I’m a big fan of Doctor Who, and so I decided to write a story of my own, but this one’s a little different to your typical episode on tv. Here goes :
A row of expensive cars, the sounds of a lively party coming from the house and women in expensive dresses sneaking a smoke in the shadows by the kitchen door.
“It looks like everyone’s having a good time this Christmas night”, he said to the statue at the mouth of the woods on the estate. He downed the remainder of his drink and sighed softly, before walking back to the house. He’d barely taken a few steps when the hairs on the back of his neck stood stiff.
“Chilly night, eh, my dear angel?”, he called back to the statue as he continued walking towards the ladies who were pointing at him now and laughing. “Yes, yes. Go ahead. Laugh at me, silly girls, and my scarf. You lot don’t even know that I’m the ones who made the clothes you’re ruining by standing in the damp air. You wouldn’t laugh at me, would you, my dear angel?”
He turned to blow a kiss to the statue he’d been walking away from, and screamed instead. While his scream was cut short, several more erupted from the women who’d been making fun of him.
The statue wasn’t by the woods anymore. It wasn’t smiling anymore either.
X – x – x – x – x
With the music so loud in the main hall, the screams from outside went unnoticed until the terrified women burst in shaking and white. The band stopped midway, leaving their singer to finish her high note completely out of key. The young men in attendance rushed forward to console their distressed damsels, some out of genuine care, others hoping that this might be their ‘in’ tonight.
The older generation stepped in and took control of the situation, bringing the frightened women glasses of whiskey to help calm their nerves.
“Evelyn, what happened out there? Why are all of you so frightened?’, asked the Major. He’d seen this look before, and hoped it wasn’t caused by the same thing as the last time.
Evelyn was too shaken to answer, so the Major asked her sister, Marie, the same question.
“I-I-It was h-h-horrible, M-Major. I’m still not sure exactly what we saw.’, Marie replied between violent shakes and sobs. “He was walking towards us, talking to himself, I think. We-we were making fun of him…” She trailed off into quiet sobs.
“But what happened, exactly, girls?”, asked the Major again. “Tell me everything. Leave nothing out. In the mean time, Collins and Barnes, go outside and look for our host. Since he’s the only one not here, I assume these young ladies are referring to him.”
As Collins and Barnes moved to the door, Evelyn and Marie both screamed “No!”
“You can’t go out there. It might be waiting for you too. Please, you can’t.”, Evelyn desperately begged them both.
“What might still be out there, Evelyn, what?” pushed the Major.
“The a-a-angel, M-Major.”
“The angel? What angel, Evelyn?” The Major was now more than worried. His worst fears were being realized now.
“Oh, you must think me crazy, Major, but I swear I’m telling the truth. It was an angel. The statue, I mean. At the edge of the woods, you know the one. In the name of God, I swear it true. The angel, I-I mean, the statue, moved. It was following him. It must have followed him for about twenty paces, I’m sure of it. Major, I’m not crazy.”
“I know you’re not, Evelyn my dear, I know. That wasn’t a statue. It was an angel, but one from your worst nightmares. Collins, get on the radio. Priority call to London. Tell General Holt that we have a Code Red. Tell him…the Weeping Angels are back.”
Collins saluted sharply and left the room. The crowd that had stood in shock now, started to process what they’d just heard. One of the gentlemen asked loudly “Could someone PLEASE explain what on Earth these women are babbling about, and why someone’s not gone to find our host?”
“Of course, yes. I’m sorry, sir. I’m Major Stafford from U.N.I.T. – UNified Intelligence Taskforce, and we deal with extraterrestrial and paranormal forces in secret. We aren’t dealing with a delirious woman’s nightmare or fantasy here. I’ve encountered these things before, and believe me, Sir, I’ve lost too many men to say they’re not real. Our host isn’t dead. Well, not just yet. Out there is a Weeping Angel, and quite possibly, there’s more than one.”
“A Weeping Angel? Are you sure you’ve not had a drink too many Major? And if our host isn’t dead, where is he?”
“I don’t drink, sir, and yes, a Weeping Angel. They’re creatures of Time. They feed on the life force of other beings. If an Angel touches you, you don’t die immediately. You’re sent back through time, and the energy released when you make that trip unshielded is absorbed by the Angel. Our host, most likely, is somewhere in the past, where he’ll live out his life trapped there, burning up his years sooner than he should. If the Angel is greedy, starving one, it might send him to another time as a brand new child. If he ever meets himself, he’ll cease to exist, and the Angel will feast.”
“Poppycock. You must be joking Major, and think us fools if you expect us to believe any of this. Weeping Angels? Time travel? Ha! This is real life in 2007, not H.G. Wells’ science fiction of the 19th century.”
From a corner at the far end of the room came a quiet, but firm voice. “No, sir, the Major’s right. He saved me from an Angel when I was a boy, my brother too. My father saw it in the town square, and pointed it out to us. When he turned back to look at it, it had moved twenty feet, sir. My father was standing nineteen feet from it at first. If it weren’t for the Major and his men, my brother and I would probably be wandering around in the stone age, for all I know.”
The old gentleman, like most of those present, looked at the young man incredulously.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I assure you, the Angels are real. If you see one, keep looking at it. I’m going to tell you what I was told by an impossible man from Gallifrey . Don’t blink. Whatever you do, don’t blink. Don’t even blink. The Angels can’t move when you’re looking at them. You can’t outrun them, so don’t try. Just keep looking, and don’t blink. The first things to go will be the lights. Stay in the center of the room, and stay calm. I’ll get you out of this.”
The Major and his men knew this to be a lie. They didn’t have the weapons the needed, and it would take London at least two hours to get them here. There was no chance of walking out of this building alive. The Major had seen the shadows moving through the window. It wasn’t just one Angel. The lights flickered.
They were coming. The lights started to dim as the sound of creaking stone came from atop each of the six pillars in the ballroom. It was then that the Major realized something terrible. Those weren’t sweet cherubs. The lights went out completely.
The screams were silenced quickly, but the last one to go out was the Major’s.
X – x – x- x
In the year 1866 a boy was born to a cricketer and his wife in Bromley. In 1895, the boy, now a man, had a story published. He’d written the story a few years before, but this was the final version of it : the version that put his memories to good use. Memories he couldn’t remember making, simply having since he was born. Memories that seemed to be from another life, another time.
Memories of a world of flying machines made of metal and a scarf he now hated because someone laughed at it.
There was also a strange fear of statues, but he didn’t pay it much attention. He knew that statues would never harm him, except in his fading memories.
The story was titled The Time Machine.
The man was called Herbert George Wells, and the Angel’s greed led to his birth.
A greed that makes the Angel weep.