Doctor Who NA08 - Nightshade by Mark Gatiss

Author:Mark Gatiss
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2011-07-13T01:06:09+00:00

DOCTOR WHO: NIGHTSHADE

DOCTOR WHO: NIGHTSHADE

Hawthorne lay back on his bed, chuckling to himself. He could hear the klaxon wailing now. They had got themselves into a pickle.

Well, crisis or no crisis, he wasn’t going to offer any advice. First thing in the morning he would take the Land Rover, drive to York and get the first train out of this rancid county. Then he would deliver his official letter of complaint and...

He turned over and pushed his hands under the pillow then jumped up in shock. There was a pool of sticky black liquid spreading across the sheet.

Surprised, he lifted his coated fingers to his face and sniffed. What was it? Pitch? Bitumen? No, it was... it was...

Tar.

Hawthorne’s spine froze. For several long minutes he was Winstanley didn’t move. There had been a voice in his quite unable to move. The harsh, unshaded light above his head. No words. Just a voice. A presence. Answering his head flickered, brightened and died.

prayers. He glanced around his cell quickly. A corona of He listened to the sound of his own stertorous breathing light sparkled round the door. With his heart in his mouth, and then swung his legs over the side of the bed.

he put a pudgy hand on the door and slowly opened it. He He would get up. Run to the door. Down the corridor. To yelped in shock at the wall of energy which filled the the control room. Everything would be all right.

corridor like sheet-lightning.

Everything...

It was beautiful. Beautiful...

Strangely, he wasn’t at all surprised when the tacky black Backing into the room, he stumbled against a chair and paw grasped his ankle.

fell to his knees.

Yes, that was only right. On your knees, he thought. He had doubted. His faith had been weak but now, oh now, his prayers had been answered. Winstanley prostrated himself before the light. Slowly, scarcely daring to breathe, he opened his eyes.

The energy before him had begun to assume a shape, pixels of delicate light swirling and swirling until a man stood before him, robed arms outstretched. The face was 194

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DOCTOR WHO: NIGHTSHADE

DOCTOR WHO: NIGHTSHADE

pale, bearded, ascetic. Light shivered over the shoulder-length hair.

‘Oh my Christ!’ sobbed Winstanley, reaching out trembling hands. ‘Oh, Christ! Christ!’

He stumbled forwards on his knees. The man’s face was Chapter Eight

kindly, the brown eyes warm and forgiving. He extended a hand: a long, finely boned hand in which a ragged hole had been torn. Blood oozed from the wound.

Winstanley took the man’s hand and pressed it to his face.

‘Blessed blood,’ he wept. ‘Sweet Jesus, forgive me.’

His eyes flicked upwards, catching a tiny change in the man’s face. The brows drew together, eyes narrowing. The Trevithick slid to the floor, his eyes darting to and fro as kindly smile creased into a mocking grin.

he willed them to become accustomed to the darkness. He Winstanley felt the stigmatic hand close around his face, could make out only indistinct shapes illuminated by the the bones of his jaw crumbling like powder. Then there was glow of the monastery.

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