Doctor Who: Bad Therapy by Matthew Jones

Author:Matthew Jones
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub, mobi
Tags: Science-Fiction:Doctor Who
ISBN: 9780426204909
Publisher: Doctor Who
Published: 1996-12-05T10:00:00+00:00

where beneath him and the hand transferred its grip from his ankle to his wrist.

The Doctor yelped in surprise and fear and yanked his hand free. The surface of the sea of dead mannequins began to heave and fall, the corpses shifting like flotsam on a rough sea. Something was coming up after him.

Whether it was tiredness or just plain fear, the last remains of the Doctor’s bravery left him; he turned and started to try to run out of the swamp. Inevitably, he lost his footing and fell face down against the bodies. They were soft, cool and dry against his face. He clawed at several of the moving bodies as he attempted to get back on to his feet. He only succeeded in tearing the skin of several of the Toys. Thick red blood seeped out of the saggy cadav-ers, adding a new chaotic pattern to the regular blue and white stripe of his pyjamas.

And then, behind him, a blank-faced mannequin erupted out of the surface of the swamp, howled in rage or perhaps in pain and then leapt at him, using its long, sharp fingernails to scratch at his face. The Doctor tried to bat it away, but his blows only glanced off its thin, muscular grey body.

It thrust itself forward until it was leaning over him, and all he could see was its empty, oval head silhouetted by the naked bulb hanging from the ceiling.

The Doctor fought on, slapping the creature’s head with the heel of his open hand. As he did so, his fingers caught in the creature’s face and he retched bile as they sunk into the thick, tacky flesh. The air around the creature’s face was filled with a rich aniseed flavour. Instinctively, he pulled his hand back, but his fingers were embedded, up to his knuckles, in the mannequin’s soft face and as they came away they tore the creature’s blank face from its head as if it were a mask.

It was a mask. And beneath it was the face of a young woman. Her eyes were wide and saucer-like. Her mouth opened to make a silent scream. Her face was blistered and inflamed by the flesh-mask. She made a few pitiful guttural sounds and then collapsed on top of the Doctor, all the fight suddenly gone out of her.

For a moment there was stillness, the silence only interrupted by the occasional rasping breath of the young woman. The Doctor stared at the pancake of flesh as he felt it shift and slide on his hand. The aniseed smell was stronger now – the Doctor was grateful for it as it hid the stench of the rotting bodies around him.

After a few minutes, the Doctor regained his footing and dragged the young woman to the far side of the room. Despite the scars and blisters left by the mask the Doctor could see that she was no more than seventeen. Her head had been roughly shaved at some point and now thin, dark stubble was growing back.

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