wanted to stop him speaking to us?'

  The Doctor circled the faint patch of dust, his features solemn. 'I don't know. His entire physiognomy was altered, right down to the molecular level. But it happened too quickly.'

  'Meaning what?'

  'The change was too drastic, too sudden. His atomic structure couldn't cope with it and just collapsed. Well, you saw it happen. But whether that was intentional or not, I just don't know.'

  'You mean something could have done that to him accidentally?'

  'It's impossible to say.' The Doctor looked at the well, and Martha pushed herself hurriedly away from it.

  'But how...?'

  The Doctor shrugged. 'Did you see that green glow? That's some kind of telekinetic force field – mental energy reacting with the visible spectrum...' He rubbed his chin, lost in thought. 'But where from? And why?'

  'We should tell the others,' said Martha, starting for the pub, but the Doctor caught her hand and held her gently back.

  'We don't know what's happened here yet, not really,' he said. 'And what could we tell them? That Barney Hackett's just turned to dust before our very eyes?'

  'Don't forget what happened before that – he turned into some kind... some kind of monster.'

  'Do you think anyone will believe us?'

  Martha's shoulders slumped. 'But... won't anyone miss him?'

  'Of course. But he lived on his own, remember. No close family or friends to come looking for him.'

  'But we can't just do nothing!'

  'We will do something. But it's too late now. It's getting dark, and we can't do anything useful until tomorrow morning. We'll go back to the TARDIS. I can run some tests and then we'll come back first thing.'

  Martha wasn't happy, and she looked back at the Drinking Hole, half expecting to find a small crowd of onlookers gathered outside. But there was no one. The village was deserted, only a few cars and Angela Hook's Land-Rover parked by the pub. Something moved in an upstairs window, and Martha glimpsed a curtain being drawn across the window of the pub's guest room. A shiver ran through her again and she suddenly felt drained.

  'It's the telekinetic energy flux,' explained the Doctor. 'Whatever happened to Barney drew its power from all around us. You need sleep.'

  Martha nodded and hooked her arm through the Doctor's as he led her away from the well. Some part of her brain registered a strange noise behind him, far away and lost in the depths of the approaching darkness: the sound of a sad, echoing cat's mew.

  SEVEN

  The next morning was overcast, as if the sun had simply decided not to bother. The Doctor seemed not to notice or care; he was up bright and early, full of energy. He'd changed his suit and plimsolls and ditched his tie, but otherwise it looked to Martha as if he'd been awake all night.

  She found him standing by the TARDIS, watching the dawn as it crept across the dry-stone walls and rolling Derbyshire hills around them. Not far away was Creighton Mere. They could see the church from here.

  'It doesn't seem right,' Martha said after a while. 'Just standing here, doing nothing. What happened to Barney was just awful.'

  'I'm not doing nothing,' retorted the Doctor. 'I'm thinking.'

  'What about?'

  'Did you used to have a garden?'

  Martha nodded, instantly transported back to the good times when her mum and dad had still been together: everyone laughing in the Jones' back garden as she tried to organise a game of tennis between herself and Tish. She was always Venus Williams, and Tish had to be Serena. Leo was ballboy, although he spent most of the time running away with the tennis ball, forcing his sisters to chase him. Happy times and places. 'Yes, we had a garden. Why?'

  'Did you ever pick up one of the big stones in the damp corner of the garden and have a look underneath?'

  'Ugh. No.'

  'I always did,' said the Doctor wistfully. 'I always wanted to see what was lurking underneath, living in the darkness. Bugs and worms and things. You'd lift up the stone and they'd all be exposed, running away from the sudden light. Except the worms – they didn't run, of course. They just sort of squirmed and shrank.'

  Martha shivered. 'And the point of all this?'

  The Doctor nodded towards Creighton Mere. 'That's what this feels like. We're going to go down there and look under the stone. See what squirms.'

  They reached the village in less than half an hour, and Martha appreciated the simple, old-fashioned beauty of the place far more this time, largely because she hadn't been rattling around inside an old Land-Rover on the way in.

  It was busier this morning. There were a few cars passing through and some children waiting for the school bus. A man was walking his dog across the village green, and on the far side were Angela Hook and Sadie Brown, standing by the well. The Land-Rover was parked nearby, the rear door open to disgorge a pile of equipment including tool boxes, buckets and coiled ropes of various lengths.


  'Morning!' said the Doctor brightly as they approached.

  The ladies seemed delighted to see them again. 'You're just in time,' announced Angela. 'We're expecting delivery of the new windlass any minute. Fancy lending a hand?'

  'Love to!'

  Martha eyed the patch of grass where Barney Hackett had turned to dust the night before. There was no sign of his remains now.

  'We're measuring up for the new roof, too,' said Sadie. 'It'll cost a bit, but we've got to have one.'

  'Otherwise rainwater and debris will just fall down the shaft and spoil the water,' explained Angela.

  'I thought you'd want rainwater,' said Martha, trying not to think about Barney.

  'No, the water comes from underground springs,' Sadie said. 'Or at least it should. One of the things we still have to check is whether the well really has gone dry.'

  'You said something yesterday about seismic movement,' the Doctor said.

  'That's right. It makes the most sense.'

  The Doctor shrugged. 'The best thing would be to go down and have a look.'

  'Well, yes, obviously,' Angela agreed. 'But we can't do that – we're not fixed up for that kind of project yet.'

  'Why not? You're getting a new windlass fitted. Once the rope's in place someone could be lowered right down into the well.' The Doctor looked expectantly at them.

  'You mean actually go down? One of us?'

  'Well, I was thinking of me, actually.'

  Angela and Sadie looked at one another. 'Do you mean that?'

  He grinned and nodded.

  'That would be marvellous,' said Angela, genuinely moved. 'We can't do it, after all. Too long in the tooth for that kind of lark – or that's what Sadie thinks anyway.'

  'And I'm always right,' smiled Sadie.

  The Doctor grinned. 'Then it looks like you're stuck with me.'

  Are you qualified?' asked Sadie. 'There are health and safety issues, after all. We don't want to be liable for anything.'