The Nightmare of Black Island

by Mike Tucker

  With a cry of anger, Peyne kicked the door open and stopped in amazement.

  Sprawled out on the bed, arms folded behind his head, was the Doctor.

  He sat up unhurriedly and gave her a quizzical look.

  'Room service, I hope. I'd love a cuppa.'

  Snarling, Peyne raised the gun.

  Beth Hardy looked up from her work as she heard the heavy rumble of her husband's Range Rover in the car park. She placed the glass she had been washing back on the bar and wiped her wet hands on her apron.

  She had taken down every single glass from the shelf above the bar and washed them, one by one, then polished them until they gleamed and put them back again. The job had taken hours. It was stupid, but it was the only thing she could think of to take her mind off Ali.

  After the Doctor's speech, the bar had emptied quickly, everyone hurrying back to their homes to wake their children and their neighbour's children. Outside, the village was now a cacophony of music and air horns. Someone had even found a box of fireworks from somewhere – Eric Molson from the corner shop probably – and the occasional bang from some of the bigger rockets was still rattling the windows in their frames. In among the noise was something that had not been heard for a long time in Ynys Du: the sound of children laughing.

  A few had returned to the pub, their children in tow. Tables all across the bar were scattered with board games hauled from Ali's bedroom, and the restaurant had been turned into an impromptu dance floor. Parents and children alike jiggled and danced to a collection of 1950s classics. Somewhat appropriately, 'Rock Around the Clock' was playing at the moment.

  Beth watched as a young boy, the youngest of Bob Perry's kids, slumped into a chair in the corner of the lounge bar, rubbing at his eyes with the sleeve of his dressing gown and giving a huge yawn. Almost immediately his mother was at his side, hauling him back to his feet and twirling him out on to the dance floor. Beth could see the determination in her false smile, hear the strain in her laughter. Most of the children were young and already tired by week after week of troubled sleep. They simply weren't going to be able to keep them all awake for ever. Sooner or later one of them was going to give in to their fatigue, and then the things would start to appear again.

  Beth closed her eyes and whispered a silent prayer. She had realised almost immediately the connection between the monsters and the children. She had seen things that Ali had drawn in her sketchpad and written about in her notebook stalking down the high street, all claws and teeth and childish colour schemes. These things hadn't been real creatures; they were children's monsters, combinations of every dark fairytale, every schoolyard horror story, every half-glimpsed late-night movie.

  What had scared her more than the monsters was the thought of some government agency arriving to investigate, some faceless bureaucrat bundling Ali into the back of a van and taking her away. Beth had also been having nightmares since all this had started, but hers were not of monsters. In hers her daughter lay in a sterile hospital room, tubes and needles littered across her skin, faceless men in white coats prodding and pulling at her. She wasn't going to let that happen.

  And so she had kept her fears to herself, not talking to her friends, not talking to her husband. She was sure that most if not all of her neighbours suspected the same as her. Half-finished conversations, furtive nods, smiles of sympathy, but no one with the courage to do anything. They had made the monsters part of their normal lives, fitting them into their nightly routine, as familiar as brushing teeth or putting the cat out.

  Beth almost laughed out loud. It was ludicrous. The entire village had tried to convince itself that nothing was wrong, but the truth was that everything was horribly, terribly wrong, only they were powerless to stop it. If the Doctor was right, then they were being manipulated, controlled by the machinery in the lighthouse, chained to the village, kept afraid and impotent, too scared to help themselves.

  But now the Doctor was here, now they weren't alone.

  He had been heading out of the front door when Mervyn had shrugged on his jacket and offered to drive him up to the rectory. The Doctor had given him a dazzling smile and in that moment Beth had known that everything would be all right, that he really was going to bring their daughter back.

  That had seemed like hours ago, and ever since she had been cleaning glasses, straining to hear past the music and the din outside, waiting for the sound of their car pulling into its parking spot.

  She crossed to the back door and pulled back the net curtains. The headlights from the car were dazzling her. She couldn't see properly...

  Then the headlights snapped off, the passenger door sprang open and a small figure emerged.

  Beth cried out, hauled the door open and rushed into the rain. Ali stood caked in mud with a guilty look on her face, the look she always had if she'd just been caught raiding the sweet jar or reading by torchlight under the covers of her bed.

