The Time of Change

A Town Called Christmas

Clara grabs my arm through my tweed jacket as we set out of the TARDIS again. She wraps her fingers around the crook of my elbow. I try not to notice how the big coat she chose to put on was her favorite winter item from the Wardrobe Room. "Oh, it's good to be wearing clothes again. That's so much better, don't you think?"

I don't answer. I'm drinking in the surroundings, looking at the beauty and quaintness of it all. The huge, snowy evergreens that circumference the edges of this little town are decorated with sparkly lights, and posts planted here and there have big lamps on the tops of them. There are tiny townhouses and cabins spaced out evenly, perfectly, and all of them have about the same build. The snow falls gently from the dark sky, not like before, where it was trying to blind us. I adjust the top hat on my head, my right hand a bit awkward due to the thick mittens on it. Ice crunches beneath our feet in a wonderfully inviting way. I touch the sonic to a few things every now and then, scanning this or checking on that. Nothing seems out of the ordinary, and certainly not extraordinary. Clara and I stroll past a huge fountain, long frozen solid in mid-flow. I glance at its shimmery surface and wonder how long it's been winter here.

"Now," I say lowly, "what do we make of this place? It's two o'clock in the afternoon. Must be very short days here." She nods at my words but doesn't respond verbally. I cast my eyes around, searching, and see it. I point my hand toward the tallest building around. Its front is entirely taken up by an enormous clock face, its minute hand on the Roman numeral twelve and the hour hand on the two, exactly. There's something like a viewing balcony right below the clock. "The message is coming from that tower," I say. Clara pulls on my arm, and I follow her eyes to an elderly couple hobbling towards us. "Hello!" I call good-naturedly. "Hello, there! Right," I add under my breath to Clara, "we're a couple from the next town over. My name's probably Hank or Rock, something like that."

"Or Daisy?" she supplies.

"Shut up," I reply, and now I look at the newcomers. I smile widely. "Hello, good to meet you! Nice snow." I gesture upward toward the sky. The man grins and says, "I'm Abramal, and this is Marta. Most pleasant to meet you too." The woman nods energetically. "Most pleasant! Most pleasant."

"I'm the Doctor," I say smilingly. "I'm a Timelord from the planet Gallifrey. I stole a time machine and ran away and I've been flouting the principle law of my people ever since." I stop, touching my mouth with a gloved hand. Clara stares at me as if I've just sprouted a second head. "That wasn't quite what I meant to say," I laugh, nervous. Clara laughs along with me, and the other two do as well.

"I'm Clara," she says sweetly. "I'm an English teacher from the planet Earth and I've run off with a man from space because I really fancy --" She hastily clamps a hand over her mouth, her eyes widening in shock. I grimace, partly because I hope she wasn't going to end that sentence the way I think she was, and partly because I'd entirely forgotten she was an English teacher. My heart aches, but I remember what I said, what I told myself. The voices are wrong. I'm allowed to be happy without feeling like a traitor.

The lady called Marta chuckles, "I think, perhaps, you'd better stop talking till you get used to it." I peer at her closely. "Used to what?" I inquire. Instead of answering, she looks pointedly at Clara and smiles in a motherly sort of way. "What did you say your name was, again, dear?" she asks.

"Bubbly-personality-masking bossy control freak," Clara blurts out.

"I'm wearing a wig!" I interject loudly, and now I groan, "No." What's gotten into us? Clara looks positively mortified, like she can't believe she said what she said. Neither can I. Typically I don't have any problem with lying to someone, especially when there's a good reason for it. I would have never told them who I am if I could control it, and at the moment, it doesn't seem like I can. What's happening around here? Abramal and Marta exchange a look, and something clicks in my head. "Ah! I see! Of course. It's a truth field. Oh, that is so quaint! I haven't seen a truth field in years! I'm wearing a wig," I repeat, this time more giddily, pointing at my head. The elderly couple chuckle.

"No one can lie in this town," Abramal says. "Especially this close to the tower." They smile and walk on past us. I stand here, thinking for a few seconds, and now I turn and call after them, "Doesn't that make life a bit difficult?" Marta shakes her head happily and says, "Not at all!" And at the same time, Abramal replies solemnly, "Yes." She looks at him, amused.

"This town," I continue, my eyebrows pulling together. "What's it called?"

"It's Christmas," says Marta.

"It's July," I tell her matter-of-factly.

"No, the town," she titters. "The town is Christmas. That's what it's called!" Abramal nods, smiling at her with love. "Be happy here," he tells us seriously. "Be well." My skin crawls at the tone of his voice, and they walk away, arm in arm. Clara stands a bit closer to me than before and asks, "How can a town be called Christmas?"

"I don't know," I reply. "How can an island be called Easter? Maybe it's just nice here. I almost hate to find out what's wrong." Just as my sentence leaves my lips, a sound vibrates off the ice of the frozen fountain and hits the snow on the ground around us. A simple, three-tone note sings out over the rooftops, blending in with the silent falling of the snow and the gentle blow of the wind. I look up at the sky, my thoughts running rampant and far too fast for my own comprehension, and a star twinkles there in response to the noise. Someone responding to the message.

But they're all too afraid to investigate? To find out what it is for themselves? That doesn't seem right. It doesn't make any sense. Why would they -- some of the most fearsome creatures in the whole of history, the murderers of entire species, the warriors of evil -- be scared to come to a tiny little town called Christmas and look at a clock? It almost seems as if the answer should be right there, that it's a mystery too far-fetched to have a complicated answer, that I should know and be able to figure this out. That's just it though, isn't it? The things that seem the simplest on the outside tend to be labyrinths within.