The Prologue to the FanFiction Series.
A/N: Please note that we do not own the rights to Doctor Who or anything in relation to it.
Echoes of the Future: G. White
Francis Strong watched from the riverside as he basked in the afternoon sun. He grinned silently to himself as he contemplated the Crownsdale Lake before him, in particular the thrill of having the lake he had swam in as a child to himself.
Beams of sunlight bounced off the lake's placid surface, and he yawned from the amount of work he had just done in the Crownsdale Manor House. All morning he had worked, unpacking goods specially imported for Jean's Tea Party. Or at the very least, her daughter. The one who had turned Francis down. The one who had rejected his every move.
He sighed, listening to the birdsong as he skimmed a stone from the river bank. His reflection in the water shimmered, distorting the image of a strong young man who was paler than all the other children he had known.
Ambling along to the sycamore tree, he considered the rumours he had heard about the Lake. He had discussed it with Julian in the Manor: in fact the whole village was in an uproar about the weird events that had encompassed the village. Saying that, he knew some of the old biddies in the village who were concerned when the church clock had stopped on its own accord the other day.
He had heard the rumours of the sounds coming from the woodland area and the Lake in particular. The local hunters described it as a constant whirring in their head. Then one night, James Peterson had heard the voice of an incredibly old man talking about a war. The speech had sent James straight to Bedlam, but his account had been written in his diary. Which Francis had read in the night as his friends courted various women.
But the interesting part of the stories was the apparition in the water. The spectre of the Lake. A legend they said.
Which was a real shame for Francis, because he had come to prove them wrong.
The birdsong ceased altogether, and in the distance Francis could hear a soft whirring. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as he breathed in, feeling the atmosphere get heavier as he did so. Even the Sun seemed to hide, as if not wanting to bear witness to the events that followed.
He told himself he should move: should run as far away as possible. But then he heard the voice whispering to him from across the water.
"This morning the British Ambassador in Berlin handed the German Government a final note stating that unless we heard from them by 11.00 a.m. that they were prepared at once to withdraw their troops from Poland, a state of war would exist between us."
He was intrigued, hooked by the persuasive voice that was echoing across the Lake. Curious, he approached the lakeside in the hope to discover a young boy calling out to him.
As if he had walked through a curtain, he walked directly through the origin of the sound. For a second, he was disorientated as a wave of noise passed over him: as if he had walked through a mist. For that split second, the voice echoed everywhere, and he saw a glimpse of a man in an Edwardian suit standing in front of a contraption with wings. In his daze, he stumbled forward and fell head first into the depths of the lake.
He fell deeper, completely forgetting the lessons his mother had taught him as a child. The water smashed into his lungs with brute force, and he saw his Death rapidly approaching. He even saw a heavenly light dwelling at the bottom of the lake: feel God's hands pulling him away from harm.
"Having fun are we Francis?" asked a pleasant voice, and Francis opened his eyes to reveal a blurry outline of a man examining him. The leg was trailing behind in some weeds at the bottom of the lake, but the face could be seen: as though seen through a murky window. Scared, Francis shut his eyes as the whirring sound started to encompass him.
"Am I dead?"
"No. Just fell through limbo into my ship I think. Just don't open your eyes or the world ends for everyone. But hey presto: a crack that can be fixed."
"Why can't I open my eyes?"
"You fell right into a pocket of time and space which seemed to have opened in the lake. A pocket of energy which is somehow directly linked to my TARDIS. You fell right into it my friend. But you just can't see the TARDIS because you're not supposed to be here!" the voice replied, and Francis could almost imagine the man pacing around him out of curiosity.
"Are you the Spectre of the Lake Crownsdale?"
"Crownsdale? Seems about right. Francis, you fell into a nasty little pocket of energy that seems to have been gathering at the bottom of Lake Crownsdale. It must have been there for a few days. I'm guessing there was probably a whole list of unexplained phenomenon. Time bleeding through a tiny little wound because of what happens in the future."
"Can you close it?"
Francis heard a whirring sound near his ear, followed by the sound of voices in the distance. He was tempted to open his eyes: to discover who was talking. The ghost for one, but another voice was there also. A voice he didn't recognise.
"Francis, I'm just going to scan you with this scanny thing. I love my scanner: all buttons and gizmos and stuff."
The longest silence Francis had ever experienced washed over him as he heard a series of beeping noises. The ghost from the lake seemed to be tutting in frustration: all whilst the sound of an engine heaving wheezed in the background.
"Francis, it seems that the pocket of energy is directly linked to you. A creative mind on which to feed on. You've always wanted life around these parts to be more exciting, so the energy feeds on you."
"You can stop it right?"
"Yeah, but it involves severing the source of the energy. It's like the pocket is feeding off your imagination, and I need to shut it down!"
There was the sound of an explosion, followed by the man's hands touching his head. Francis heard a gently whispering in his ear.
"Open your eyes now. Just for a second. Trust me, you deserve this much,"
Complying, Francis opened his eyes for a fraction of a second to reveal a young face looking back. Despite the heat that Francis could feel, the man was wearing a blue scarf, and there appeared to be a single tear shining in the back of his eyes. Then there was the colossal ship behind him, full of colour and life.
"Who are you?"
"I'm the Doctor. And I'm sorry, but this is the only solution,"
Francis saw a bright light fill his vision, and he began to feel numb. The last thing he noticed was the Doctor's face, a tear slowly falling to the floor of the TARDIS.
The Doctor leaned against the TARDIS as the young boy woke up from outside his house. Francis had jerked awake to the welcome of his doorstep.
There was a smile of relief on the Doctor's face as the young boy entered his home, dripping the lake water behind him. Nobody had died. That was a change. After sealing the pocket from the comfort of the TARDIS, the Doctor had erased a particular virus which was sustaining it. A virus which sustained itself on the young boy.
As he slipped back inside the TARDIS, prepared for the thrill of another adventure, the Doctor flashed back to the events of the boy's future. Of the Doctor's past. Of how the revelations had shaken him to the core.
Only one thing he could do now. Travel with his companions who awaited him inside the TARDIS. The Doctor took a sigh of relief, watching on the scanner as what appeared to be a series of squiggles merged into a familiar pattern. His hand wavering for a second, the Doctor turned off the last switch in the TARDIS and angled for the future.
Show time.