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I don’t think I actually want to write this down. But it’s therapeutic (?) & besides, I can always change it later if I feel like it.

It’s so difficult making these diary entries when I don’t know what day it is. There’s no time inside a time machine. Night follows day, of course; at the moment the TARDIS has decided it’s night, & all the lights are down.

I suppose that’s why I thought I was dreaming.

I was asleep in one of the libraries. (There are dozens, scattered about the place; at first I thought the books kept changing, but then I realized it was the rooms. The TARDIS likes to play musical rooms when she’s bored.) The libraries are lined with books, scrolls, datacubes, you name it, floor to ceiling, wall to wall. They have that gorgeous musty smell of old paper; one or two even have cobwebs, but I’m sure they’re merely for effect. There’s a big comfy chair & a table to put the books on & I know, I know, get to the point.

I woke up, having dropped off in the chair. Bronze Age Burials in Gloucestershire had fallen on the floor. I wandered out in that heavy dazed state one normally achieves at three in the morning when trying to find the bathroom. I hadn’t been drinking. I didn’t dare. Something might happen.

The lights were very dim. I couldn’t see clearly at first. There was a rustling sound.

I’d forgotten about the cupboard monster. But now I have a very clear recollection: Mother switching on the light, and the menacing shape in the bedroom turning out to be some pyjamas thrown over the back of a chair. I must be three, four. I remember her saying that she couldn’t sleep with the cupboard open either, closing the door. I remember her laughing.

The cupboard monster was coming towards me, very slowly, keeping against the wall as though finding its way in the dark. Little shape moving almost without sound, without apparent purpose.

It was a few seconds before I said ‘Lights on.’

I was dazzled, the light hitting the back of my eyes like a handful of nails. I was still fuzzy in the head. Stupid dream to be having.

The Doctor was coming towards me, perhaps 3 metres away. He was as white as the wall he was clinging to. His eyes were closed & I saw that he was leaving a line on the wall, a long red line that oozed softly down the white stuff like freshly applied graffiti.

I still thought it was a dream.

My eyes – I remember it felt like they were moving on their own, without me – my eyes followed the line back along the wall. Back to Ace.

She was wearing her combat suit. I’d almost got used to her wearing normal clothes. I thought how hard she’d tried to stick to at least that part of her agreement with the Doctor, & what a shame it was. What a shame.

She was holding a knife.

The Doctor said, ‘B –’ & fell down.

The line of red curved down, suddenly, & I was still just standing there. I saw his hands go to the awful spot of red on his shirt, I saw the blood squeeze out between his fingers.

Ace came towards us.

I could tell at once it wasn’t her. She doesn’t walk like that & her eyes were Blue.

I couldn’t believe any of it. I remember thinking, please don’t make me fight you, please don’t make me hurt you. But I felt calm, safe: I was waiting to wake up.

The Doctor’s hands went limp, & I saw the lines of pain on his face smooth out like an equation approaching zero. He breathed out, almost a sigh. Then there was a sort of rattling noise as he tried to take another breath & didn’t.

Ace’s eyes rolled back into her head to show the whites. She collapsed like a pile of dustbins, the knife clattering away across the floor.

Cristián, wearing a set of ridiculous blue & white striped pyjamas, came out of a side corridor & said, ‘Ace has stabbed the Doctor.’

& then I woke up.

* * *

Later. Just checked on the Doctor in the infirmary. He looks determined, but very weary. This was nearly the last straw. I think I prefer him when he’s in control of everything – he’s more frightening, but he also makes you feel more confident (& glad he’s on your side).

Cris had a proper panic, which was good, because