Free Doctor Who BBCN16 - Forever Autumn by Doctor Who

of the room, tail in the air. The Doctor raised his head and sniffed as if he could smell something burning. ‘That pong is unmistakeable. And my teeth are itching again. Can you smell it, Martha?’
    ‘I can smell cat pee, if that’s what you mean,’ she muttered under her breath.
    ‘Residual psychic energy!’ he exclaimed. ‘It’s all over the place. This house is steeped in it.’
    ‘Is it dangerous?’ asked Etta, glancing around nervously as if she expected to be able to see what he was talking about, like patches of dry rot staining the walls.
    ‘Won’t do you any harm,’ said the Doctor. ‘If anything, it’s good for 53

    you. Invigorates the old grey matter. Bet you’ve never had any village idiots in your clan.’
    ‘I should say not,’ said Etta a little stuffily.
    The Doctor held up his sonic screwdriver. ‘Mind if I do a bit of sonicking? Just to see what’s what?’
    Etta waved an imperious hand. ‘Be my guest.’
    The Doctor grinned and turned the sonic on. The tip glowed a brilliant, dazzling blue.
    In the black chamber, the softly pulsing green light that trickled through the veins of the place like life-blood suddenly became more agitated. The spindly giants drifting about the room, tending to various items of equipment, stopped what they were doing. One by one, their great heads creaked round and the glinting caverns of their deep-set eyes focused on the central dais. The book was convulsing in its fibrous mounting like a fibrillating heart, jagged threads of green light skittering across its surface. The leader of the creatures hissed and moved forward, placing its hands on the book. It uttered a series of alien words and phrases in its sing-song voice. The light gathered itself into a crackling knot, then leaped from the book into its hands.
    The leader opened its vast mouth wide, exposing rows of viciously pointed teeth, and let loose a breathy ululation of sound that might have been a war cry. It opened its hands and released the spitting orb of light. The light rose into the air, shedding sparks, and then with a sudden, furious flash it disappeared.
    Followed by Martha and a somewhat bewildered Etta, the Doctor wandered around the ground floor of the old lady’s house, sonic held out before him. Occasionally he would stop to thrust the device at, or into, something – a portrait of a sombre-looking man with mutton-chop whiskers in the hallway; an Ormulu clock; a basket of slightly wrinkly fruit on the dining table. Several times he stopped and doubled back, pushing between Martha and Etta as if they weren’t there, eliciting tsks of annoyance from the old woman. Once, he dropped to his knees so abruptly that Martha winced, and pressed his ear to the scuffed floorboards like a Native American tracker in an old cowboy 54

    movie.
    ‘Have you found something?’ Martha asked after she and Etta had stood there patiently for thirty seconds while he tapped and hmmed and listened.
    ‘There’s a boll weevil down there,’ he said, jumping up. ‘It’s a long way from home and it’s got a nasty cough. Poor little feller.’
    Martha and Etta exchanged a look. It was clear the old lady was growing impatient.
    ‘Yes, but have you found anything. . . relevant?’ Martha said.
    ‘Relevance is relative,’ replied the Doctor, ‘and try saying that three times quickly after a bottle of sambuca.’ He strode off again, sonicking all over the place. ‘Thing is, it’s a hard one to pinpoint. The fabric of the house has been soaking this stuff up for so many years that the entry point is hidden. It’s like looking for a red ball in a sea of identical red balls. Impossible.’
    ‘So what’s the point?’ snapped Etta. ‘Sounds to me like you might as well quit.’
    ‘ Quit? ’ exclaimed the Doctor, horrified. ‘Just because something’s impossible that’s no reason to quit. I happen to like impossible. Impossible’s a challenge. Any old chancer can do almost impossible, but the real