Doctor Who Story Starters

Do You See it Too?

I've always been able to see things a bit different from others. My sister calls me crazy. She acts like it's a joke but I can tell there's truth behind it. Sometimes I see small things like lies as they spill from someones lips, but sometimes it's something big. Sometimes I see expressions on statues that ought not to be there. Sometimes I see behind someone's face and see creatures that should scare me, but they've been there my whole life. The creatures are often kind and just want to live in peace, but others are here in hiding. It's best to just avoid all contact with the creatures.

However, today... today I saw a box. A strange blue box that said it was a police box, but I knew better. I looked at the box and it hurt my eyes. It was big and yet little and seemed to let off an inaudible hum, but I could hear it. I heard it with my eyes. This was no police box. I ignored it on my walk to work and thought about it throughout the entire morning shift. Even when Rebecca spilled scalding hot cocoa down my pant leg and my boss sent me home, just in case I was injured, my first thought was to go and see if the box was still there. I had an inkling that it would fly off somehow.

And so, on my walk home I came across the box again. Still there, sitting on a corner under a tree. Even though it was taking up the sidewalk, it was as though nobody saw it. They simply stepped around it as if their bodies sensed its presence and their minds completely ignored its existence. Fascinating. I watched the box expecting something to happen with it. Maybe something would come out of it? Maybe it would say something? Maybe it was watching me too? It felt... alive, somehow.

I was so distracted by my thoughts on the box that I hadn't noticed the footsteps approaching me. Suddenly, there was a man standing very near to me and I felt his warmth. I watched him in my peripheral and he was watching the box as intently as I was.

He tilted his head, "what are we looking at?"

I broke my gaze first with my head then let my eyes follow as they finally landed on his face. Styled brown hair, furrowed brows, brown eyes encompassed by gorgeous freckles. Who doesn't love freckles? He was a fine specimen for certain, but not right. Something wasn't right. There was a pounding in my eyes when I looked at him.

"Do you see it too?" I asked him quietly. I was almost trying not to let him hear. Don't want to scare off the pretty bloke with my delusions. My sister, Maggie, always warned me against letting others in the know on my strangeness.

He quirked an eyebrow and leaned into my personal space, "see what exactly?"

His voice was very pleasant and he only looked nicer from this proximity. I could feel him breathing. Steady yet on edge and entirely fascinating. What was he?

"The box," I whispered and let my eyes shoot back to the box while my head still faced him, "the box thats big and small and hurts when I look."

I know I've done it now. I've made myself look like a nutter. He pulls back sharply and I turn to face the box again. I've scared him off now. He stands tall and looks between me and the box.

"That box there?" He points, "that blue box there? That blue police box?" He's speaking loudly now, though just like the box itself, nobody seems to notice him and his outburst.

I nod dumbly and feel the blue police box give a stronger hum. Almost like she's purring.

"It hurts you? To see it?" He asked carefully, observing me.

"Not really, it just feels like too much. Like my mind can't handle what I'm seeing," I try my best to explain what I'm feeling, but that's always been difficult for me. The difference between mental and physical feeling is a very thin line for me.

"Does anything else hurt to look at?" He comes closer again. My eyes break away from the police box and watch him as he watches me. Just then I notice how tall he is. Towering over me.

"Not since the angels. Though... I think they don't like me. My sister thinks they're just statues. She calls me crazy, but I see their true faces," I keep my voice low. Just because I'm letting him know I'm crazy, doesn't mean everyone else needs to know.

It's true that sometimes I let people in on what I see, and typically I get the same response and when word reaches my family I get sent back to therapy. This man felt different though. Like he knew more than everyone else. And that pounding...

"What is that?" I demand. It was getting louder and it was coming from him.

"What is what?" The feelings rolling off of this man increased as he flipped back the sides of his trench coat and stuffed his hands in his pockets. With more of his chest exposed, one less layer of fabric between us, the sound increased. It was coming from his chest.

"The pounding, Sir. Coming from your chest?" I eyed him. For a moment he looked frightened that I was hearing a pounding, but after clarifying where it came from, he then smiled. More odd behavior.

"Ah, those are my hearts."

My stomach flipped and my heart stuttered. This is what I felt. He wasn't human. I knew it. I felt a smile grow on my face but tried to hold it back. What if this whole conversation had been with air? What if I had finally cracked?

"The box. What is it?" I ask him. He must know. He was watching me and he could see the box. His smile was knowing.

"That is my ship," he leaned away, shoulders straight and back tall," wanna take a peek?"

The box thrummed, and looking around I noticed once more how nobody seemed to take any notice of what was happening. I want this to be real more than anything. Proof for myself that I'm not crazy.

"Absolutely."

The man chuckled, his grin so wide that all his teeth were bared. It was a beautiful smile. He grabbed my hand and dragged me across the street and towards the box. The blue of the wood was very lovely and vibrant. The box seemed very old. Not with chipping paint or scratches on the surface. It just felt old.

He patted the side of the box and she purred again, "I think she likes you..."

He paused and eyed me. I dropped his hand since he still held it. That was uncomfortably warm and clammy. He stared down at me and I stared back not understanding his sudden silence. Had i missed something? Did he ask me a question?

"I'm sorry, what was your name?" Something about him seemed gentler. Like the air around him became filled with a certain understanding.

"Mary. Mary Smith."

"Well, Mary, Mary Smith, would you like to come inside?"