The Fool On Mott Hill (Doctor Who)

Chapter 2

Donna tossed and turned with vivid dreams of Santa Clause robots, spiders and floods, fire and ice. Her body convulsed and then fell still. Her breathing calmed as her mind opened and the scary images morphed into the hilltop. She found herself standing just outside the lighted cabin.

"Great. Back to sleepwalkin' again. Last time Shaun found me eatin' a hotdog while I was sittin' on the toilet. That was rich!" She mumbled.

Donna thought she saw a blue police box stationed on a neighboring hill, yet she couldn't make herself look directly at it. Her head just wouldn't turn no matter how hard she tried.

"Sod it! I'm gonna get whiplash." She carefully pushed the cabin door open, ignoring her fear. "I haven't been here in weeks. Who turned on the lights?"

Seeing Wilfred Mott was like a punch in the gut and tears rolled down her face. "Oh my God, Gramps! You're alive!"

Donna ran in but then stopped short. Her vision blurred as if she were staring at an unfinished watercolor. Two shadowy figures were in the cabin, but she only saw a blend of colors and outlines and heard indiscernible whispers.

"Gramps? Gramps? Can ya hear me?" She rapidly blinked. "I'm havin' one helluva hangover, can't even see straight. Come on, stupid." She knuckled her forehead head until she winced and the scene came into focus.

She realized that she was an invisible presence in her own dream. They couldn't see or hear her. Wilfred chatted with an eccentric, big-chinned young man and Donna's jaw dropped.

"No way. Oh, of course he's all up in my head now. Oi! You! Fishsticks and custard! Are ya hearin' me? I may 'ave fancied ya a wee bit, but i was drunk outta my noggin. So don'tchya be gettin' any ideas. Whatchya doin' trespassing in my dreams? My own hubby don't even show up in 'em."

The Bartender John Smith wore a sleek purple frock coat and bowtie. Underneath he had on a lavender dress shirt with a vest a shade darker. A gold pocket watch and chain draped across his slim waist. He looked spiff and posh... for a date in Victorian London.

When Donna felt scared her mouth became a machine gun spewing rapid-fire wisecracks. This time was no exception.

"Who does this bloke think he is with Gramps? Willy Wonka?"

She circled his chair, but he kept on staring at Wilfred with a daffy smile. A table between them was neatly set up for tea and biscuits. The same one she saw when she found her Granddad dead. Her blood ran cold. "Is this it? Did this maniac follow me home and then come and poison gramps? Am I havin' one of them psychic dreams...again?" She was afraid to voice her thoughts. It couldn't be true.

She was tempted to poke him but feared a response. "I asked whatchya doin' 'ere, then, bowtie boy? Come to take my grandad to your chocolate factory? Givin' him a golden ticket to the pearly gates? I'm thinkin' of a Beatles' song. The Fool on the Hill. Well you're the Fool on MOTT HILL! This is private property, ya know. Oi! I'm talking to you, dumbo! If I find out you murdered my..."

An unseen force shoved Donna across the room into a darkened corner and she crashed against the wall.

"Wot. Was. That?" She shouted and rubbed her head. "Owwww! Did you put a whammy on me, dumbo?" She charged forward but couldn't get past an invisible shield that rippled like clear water when she pushed on it. She tried a few times. "You better let me outta 'ere!...I'm warnin' ya!...Please?" She rubbed her arms. "Okay, whatever you are, I promise I'll behave." The shield rippled again, but stayed in place.

"Forget it, then!" She grabbed a crate behind her and sat with a huff.

Wilfred and bowtie boy's voices carried to her like echoes and snatches of conversation fading in and out. The longer she stared at John Smith the more she felt a loving familiarity, though she'd only seen him for the first time tonight. His face was a whirlwind of expressions. Being unable to sit still for more than two minutes he pranced around the room like the Nutty Professor, waggling his hands up, down and sideways as he carried on about random stuff.