Doctor Who_ Wonderland - Mark Chadbourn [10]
The Doctor obviously didn't believe me. 'Yes, yes, my dear,' he said, in a comforting tone. 'I'm sure you will.' That irritated me even more. 'Who the hell are you, anyway?' I said.
The Doctor looked flustered and uncomfortable, but said nothing.
'He's a ... traveller,' Polly interjected quickly.
'You can say that again,' Ben added.
I looked around them all and thought they were probably crazier than anybody else in the Haight.
We were interrupted by the sound of someone approaching through the
mist. I felt instantly on edge, threatened. Maybe it was a premonition; it certainly wasn't imagination because I could see it on everyone's face.
Polly clutched her belly queasily. 'What is that, Doctor?'
Whatever he was feeling, it had put him on guard. 'I'm not sure, Polly ... Something to which you humans obviously have an inherent reaction!
I noted that he said you and not we, but I was too disturbed by whatever was approaching to give it any further thought. The footsteps were deadened and distorted beneath the thickening mist; the anxiety buzz rose like white noise at the back of my head. Unconsciously, Ben formed fists.
The mist churned unnaturally as if something were pushing it away and a dark shape appeared within it. Whatever we expected, it wasn't a bearded freak in Jesus sandals, a stained vest and half-mast bell bottoms. Then we saw that something was wrong with him. He had an awkward way of walking, as though he'd once had a serious injury, and his eyes were wide and glassy. Tripping, I thought, but there was something weird about his expression that couldn't be explained by acid.
As he got closer, the cast of his face became frightening; it was almost like he was wearing a mask. Ben stepped in front of Polly. The Doctor didn't move, silently analysing the stranger.
The freak stopped a few feet away, his head held to one side as he looked at us with a creepy blank curiosity. Ben was itching to move, but the Doctor held him back with one hand on his chest.
After a moment, the stranger raised one hand and said, 'Behold, the chrysalis. Walk not through lower city heart. Pain. There are shadows. In colour waits the dream.' It made no sense, and the freak's expression grew strained, as if he realised this. He half turned, and gestured behind him.
Someone else lay hidden in the mist. It was larger, oddly shaped, certainly not a man; I had no idea what it was, but my heart began to pound as it came forward.
At the same time, the freak moved backwards, head still to one side, unblinking eyes fixed firmly on us, until the mist folded round him again like a theatre curtain, and he was gone.
'Doctor, what is it?' Polly's voice was like dry leaves. I was scared. Whatever was coming looked like some monster as the mist revealed, then hid, a sick peep show. I caught glimpses of something vaguely human, but then something that looked like giant wings, something else that looked like antenna.
The Doctor was rigid, his attention fixed. 'Oh my giddy aunt!' he exclaimed.
Finally, the creature brought itself into the arc of the street lamp, and my breath caught in my throat. 'Wow,' I muttered. 'A butterfly-man.'
And it was: a man turning into a butterfly, or a butterfly becoming a man, or some hybrid of the two. It was like some wild trip, a glorious dream that could easily turn bad.
Polly gripped the Doctor's sleeve. 'What is it?' she asked again.
Eerie silence hung over the scene, the mundane sounds of the city swallowed by the mist. The butterfly-man appeared to be floating, weightless. It paused in front of us, its multi-faceted eyes like lamps. It made a gesture, heavy with meaning but impossible to understand, reaching from its waist up above its head. The delicate, vividly coloured wings fluttered almost imperceptibly.
'It's trying to communicate with us,' Polly said.
The words had barely left her lips when the butterfly-man started to go back into the mist just like the freak had done, in an unnerving backwards motion while it kept its gaze fixed on us.
'Shall