Doctor Who - 02 - The Art of Forgetting

.10. Night Thorns

Gold tried to fall asleep. He had never slept in the adventure before – he paid far too much for them to waste even a minute of projection – but now he was so tired, he could feel his head spinning. Beds in toadstool houses were soft but tiny, made for kids, so Gold's legs hung over the mattress, touching the floor. He was starring at a ribbed ceiling – those were gills of the mushroom's cap, really – and wondered when Boudicca would be coming back... Or Donna... Regardless of her weirdness; her painted face, uneven braids, and, most of all, her snappish, know-it-all attitude of someone in full control of the situation; it was kind of nice to have somebody who didn't lose her head in crisis and didn't start running, screaming, into the forest.

Gold turned his head and glanced at Ace, soundly asleep, a pillow over his face and one arm hanging down from the bed. Gold wondered just how much Ace was aware of. How much of the events was he able to understand. Ace was a great mate, but sometimes he seemed so... uncomplicated. He fell asleep within five minutes. Gold envied him so much he could feel pain behind the bridge of his nose. This spot, in between his eyes, always hurt whenever he was really mad, really sad or really scared.

Simon offered to watch over them; Gold could see his shape in the shadows. Moonlight sparkled in his short, curly hair, cutting out of darkness the whites of his eyes. But for that, Simon could well be one of many shadows filling the cabin.

A touch of cold hand almost gave Gold a premature heart attack. He groaned and jumped up in bed.

"Shuuuuush," whispered Corrie, clambering on the bed next to him. She lifted her legs up quickly, as if afraid of monsters hiding in the shadows under the bed. Monsters... Was it possible for Gold to bring them into existence with just one, stray thought? Donna forbade them to think... too much... but people cannot stop thinking. The more they want not to think about shadows under their beds, the more monsters, vampires, living, horrible dolls, clowns with murderous, lipstick smiles and predatory yellow fangs, terrible spiders, ready wrap them in their cocoons and suck their...

"Gold? Gold?!"

He blinked quickly and shook his head. He wasn't supposed to think about that! Smashing job, Gold! An 'A' for not thinking!

"What's up?" he murmured.

"They're here!"

'They're here.' Brilliant. Cryptic enough to send another wave of shivers down his spine. He pulled his legs up as well and looked around carefully, before returning his gaze to the girl's pale face. She was staring at him with wide open eyes.

"They?" he asked, absolutely not wanting to know who or what she had in mind.

"Faerie. Elves."

Shit!

"Are you sure?"

"I've heard them whispering. And I've heard that sound. Every time they're about to appear there's the sound. It's like bells or, you know, wind chimes, like the ones you'd put on the porch. They sort of whistle, it's the sound..."

"Yeah, I know, I get it," Gold muttered. "What do they want?"

"I... I... I don't... know... but..."

"Wait. No. Corrie, they're not real. They are a part of the projection, of the adventure. They can't hurt us."

"They kidnapped me mum!"

Intrigued, he rubbed his cheek. Yes, right, the rules didn't apply anymore. When those monstrosities started crawling out of the lake, Donna did not advice him and Ace to unthink them. She did not tell them to face them or to ignore them. Nothing like that. She told them to run.

But Donna was a projection herself. Maybe she was in league with fangs, tentacles, lightning bolts and little-girl's-mum-kidnapping elves.

"Fine, all right," he whispered. "You're right. So, where did you hear them?"

"Outside the window. In the garden."

"Good. We're safe inside. They won't enter. Simon barricaded the door, windows are closed, and I've checked shutters myself. They can't squeeze through the cracks, can they?"

"I don't think so," Corrie whispered after a momentary hesitation. "No, surely they can't. Me mum's crying."

Bloody hell!

"Crying?"

"I asked if she was in pain, but she didn't answer. My mum never cries," there was pure terror in Corrie's voice. "Never!"

"Corrie, listen," Gold begun, very carefully. "Your mum had a really bad day and she is in shock. She does not act normally. But once we're out of adventures... everything is going to be fine. Your mum will get better. And those two girls. And Doug."

"Doug's not moving at all."

Bloody double hell!

"Do you want me to check on him?"

Corrie nodded energetically. Gold had to repress another wave of irritation. Bloody brat, she should be asleep and not wander about checking who's moving and who's not! And why didn't she go to Simon? It was Simon who was supposed to keep vigil. But Simon slid down in his chair and was snoring gently in his sleep. Brilliant. Fabulous!

With utter unwillingness Gold lowered his legs (clowns, spiders, evil dolls, bloody hell!), got up and walked towards Alice, two girls and Doug's beds on his tip-toes. He bent over the man's shape. It was too dark to see anything, so he reached out and found his arm.

"Hey, Doug, are you all right?"

The man's arm was limp and cold under his hand. He moved his fingers higher, to the man's neck and face. Cool skin, not a slightest motion. And something delicate, soft, almost velvety under his fingertips; bits of something incredibly pleasant to touch. He took one of those bits in between his thumb and index finger and raised it towards a narrow moonlight beam streaming through the crack in the shutter. A black piece of cloth. What was it?

"What's going on? Gold?" Simon sprang up from his armchair, grabbed the paraffin lamp from the table and turned it up. Instantly the shadows escaped into the corners of the room, withdrawing from the circle of warm light. Gold's pupils contracted, reacting to the light, but not only the light.

He had a red rose's petal in his fingers. More petals were scattered across Doug's cheeks and chin. Most of them were stuffed into his wide opened mouth, though. Doug's eyes were bulging, staring; his lips blue. He wasn't breathing.

Somewhere outside the circle of light, close to the toadstool house's walls there was a flutter of wings and whistling of clay wind-catchers.