Dead of Winter - James Goss [63]
The sea itself was glowing, glowing a bright green that spread into the mist and the rain.
It looked really bad. And in the middle of it all, madly, absurdly, were all these dancing figures in ball gowns and wigs and suits, staggering through the storm like tired clockwork.
I slapped Rory. He opened an eye. ‘Amy.’ He grinned, and closed the eye again.
‘Lover boy!’ I snapped. ‘Come on. We’ve got to stop the people on the beach from dancing.’
‘Really?’ he muttered. ‘But why… I’m so tired…’
‘Because what’s happened to you is happening to them. They’re being drained. They’re making the storm.’
‘Right…’ Rory frowned. He stood up and wobbled about a bit. He focused on the beach. ‘Blimey.’ Then he looked at me. ‘Amy, you look great.’
‘Thanks, husband.’ I nudged him. ‘Now come on.’
‘Just a second,’ he held up a hand. ‘Tell me again what you think of my dancing?’
‘You are a terrible dancer,’ I told him.
Rory nodded. ‘Just checking,’ he said, a little sadly, bless him. ‘Not an alien, then. Let’s go stop this.’
It took a while. We dragged people slowly away from their dancers, putting them down in deckchairs. Some of them looked in pretty rough shape. And some of them weren’t happy to go.
A little old lady was dancing with a baby. She wouldn’t let go of it. She kept crying over and over again.
‘Oh, my dears, look at little baby dance! Look at how happy he is! Mummy’s ever so tired but she’s going to keep on dancing because it makes my little boy laugh. Yes she is, yes she is!’
But we did it, eventually.
Old Mr Nevil, sitting on a deckchair, opened an eye. ‘Where did Stoker go?’ he muttered. ‘That was a lovely dog, you know. Ever so kind natured. Really listened. Where’s Olivia gone? Have you seen her?’ He slipped off into a deep sleep and started snoring.
Rory’s voice called me down to the sea. The baby was grabbing at him. It was floating in mid air, its tiny hands like claws, scratching at his eyes. I ran to him, trying to swat away the child.
‘Help!’ he cried.
I waded in, and it all went horribly wrong. The baby’s tiny little pudgy hands started digging into my cheeks, its face hissing at me as it pulled at my skin. All the while its mother was yelling at me, hitting me, crying, ‘It’s my baby! Don’t hurt my baby!’
The mist rose up around us and for an instant there was just the strange awful baby, with its little wavy hair and shining eyes and grabby hands. One of them clamped over my nose and mouth, pushing down, stifling me.
‘You’re not real! You’re not real!’ I tried to shout, but the creature just shook its head. I felt the blood pounding in my brain and stars began to dance in front of my eyes. I was being suffocated by a flying baby. I stumbled back, my feet splashing in the waves. The baby leered at me, and pressed down harder. I threw my hands up and fell backwards.
In the distance, over the pounding in my ears, I could hear Rory shouting. ‘Amy! Amy!’ he cried. ‘Keep away from the waves…’
The sea shockingly cold and a livid green, like the brightest pea soup you could ever imagine. And from it hands started to emerge, tugging and pulling at me. I couldn’t fight any more, I just couldn’t. I needed to breathe, I needed to stand up. I needed…
The baby shifted its entire weight onto my face, forcing my head under the water. My lungs, desperate for air, sucked in great gulps of freezing saltwater and I started to choke. And choked again, and flailed a bit and went under a second time, those weird hands forcing me down.
A hand grabbed me, pulling me up. Rory.
‘Am I glad to see you…’ I said.
A cry from the shore alerted me. Standing there was Rory. Also.
Right.
Fake Rory.
That was quick.
‘Are you all right?’ asked the Rory holding my hand. OK. Ten points.
I turned to the Rory on shore. ‘What about you, anything to say for yourself?’
‘I’m real!’ followed by ‘Blimey!’
‘Yeah, yeah, anything else?’
‘Well, at least it’s not created a duplicate of the Doctor.’
Hmm. Jealous. Twenty points.