  Beth swept her up into her arms, oblivious to the mud, not sure whether to laugh or cry. Ali squirmed in her grip, embarrassed.

  'I'm all right, Mum.'

  'Quite a handful, your Ali.'

  Beth looked up. The Doctor's friend, Rose, was standing there shivering. Her face was pale and streaked with dirt. She looked exhausted.

  'Thank you.' Beth could feel her vision blurring. 'Thank you so much for bringing her back.'

  Rose shuffled uncomfortably. 'Yeah, well, don't thank me too soon. This isn't over yet, and I don't think you're gonna like the next bit.'

  'No.'

  Beth curled a protective arm around her daughter's shoulder, her face a mixture of anger and disbelief.

  'You can't ask us to do that. Not again.'

  Rose sighed. She had known that this was going to be the tricky bit ever since the Doctor had outlined his plan. They were sitting in the old-fashioned kitchen of the pub, a welcome refuge from the cacophony of the bar. Ali sat draped in an old tartan blanket, a huge mug of hot chocolate in her hands. Her parents sat protectively on either side of her. They had barely let her out of their sight since she had got back inside the house.

  Rose had changed into an old sweatshirt and some tracksuit bottoms that Beth had lent her, feeling warm for the first time in what seemed like an age. She drained the last dregs of coffee from her mug.

  'Look, I know that this is hard for you, but the Doctor says...'

  'The Doctor says...' Mervyn slammed his palm down on the table, sending cutlery flying. 'He went up there to rescue Ali and now you just want to put her in danger again?'

  'She's not going to be in any danger!' Rose was getting exasperated now. 'I told you, there's a transmitter in the old lighthouse. That's what's been causing the nightmares. That's what's been controlling you, stopping you sorting this out for yourselves. All we've got to do is knock it out and the Cynrog are powerless.'

  'The Cynrog.' Mervyn snorted. 'Aliens with masks that live in the rectory.'

  'Yes! Disable the transmitter and it stops whatever they're up to.'

  'Then why don't I just go up there with a big hammer and smash the thing?'

  'No!' Rose banged her mug down. 'That won't help.'

  The Doctor had explained to her that simply destroying the transmitter wasn't going to do any good. Worse, it might trigger something that affected the kids permanently. It had to be disabled carefully and precisely, he had been very clear about that. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the sonic screwdriver, placing it on the dining table in front of her.

  'This is what's gonna do the job. This and someone small enough to get where it needs to be used.' She nodded at Ali. 'She can do it. Just let her come with me and we can finish this.'

  'No.'

  'Mr Hardy...'

  'I said no!' Mervyn rose to his feet, knocking his chair backwards. 'I'm warning you, girl.

  'Or what?' Rose could feel her own anger building now. 'What are you gonna do? Hit me? Throw me out? We're the ones trying to help you. Me and the Doctor. If you're too st
upid to listen to what we have to say.

  'Stop it!' Ali's voice was shrill and piercing. 'Stop it, stop it, stop it!'

  She pulled at her father's sleeve. 'Why are you shouting at Rose, Dad? She can stop it. She and the Doctor can stop the monsters!'

  Mervyn stared down at his daughter, not knowing what to say to her. Ali leaned across and picked up the sonic screwdriver, turning it over in her hand carefully. She looked up at Rose.

  'Can this thing really fix everything? Make it like it was before?'

  Rose nodded. 'The Doctor's told me exactly what he wants us to do, but we've got to hurry.'

  Ali hopped down off her chair. 'Well, let's go, then.'

  'Ali, no...'

  Mervyn reached out for his daughter, but she stepped away from him.

  'Dad, I don't want nightmares every night. I'm tired of being afraid to go to sleep and letting the monsters get out. I want to be able to play with my friends without being scared. I don't want you and Mum worrying about me.'

  She looked over to her mother. 'Mum, I know you cry every night. I don't want you to be unhappy because of me. Rose and the Doctor can put it right. I want to do something to help. Please. Let me do something. I'm not a little girl any more.'

  She turned to Rose. 'What is it that you want me to do?'

