This land was stricken with the troubles of a war, but that wasn't the only problem the Doctor found while wandering around the area. It didn't take long till the stench of death waved it's way inside his nose, the scent carried across the land on a gentle breeze. When he began searching around for any sort of trouble, or in his mind entertainment, the Doctor suddenly heard the most bizarre thing possible.
His TARDIS was ringing. The TARDIS was actually ringing!
Now in all his nine-hundred and something years as a Time Lord traveling throughout time and space, never once has his TARDIS rang. It wasn't an actual phone booth, so why was this happening? Of course the Doctor hurried over and looked inside the door to find there was indeed a ringing phone hanging on it's hook. Just as the Doctor reached for the phone, a frail appearing girl warned him not to. She gave no answer, and when the phone stopped its call she was gone. The Doctor continued searching this mysterious area and soon found himself stranded within a medical ward with an overly curious woman.
"Excuse me, have you seen Doctor Constantine anywhere? Or a man named Daniel? He had dark black hair, sort of poofy?"
"What's that?" She pointed to his sonic screwdriver. "Are you sick, a patient here?"
"Why aren't you hiding with all the others?"
Blimey, this woman had several questions and was demanding answers. Unfortunately for her, she had arrived during quite an impossible time for idle conversation. Already engulfed in solving the mystery of a gas-masked child freely tormenting the town with requests for his 'Mummy' was certainly a distraction from the woman still standing in the room. The leather suited man turned to her briefly, eyeing her for a just a moment before hurrying off to the opposite side off the room. He didn't speak, but instead continued along scanning the walls and doors with his peculiar device. The blue light buzzing loudly, followed by a disgruntled groan when it beeped in confirmation.
"The room is sealed," the man frowned, searching for an alternative escape route. "That thing is keeping the room detained and me inside, unable to leave."
Although speaking to himself, the man spared a glance to the woman. Perhaps she could be of use?
"Do you know this building?" His furious eyes observed her carefully, waiting for her answer.
Meanwhile the roof cracked with weight, echoing creepily and aggravation. The target was moving. Suddenly the small radio set aside on a desk began to tune itself to a frequency, a mummer heard through static.
"Mummy, where are you?"
It took only seconds for the elder man to grab the young woman's hand, bringing her close and eyes frantically locating the safest area. He backed them against a large door, locked and not willing to corporate with his device. At last the man spotted their escape, a window up high, but accessible.
He smirked, "Can you jump?"
* * *
Death has a way of changing someone. This final phase of human life is tragic, but nothing compares to those who witness the actual journey of dying. Victims of death are at least allowed silence and peace in their passing. The same cannot be said for the living counterparts who remain with the suffering of their memories. This countryside used to offer such lovely sunrises and breathtaking sunsets against the mountains. A land of tranquility and peace. Sadly these mountains have recently been tainted by unearthly demons. The soil is impure. Life unable to grow within the contamination.
Although previously a grand location for a home in the past, this area has developed a rather unpleasant reputation. Only one living soul has fought to remain within the household, a female who's memories have haunted her for years. This nightmare began in 1348, a year thought to be cursed. Death captured this land through a violent plague that sought any living creature as it's own. This included a young woman's husband. Only married for six months prior, barely through sorting the wedding presents. The blushing bride all to soon became a weeping widow, burying her beloved husband not even a year after the wedding.
Alyvia Lawrence ('nee Baker) never left her husband's side during his several weeks of agony. Even when the darkened boils broke along his flesh, a foul scent erupting from the opening wounds and Alyvia would gag horribly whenever his dressing needed changing. Devotion kept her at his aid, never wandering for a moment. Her nights were accompanied with alcohol and chains of tears that dried along her cheeks. Alyvia knew the words she spoke were false, but she continued to assure her husband that his recovery was just a day or so away. Each night after her duties were finished and she had the opportunity to reflect, Alyvia would pray to the Gods for her husband. She never gave up the hope that he would be saved. Not until his final breath was spoken: "Alyvia, my darling. You beautiful woman, do not let my death be a burden. Carry on, my love. Carry on."
These memories lingered since his death, and yet, Alyvia has honored his wish. Death brought her reality and perspective. So many people die alone in the world. Children suffering without a mother's touch or healing effort. If Alyvia had a purpose in this world, she would never allow another human to die alone. At least not those that accepted her care.
Then again, reporting horrendous sightings of cannibals did not allow her the chance to be of much assistance. Figures, trying to save her own town from the monsters that carried out their meals at the graveyards only a few feet from her property and they don't believe a word of it. Alyvia has no support left. Her parents gone and died with the plague. No siblings or remaining family. Friendships died with the words of monsters. Just Alyvia. Alone in the house where the ghost of her husband dwells.
Easy to imagine her fright when suddenly an unexplained man arrives on her doorstep. No one came out to her property, never. Every now and then Alyvia would make visits to the graveyard to deposit the bodies of dead children who had been in her care or those that she happened to find littering the streets. This man wore clothing not made by any tailors around the area. His accent was improper, not a current English accent. He almost sounded Scottish? Alyvia backed away from his offered hand, retreating inside her shadow filled house and watched him carefully. Emerald eyes so wide and frantic.The eyes of someone who has seen the truly tragic events of a world gone wrong.
His questions were rather odd, but Alyvia answered in hopes that he'd leave after wards. "It's 1350, sir." Alyvia continued to eye his suspiciously, keeping her distance from him and holding tightly to the wooden door. "You're in England." His name was obviously a fake, but she had no intention to converse with him any longer. She started to close the door, only hesitating when those familiar echoes returned to the air. The scent of decay filling her nose.
"They're coming..." She paled in the face, immediately reached for the man's sleeve and forced him inside. Alyvia slammed the door shut and locked it from the top to it's bottom. Latches, hooks, chains, the whole lot of security. She turned 'round preparing to explain herself, "Um...I'm sorry for pulling you inside, sir. But you're not safe out there right now." Her hands were nervously shaking, teeth anxiously biting at her bottom lip till it bleed drops of crimson down her chin.