Halfway up one of the streets was an old building built two hundred years ago, the only modern part of it being the front doors which had been converted to automatic sliding ones, replacing the old wooden double doors back in the 1980’s.
Through the front window a light shone out from inside.
Inside was an old lady, her grey hair tied up into a bun. She wore a green skirt, white blouse and a black cardigan.
She sat hunched over a table reading an old book, her wire-framed glasses threatening to slip off the end of her nose at the slightest movement of her head.
She sniffed, pushed her glasses back up and turned the page of the book.
Heather Cook was the chief librarian at the library. She had worked there for most of her life and had chosen to continue working here after retirement age. She loved the library and was determined that nothing or nobody would stop her doing what she loved doing. Not even old age.
She had fallen in love with books at a young age and had immersed herself in them as she grew up. It was her life. It was all she needed in her life.
Well, her husband as well, of course.
It was while she was reading a book on the Spanish Civil War that there was a boom of thunder outside and the lights went out.
“Dear, oh dear,” said Heather, getting up from her desk and peering out of the window.
The whole town was in darkness. A town-wide power cut, and she frowned.
She had candles somewhere so struggled about in the darkness until she reached a cupboard that stood just before the front doors. She plucked out a candle, matches and lit it.
The candle cast a warm glow around the room and she smiled. She knew she should really head home, but she liked to spend as much time here as possible.
She sat down to continue reading the book, the candle illuminating the old pages of the book.
And then she heard a noise.
It was coming from somewhere towards the back of the library. Somewhere towards the film archives.
She listened.
The sound came again.
She sighed and thought that it must be a loose panel on the air conditioning unit back there. She wrapped her cardigan tighter around her, grabbed the candle and made her way through into the main part of the library.
She past the rows and rows of library bookcases, stacked high to the ceiling with all sorts of weird and wonderful books. The closer she got to the back of the library, the darker it seemed to get.
The candle was burning down faster than she had realised it would and she felt a shiver run up her back. She chuckled at herself for feeling so scared. She’d been here this late before many times.
Suddenly there came a high-pitched noise from her pocket. It made her jumped and she dropped the candle. Thankfully the candle landed on its side and she picked it up quickly before it set anything alight, realised the high-pitched sound was her phone and plucked it from her cardigan pocket.
“Harry, what do you want?” she said, annoyed. She disliked mobile telephones, but she understood they were a necessity in this day and age.
She listened to the reply.
“Yes, I’ll be home some,” she said, trying to hide her annoyance at her pestering husband.
She listened again.
“No, I’m fine. Put the dinner in the microwave. I’ll be home soon.”
Listening again.
“Yes, you to. Goodbye.”
She put the mobile back into her pocket and let out a frustrated sigh. Harry didn’t understand her love of books. Not many people in her family had ever done. All he wanted was for her to be at home all the time, but she wanted to be at the library. This was her place. This was her home.
The sound came again and she pressed on.
She opened the double doors into the film archive just as the candle flickered again, threatening to go out.
“Damn you,” she cursed at the candle. She didn’t fancy fumbling around in the dark.
She passed the rows of film canisters and reached the air conditioning unit. All looked fine. And then she heard the sound from the side of her.
She turned quickly and on the wall she saw a shadow. A familiar shadow that she had only ever seen on the screen. A creeping, dark shadow with long finger tips.
She screamed and the candle went out.
On the floor, a few metres away from her, was a film canister which bore the name “NOSFERATU THE VAMPYRE.”
The canister was melted and broken as smoke rose from the twisted film inside.
Tylaya found the Doctor eventually. She had been searching the park for nearly 30 minutes when she found him sat on the grass next to the pond, cross-legged with a sketch pad in front of him. He was furiously drawing something with a pencil and looked to be in deep concentration.
“There you are,” she said.
He jumped and turned the pad of paper down so she couldn’t see it.
“What are you drawing?” she said, sitting beside him
“Oh, nothing,” said the Doctor. He looked out over the yellow water and smiled. “It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?”
