Doctor Who:
The Fogs of Time
Prologue
The village of Little Gordon was a quite place. Not much happened, the occasional school play, the odd jumble sale here and there. All were happy, no one had any reason to be afraid. Decades could pass in the big city, but time left the little village untouched. This was how it was for as long as anyone could remember, and this is how it remained.
Until the Fog descended.
Until The Doctor came.
The night air was cold, it bit at the old ground keepers skin as he did his rounds, torchlight jumping from headstone to headstone, creating shadows that lurched like demons of the night. He looked up, the sky was thick with clouds. Bushes and tress rustled with the faint breeze that sent chills down the old man's spine. Ahead of him the little stone path ended at an ageing old iron fence. He sighed. Swinging himself around he walked the path back through the cemetery, nothing to keep him company but the soft torchlight and his own thoughts.
Walking back through the eerie shadow of St Gordon's church, the Old Man's thoughts turned to his warm armchair in front of the fire
Without warning the torch began to flicker, the light growing ever softer, he hit the bottom of the torch, only to have it fail completely. He cursed under his breath. The Old Man looked up to find he was surrounded by dense, grey fog.
'That rolled in bloody fast.' he thought to himself. Picking up his pace he continued down the path. Bushes rustled once more, even though the wind had died. The sound of the Grounds Keeper's foot steps echoed through the night, but they were not alone.
As he sped up, so did the unknown footfalls. The fog was now so thick, it obscured the towering figure of the church. The Old Man grew confused. Breaking into a run, he ran straight through the tiny graveyard, until, BANG, his leg caught on a headstone sending the Grounds Keeper flying. The unknown steps caught up to him.
A scream rang through the thick fog, across the night, throughout the village of Little Gordon.