  The Doctor watched as Morton hauled himself painfully up the stairs, step after agonising step, towards the wheelchair that waited for him on the landing. One of the masked Cynrog reached down to help him, but he batted the proffered hand away angrily and slumped breathless into the ancient metal-framed chair.

  The Doctor studied the old man carefully. He had refused all offers of help, determined to make the climb on his own. Peyne had rung down to his office from the cumbersome old phone that sat on the table on the landing. The Doctor hadn't heard what had been said on the other end, but it wasn't difficult to work out.

  Then Peyne had stood in the doorway of the room, her unpleasant little disintegrator gun pointed squarely at the Doctor's chest, patiently waiting as Morton made his creaking progress up the once grand staircase.

  'Stubborn, isn't he?' the Doctor whispered conspiratorially to Peyne as Morton wiped his brow. He raised his voice. 'You should get a stair lift. Make things much easier in a big place like this. Get Miss Peyne here to send for a catalogue.'

  Morton wheeled himself over to where the Doctor stood, staring up at him with contempt. 'Always keen on airing your ideas, aren't you, Doctor?'

  'Oh, you'll find I'm full of good ideas, Mr Morton. Bursting with 'em. Every one a winner.'

  'But you're not a winner, Doctor, and it is we who are bursting with ideas. At this very moment Miss Peyne and her colleagues are working hard to put right the little hiccup that you've created and then, I'm afraid, it's business as usual.'

  'And what might your business be, Mr Morton?' The Doctor dropped down on to his haunches, bringing his face level with Morton's. Allying yourself with the Cynrog? Filling the lighthouse with psychic transmitters? Oh yes, I've been doing a little digging, turning up all sorts of interesting things, and I really don't like what I'm finding. Not one little bit.'

  He leaned closer to Morton, staring him full in the face.

  'But what's it all for, eh? You're not doing all this just to terrify a village full of children.'

  'It is a... necessary evil, Doctor.'

  'No, Nathaniel, it is not necessary.' The Doctor's voice was low and dangerous now, all sense of flippancy gone. 'It is very unnecessary. It is a sick, twisted game and it is going to stop.'

  'You think so, Doctor? You think you have all the answers?' A grim smile flickered over Morton's lined face. 'Well, come and see the prize in our... game, as you put it.'

  Morton spun his wheelchair and rolled across the landing. Peyne pushed the barrel of her blaster into the back of the Doctor's neck, catching him by the collar and hauling him to his feet. She marched him along the corridor, following Morton and his creaking chair.

  'I'm told that your people were well travelled, Doctor.' The old man's voice echoed down the dusty corridor. 'That they roamed the reaches of time and space, eternally youthful. My own short span has had precious little youth, and the breadth of my wandering has been confined to this one small planet, but look at what we have created.'

  He threw open the doors of the library.

  'Behold, the great Balor! Dark God of the Cynrog, Destroyer of Worlds!'

  TWELVE

  The Doctor stepped into the crackling, electrically charged air of the library and gave a whistle of admiration.

  'Oh, now that's impressive. Really, really impressive. I'm gonna give you eleven out of ten for that. Building a big monster in the library. A really big monster.'

  He pulled out his glasses and perched them on the end of his nose, peering at the monstrosity that hung among the lightning flashes. 'Doesn't seem quite finished to me, though. Lacking a few final touches, hm?'

  He paced slowly around the creature, squinting through the flickering light, watching as waves of energy rolled across it, modifying its form with every pass.

  'Can't quite make your mind up on the details by the look of it. I mean, I know what it's like choosing a body you're happy with!'

  He dived over to a cluster of silver machinery on one of the tables, hefting a bunch of cables in his hands.

  'Lot of power being channelled up here.' He sniffed at the cable, then ran his tongue along it. 'Mmm, psychomorphic radiation! Psychomorphic! Honestly! Anyone would think that you were trying to manufacture a body.'

  He dropped the cables with a bang.

  'That's it, isn't it? You're building a body, but that's all it is at the moment – a body, a shell, a vessel.' He snapped his fingers at the creature. 'Oi! Big fella! Anyone home?'

  The creature didn't stir. The Doctor turned back to Morton thoughtfully.

  A decidedly empty vessel'

  Morton clapped his hands slowly. 'Bravo, Doctor, bravo.'