“It is,” said Tylaya. She sighed.
“Anything wrong?”
She shook her head.
“Out with it,” said the Doctor.
“Show me your picture first,” said Tylaya.
He sighed and showed the roughly drawn picture. It showed a pencil sketch of a picturesque cul-de-sac with six, nicely designed houses. In the middle of the road stood an elderly, but grand, lady with her hands clasped in front of her.
“What is it?” said Tylaya.
“I’m not sure.” He looked more intently at the picture. “I don’t think the setting has any meaning. But it’s what’s behind the setting. And this woman, Helenia…”
“Doesn’t sound like a Human name,” said Tylaya.
“Neither does Tylaya,” said the Doctor, arching his eyebrows.
She laughed. “That’s my father for you. I was named after the daughter of an ambassador from Zenith. They were great friends.”
“That makes it even stranger that you joined an anti-alien group like the Eyeglass.”
Tylaya looked away from him. “It was never about being anti-alien. We weren’t all like that. You know that.”
“I know,” sighed the Doctor. “I’m sorry that I keep taking it out on you.”
She decided to change the subject. “What do you think the picture represents then?”
The Doctor narrowed his eyes, looking into the middle distance. “I don’t know, but I know it’s somewhere I have to get to.”
“It could be anywhere,” said Tylaya.
“I don’t think it’ll be as easy to find as you think. It may look like a normal cul-de-sac, but I think it’s meaning has great significance.”
“And what’s that.”
He ripped the paper from the pad, screwed it up and threw it into a nearby bin. “I think it’s where I can find a way to make me better.”
The Doctor and Tylaya wandered away from the pond where they found Maxus doing press ups beside the TARDIS. He jumped up when he saw them coming and stood with his hands on his hips, out of breath.
“Feel better?” said Tylaya.
“Hell, yes,” said Maxus with a big smile. “It’s been a while since I had a work out like that.”
“Yes,” said the Doctor. “The fresh air has done us all some good I think. After the traumas of Number 17 and then you being injured in Cologne, not to mention the atrocities in Thornsby…We were in need of a break.”
“Gotta keep you in shape for that wedding suit,” smiled Tylaya, thwacking him on the chest.
“Yep,” said Maxus, forcing a smile and quickly entering the TARDIS.
Tylaya’s face dropped.
The Doctor noticed. “You never told me what was wrong with you.”
She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Ty-”
She held up a finger, her eyes wide. “It doesn’t matter.”
WPC Rita Cartwright slammed the door of her police car and sighed. The rain was getting worse and her uniform was already wet. Right now she wanted to be at home, in front of the fire, curled up on the sofa with her Kindle and Shih Tzu dog, Bishop. It had been a long day and she was ready to clock off.
Instead she was standing outside a small but modern house, ready to interview an old librarian about being spooked by ghosts.
She wasn’t averse to believing in the paranormal, but she certainly wasn’t about to accept the woman’s story that she had been attacked by a vampire.
She opened the gate and walked up the garden path.
The door was opened before she could reach for the knocker. Standing there looking rather irate was a tall man with short, silver her and a too-tight pullover that exposed his ever widening waist line.
“Harry Cook?” queried Cartwright.
“We don’t want the police around,” said Mr Cook, standing in front of the door.
“The police were called. Your wife-”
“My wife was scared in the power cut. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“But the caretaker at the library-”
“Please, leave.”
“Mr Cook, I have to at least take a statement-”
“I said leave,” said Mr Cook, a little more forceful this time.
Cartwright straightened herself up. She certainly didn’t want to be spoken to like that. She knew of Mr Cook. He used to be a school teacher, and a very strict one at that. He had retired ten years ago, and she remembered being in his history class. He had always been a grumpy sod. She may have been young, but she certainly wasn’t going to let him keep interrupting her.
“Mr Cook, if you’ll please let me finish. The caretaker at the library found your wife on the floor in the film archive next to a burnt out film canister. She was terrified, muttering something about vampires. Clearly there was a break in.”
