Doctor Who_ Lungbarrow - Marc Platt [22]
Her head jerked back. Her mouth gaped open. From her throat came a mysterious wheezing-vworping-groaning noise.
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Chapter Five
Disturbing the Dust
Chris stood in the police-box entrance to the TARDIS, squinting round the half-open door. In an effort to lighten the situation, he had put on the loudest shirt he could find: big orange and lemon slices on a dark-blue background, with a pair of white shorts. The sort of thing he wanted to wear on Extans Superior - tacky tourist era, not idyl ic arcadia. But when he got back, the console room doors were open and the Doctor had gone.
From the police-box door, Chris could see a tall room lit by only by the single large oil lamp that the Doctor was carrying. The sloping walls stretched into the gloom beyond the pool of light. They were formed on a framework of white branches that tapered upward into darkness. Half attic, half forest path that had accidental y strayed indoors.
The Doctor was moving stealthily away through a clutter of stacked furniture and picture frames. The furniture dwarfed him. He looked as if he had been shrunken by about a third; or as if the massive furniture had been built for giants. Occasionally, he stood on tiptoe to look at something on a tabletop. By stooping, he could walk under the taller chairs. Even so, he seemed reluctant actual y to touch anything.
Chris flexed the fingers of one hand round the hot mug of tea he was carrying. He had a root beer in the other.
The Doctor suddenly straightened up, muttered something like 'that's quite enough of that', and headed back towards the TARDIS.
Chris waited until he had almost reached the door, before emerging and blocking the way. 'There you are. I brought you this,' he said, holding out the tea.
The startled Doctor looked at the mug and took it in his free hand. Chris grasped the opportunity and slid past into the dark room. The air was warm and stale with a sort of earthy dampness that cloyed in the throat. 'Gloomy,' he said, testing the ominously creaking floor with his foot. 'What made us put down here?'
'I don't know,' flustered the Doctor. 'Time to go.' He looked from one occupied hand to the other, unable to stop Chris moving further across the area. 'Chris,' he hissed. 'Inside now!'
'OK, OK. No rush. No one's been here for years. This stuff's really built for big people, isn't it?'
The Doctor harrumphed. 'I've seen bigger.'
Chris put his beer on a tabletop level with his chest. He stooped to peer at its carved legs. Not really table legs as such, but forelimbs and hind quarters, carved in anatomical detail. He saw a movement near the floor and crouched to look. 'Bring the lamp over, Doctor,' he called.
The Doctor snatched the bottle off the table and rubbed at the tel -tale ring it had left on the surface. 'Sorry,' he said, possibly to the table, before turning back to Chris. 'Christopher, come away now.'
'Look at this,' said Chris gleeful y. He pointed to the foot of a dusty table leg. The talons of its sculpted brass claw were slowly stretching themselves as if they belonged to some drowsy animal.
The Doctor grabbed Chris by the arm and started hauling him back towards the ship.
'Don't see what the fuss is about,' complained Chris.
'Never mind!'
They were passing a monumental eye-shaped mirror that hung on one of the white tree branches. A dust web the size of a tent, which was stretched across the mirror, rippled and seemed to reach towards them. Behind it, a small gold light flickered and something whirred into life.
A strand of web drifted into Chris's eye. It stung fiercely. With a yelp, he yanked free of the Doctor's grip, rubbing at the pain.
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'Don't touch it. Don't touch it!' He heard the Doctor's voice, but it was a distant echo. The sting intensified. He flailed out with a hand and caught the web, dragging full across his face. His whole face stung. His vision clouded.
He felt sick. He struck