cursed!

PART ONE

eing hunted for the first time in his pitiful unexciting life meant little to Quebus Monkin at this precise moment. With heart threatening to ‘thud’ its way out of his chest, all Quebus realised was that he was being hunted. His life was in danger and in such situations his main intention was to save his neck.

Quebus surged onwards, crashing through tearing brambles which desperately tried to restrain this intruder upon hits territory. His flimsy clothes were scant protection against the hungry undergrowth which seemed, with each thorn, thistle or needle, to be wanting to carry as much flesh with it as possible.

His mind strayed back to a few hours earlier when he and his companion had set out on their journey with the intention of finding civilisation, after they had found themselves stranded upon the chill, desolation of the moors, when suddenly a huge, black shape launched itself at his friend, snarling and tearing at him as he stood in abject terror unable to do anything to help but watch the brutal killing...Quebus tried to block the image from his terror-stricken mind.

A snarl, deep and throaty rattled its warning of death from the bushes at his flank. He moaned like a naughty child and began to continue his run; legs pumping, heart thumping, lungs heaving, his stomach about to reveal its contents to the enfolding night.

Then he saw it...salvation!

A light burned with a fiery aura through the intertwining bushes that sought to block it out.

The light came from a tiny cottage of hornstone, covered with creeping ivy clambering its green fingers in a protective hug around the cottage.

Reaching out pleading hands, attempting to grasp the building that was yards away from him, Quebus exerted himself until the last. It was a wasted effort.

Salivating jaws suddenly snapped towards his view. He saw the black shape again as he had done earlier rise from the hunched position and leap with the agility of a hurdler for his jugular. As the hairy beast began to tear at its prey into his malleable flesh, he could hear voices calling…

‘They must be from heaven,’ he tried to gurgle the question. He failed.

As the voices grew in number, joined by other harsh, guttural voices, the animal which had attached itself with such furious attraction to Quebus’ throat, tensed and looked around itself. The hackles upon its matted, black hairy hide rose. They never let him devour his prey, but now it knew it was about to become the hunted unless it fled.

‘There’s the bloody fiend! Spread out, get it!’

A bulky figure broke into the small clearing to gaze with reverence and disgust, upon the twitching body at his feet. He was dressed in the typical attire of an early nineteenth century labourer.

Another swarthy bearded man joined him at his shoulder. ‘A fiend is it now, Marlok?’ The scorn was noticeable in his voice.

‘Aye, a fiend. It’s killed one of our own...poor Quebus.’ Solemnly, Marlok shook his head and hung it in shame. ‘It’s time it was finished,’ Removing the bulky pistol from his belt, Marlok plunged into the all engulfing forest as a whining howl shook the unearthly silence left in his wake…

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

eri stumbled drunkenly into the main console room and stared at the oscillating central column atop the gleaming main console. The vertical motion of the column did little to help her heaving stomach:

‘What a night!’ she murmured, clutching the door frame for support. Suddenly she felt a heavy hand slap onto her back.

‘Good morning, Peri. I trust you slept well?’ said the Doctor, like a beaming early morning sun, with a freshness of vitality that defied Peri’s imagination this early, bounced across to the console

Peri would have been violently sick on his back if she had not restrained herself. ‘Slept well? This machine of yours was bucking about like a bronco! A storm at sea would’ve been calmer.’

Lovingly, the Doctor console the console, stroking its sleek lines gently. ‘Don’t listen to her old girl. I still think you’re wonderful.’

‘That’s rich, you care more for that damn instrument panel than you do for me.’ screeched Peri, trying to remain calm but failing miserably.

‘Rubbish,’ intoned the Doctor, ‘it’s just that the TARDIS is a very sensitive machine. It needs a bit of love and affection. I can’t help what it does, after all, it’s about as predictable as English weather.’ Just to make sure the TARDIS wasn’t offended, the Time Lord gave the console another pat.

Deciding she had lost this one to the Doctor’s calm and charm, she sidled her way to his side and gazed nonchalantly at one of the flashing indicator screens. ‘Where are we going?’

‘Who knows?’ replied the Doctor, cheerfully.

Peri doubted if he did. ‘Look, can’t you control this contraption of yours?’

Rather indignantly, the Time Lord replied, ‘Who wants to control it? That’s the whole point of travelling in the TARDIS, the thrill of the unexpected’ His words were about to ring disastrously true.