“Did you visit the library then?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Did you find evidence of a break in or the film canister?” He looked smug.
She wrinkled her nose and tried to keep her patience. “No, I didn’t.”
“Well then, my wife was obviously mistaken. Good evening, officer.”
She straightened herself up again, trying to make herself look bigger than her 5’5” self would allow. “How does your wife feel about this?”
“She’s sleeping now,” said Mr Cook.
“Mr Cook-”
“Please leave,” he said again. “There’s nothing to see here.” He folded his arms.
She sighed. “As you wish. I’ll mark it down as a misunderstanding.”
“Good,” said Mr Cook, turning around and going inside, slamming the door behind him.
As Cartwright made her way back up the garden path she muttered “miserable sod” under her breath and made her way back to her car. She unlocked the door and was about to step inside when she thought she heard a sound from somewhere nearby.
It sounded like the wheezing and groaning of some unearthly machinery. And then the sound was gone.
She frowned and got into her car, just as a shadow scuttled behind her in the orange street light’s glow.
On board the TARDIS Maxus stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel. He was drying himself down and looked in the mirror. He needed a shave and grabbed the hand towel to wipe the condensation away, when he noticed something. Slowly, in the centre of the full length mirror a line appeared. And then another line.
Maxus frowned as two words were spelt out in the steamed up mirror.
“HELP ME”
He frowned. This was absurd. Was it some psychic test from the TARDIS?
“Help who? Who are you?”
He felt stupid for saying this, but as soon as he had, another word appeared under the previous two. It stunned Maxus with his mouth agape at what he saw.
“ALICE”
“Maxus!” came Tylaya’s voice.
He jumped. “What?!” he shouted back.
“We’ve landed!” she shouted back from the console room.
“Be there in a minute,” he said. When he turned back to the mirror the words had melted away with the condensation. There was no evidence it was ever there.
He quickly dried himself, got dressed and made his way back to the console room. This was too weird. Too weird to mention…yet.
When he reached the console room Tylaya was in a duffle coat and the Doctor in a long, almost detective-like coat.
“What’s happening?” said Maxus, as the Doctor threw him a long, woollen coat.
“It’s raining,” said Tylaya.
“Jesus,” said Maxus, putting the coat on. “It was raining in Thornsby. It was snowing in Cologne.”
“The park was sunny,” said the Doctor.
“Yeah, we didn’t stay long enough,” sighed Maxus. “Where are we anyway?”
“Whitby,” smiled the Doctor.
“Exciting,” said Maxus, his thoughts still on what he saw in the shower room.
“Ah, but it is,” said the Doctor excitedly. “The Abbey, Captain Cook, Dracula! I was here at the founding of it during my Third incarnation.”
“I beg your pardon?” said Tylaya, finding herself becoming more and more accustomed to travelling with the Doctor.
“Yes, in 656. I aimed to take Jo to the building of the Abbey. I got the dates wrong and got here the day the town was founded.”
“Typical,” said Maxus with a roll of the eyes.
“So why are we here?” said Tylaya, as the Doctor opened the doors and they stepped out onto the rain soaked streets.
“I was trawling through some news reports of this time.” He went into his blazer pocket and dug out a print out of a news paper article. “Look.”
“The Daily Speak…” read Tylaya.
“A nonsense paper full of nonsense stories. Mostly. But look at the one article at the bottom.”
DRACULA COMES TO WHITBY
“Whitby residents were fearing for their lives when retired librarian, Heather Cook, 70, claimed to have been attacked by a vampire.
A neighbour, who did not wish to be named, said that the plucky pensioner had been working late in the library when she came face to face with Dracula himself.
Her terrified screams sent the Count scuttling back to the shadows, but reports have suggested that the Old One is still hiding out somewhere in the town.
Mrs Cook was unavailable for comment.”
“And when did that happen?” said Maxus, reading the article.
“About three hours ago,” said the Doctor, wiping the rain off his smooth head.
“What?” said Maxus, frowning.
“Oh, this article was published a week from now.”