  'What's it for, Morton?'

  As you have correctly surmised, Doctor, it is – or rather, it nearly is – a body manufactured for inhabitation by a new soul.'

  'But for whose soul?' The Doctor cast a wary look at Peyne. 'You mentioned the name Balor. I seem to remember a rather unpleasant figure from Cynrog mythology named Balor. Now, let me see if I've got this right. Balor, the general of the Cynrog hordes, left for dead after the battle of Grantran Prime, then revived through one of your questionable accelerated genetic-mutation experiments and revered as a god. Something like that anyway. I do hope you haven't been having RE lessons from Miss Peyne here?'

  Peyne hissed unpleasantly. 'Be respectful in the way you refer to our god, Time Lord.'

  'You have been listening to Miss Peyne. That's a great shame...'

  'On the contrary, Doctor, Peyne has been a great comfort to me over the years.'

  'Nathaniel, listen to me.' The Doctor's voice was urgent now. 'Whatever Peyne has told you, whatever she has promised you, the Cynrog are not to be trusted. They are vicious, brutal killers, they –'

  'They saved my life, Doctor! My life and the lives of all those in the ward!'

  'What?' The Doctor eyed Peyne suspiciously. 'What possible reason could you have for getting involved in human affairs? What are you doing with those people downstairs?'

  'You understand nothing, Doctor.' There was contempt in the Cynrog commander's voice. 'You are so typical of your race, blundering in with your high moral stance, acting as judge and jury to the universe. We are well rid of your kind.'

  'Doctor, listen to me!' Morton's voice was pleading now. 'Listen to the reasons for this. Perhaps then you will have some understanding of what we have had to endure. Of what I have had to endure.'

  The Doctor fixed Morton with a piercing gaze. 'Tell me.'

  Morton leaned back in his chair, his eyes misting with remembrance. 'I was ten years old. My cousin had come to Ynys Du with my aunt and uncle, a holiday by the sea.'

  The Doctor did a
quick calculation. 'The 1930s?'

  'It was 1935. A glorious summer. We were full of the joys of youth, Doctor. Seven of us, good friends, happy children, not so different from those that play in the streets of Ynys Du today'

  'Except that you and your friends weren't tormented by creatures.'

  'Oh, but we were, Doctor. Tormented by a creature more terrible than you can imagine.'

  'What happened to you, Morton?' The Doctor's voice was gentler now. 'What did you see?'

  'The seven of us had left our parents in the village. They were too busy with their gossip and their shopping. And my father and uncle were far too interested in the local beer to pay any attention to their errant offspring. We made our way up towards the cliff top – Ynys Du was a good deal smaller then, the woods closer, a haven of cool shadows. My cousin was never a good influence. He had stolen half a dozen cigarettes from my uncle's jacket pocket. It had been our intention to hide in the woods and smoke them.' Morton gave a grim smile. 'They say that cigarettes are bad for your health. If I had known the consequences of that particular illicit cigarette...'

  He closed his eyes, as if willing the past back to life. 'We sat on the edge of the wood, smoking our cigarettes, laughing at the younger ones coughing and spluttering, watching the sun on the waves. And then we saw it, low on the horizon, a blaze of light, pulsing, throbbing. At first we thought it was just light glinting on some great ship in the far distance, but the closer it came, the more we realised that this was no earthly ship.'

  A spacecraft.'

  Morton opened his eyes. 'It was just magnificent, Doctor, a vast disc of copper and bronze skimming over the sea. We sat watching it approach, mesmerised by its beauty, realising only far, far too late that the occupant of this magnificent machine had no control over his craft and what danger we were in.'

  'It crashed?'

  Morton nodded. 'We thought that it would smash into the cliff face, but at the last moment it lurched skyward, skimming the tree tops so close that I thought we would be able to reach out and touch it. We watched it arc overhead, and then it started to fall. We ran, terrified, as it smashed through the trees, the sound of tortured engines ringing in our ears. And then it exploded, throwing us all to the ground, splintering trees like toothpicks. We were lucky that day, or so we thought. We survived the explosion. If we had picked a slightly different spot for our nefarious activities...' Morton shrugged. 'Then perhaps things would have ended then and there and none of this would be necessary.'