“Right,” said Maxus. “But it can’t be anything too serious otherwise the report would be a lot more serious than this.”
“The Speak tends to jump from wacky story to wacky story,” said the Doctor. “The editor and even the journalist who wrote this rubbish has probably already forgotten it ever happened.”
“So we’re here to investigate, yes?”
“Yes,” said the Doctor, rubbing his hands together. “There’s a mystery here.”
Tylaya smiled. The Doctor had been so down in the dumps for such a long time, but since they had left Thornsby he had seemed so much happier. He seemed to have a purpose at last. He seemed to want to live again.
“Come on,” said the Doctor, screwing up the print out and throwing it into the TARDIS. “The Cook’s house is just around the corner.”
Heather Cook took a sip of her tea as Mr Cook - known to her as Harry - put on his raincoat. He went into the living room and put a hand on her shoulder.
She looked worriedly at him.
“I’m just off to the shop,” he said. He then rubbed her shoulder. “Don’t worry, love. You’re safe here. No one’s gonna get you.”
She nodded, but she certainly wasn’t convinced. Something was out there, and it was looking for her.
The Doctor, Tylaya and Maxus turned the corner as a police car drove past. As they headed down the street they saw Harry Cook come out of the house and walk the other way.
“Husband,” said the Doctor.
They went down the garden path and knocked out the door.
After a few moments the door opened and the small, pale Mrs Cook stood there, looking at the three of them.
“Heather Cook?” said the Doctor, leaning down a little to speak to her.
“Yes,” said Heather.
“I’m here to talk to you about your encounter with the Vampire.”
Heather Cook’s blood ran cold.
Across the road, eyes watched as the Doctor, Tylaya and Maxus went into the Cook house. A figure stood behind a hedge in front of a darkened house. The figure was dressed all in black, his face pale, his eyes sunken in. His ears were long and pointed and his front teeth dripped with saliva.
The was the face of evil.
The was the face of a vampire.
This was the face of Nosferatu.
Heather Cook her finished recounting her tale of her attack a few hours ago in the library. She had passed out after her fright and had woken up with the caretaker beside her, but she had known what she had seen. She had seen Count Orlok.
“Not Dracula then?” said Tylaya with a frown.
“No, no,” said Heather. “It was Count Orlok.”
“From the film?” said the Doctor.
“Exactly like that. The big ears, the bald head and the fingers. Those fingers…” she started shaking and took a quick sip of her tea.
“Okay, Mrs Cook,” said the Doctor, “there’s nothing to worry about now.”
“You need to go,” said Heather. “My husband will be back soon.”
“And is that a problem?” said Maxus.
“He doesn’t believe what happened to me,” said Heather. “He thinks I was imagining it. Working too late.”
“But you say the film canister was smouldering? Smoking?”
“Yes,” said Heather, draining the last of her tea. “It was the canister of Nosferatu. I used to watch that film over and over. I think it’s a marvellous film. Beautifully shot and terrifying.”
The Doctor nodded. “I was there.”
“What?” said Tylaya.
“I was there when Murnau was filming it. I was one of the camera men.”
“Get away!” said Tylaya. “Which version of you was this then?”
“Number Eight,” said the Doctor. “Before the War.” He went serious again.
Heather wasn’t listening. “It was him.”
There came the sound of footsteps up the garden path followed by the banging of the front gate.
“Leave out the back,” said the Heather. “Harry won’t be happy.”
“Oh, but really,” said the Doctor, “we need to discuss this further.”
“Please, just go.”
Reluctantly they made their way out of the front room, through the small kitchen and into the back garden. They then made their way around the side of the house and back out onto the street.
“So what now?” said Tylaya as the Doctor pulled his overcoat collar higher around him.
“I’m hungry,” said Maxus.
“Yes,” said the Doctor. “Let’s go and grab a bite to eat. Then we can discuss what Mrs Cook has told us.”
As they made their way down the street, the shadow scuttled across the street towards the Cook house.
Next time: Count Orlok makes his first kill. Coming Sunday 12th October 2014.
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