A wheezing and groaning sound filled the air upon the dusty plain. A tall blue box with a flashing light slowly faded into view. The light on top stopped flashing and an old man in a battered leather coat and herringbone patterned red scarf exited it. He had a craggy, careworn face and startlingly green eyes. His silvery hair was brushed up in a tuft in front and he wore a bushy white beard and mustache.
"This isn't right," he growled. "This isn't Sector Primus Six. The temporal fall out in the time vortex must be bad, old girl. It's not your fault. Take some time to rest. I'm going to try and find a decent cup of tea. The War has really affected your food machine."
With an affectionate pat of the blue box, the old man walked towards a small town he saw on the horizon.
"American old west," muttered the old man when he neared the town. "Or one of those retro colonies they have. Pretty certain this is Earth though."
As he neared the main street of the tiny town several men on horses road towards him, each brandishing a long revolver.
"Good afternoon," said the old man in the most pleasant voice he could manage. "I take it, you are the authorities here, judging by this tin stars on you."
"I'm Sheriff Davis," said the man in the center of the group. "What brings you here?"
"My feet."
"You're English."
"I am?"
"Perhaps you don't understand our way of speaking."
"The TARDIS' translators aren't infallible."
"What do you want in this town? Do you understand that, Grandad."
"Grandad, indeed!" spat the old man. "Is it against your law for a traveller to have a drink?"
"It so ain't so long as you're gone by sundown," said Davis as he turned his horse to ride off. "We'll be watching, Mister."
"Suspicious lot," whispered the old man as he headed for s building marked 'Saloon'. "Looks like I could get a drink here."
"Good day, stranger," said a young lady as soon as the old man entered the saloon. She had dark hair and eyes, and wore a dress the was falling off her shoulders. "What'll you have?"
"A cup of tea, please," said the old man as he sat down at a table.
"You're not from around here, are you," she giggled.
"That's usually the defining characteristic of a stranger. "
"You're English, aren't you?"
"That's what I've been told."
"I'm sorry, sir, but we don't have tea."
"What do you have?"
"Whiskey."
"No, thank you."
"I've got some coffee on in back. Would you like a cup."
"Yes, please," said the old man a bit more politely.
The girl came back with a steaming cup of black coffee. The old man took a sip, smiled and said, "Thank you. You Americans make a good cup of coffee. You are Americans aren't you? I'm a bit rusty on my history. I haven't had much call for it during the War."
"Were you a soldier?" asked the girl sitting down with him. "My daddy was in the war."
The old man looked a bit surprised, then he smiled, "You are referring to the American Civil War."
"I guess so. I'm Rachel. Who're you?"
"No one."
"You don't have a name? Everyone has a name, Mister."
"I don't. I lost mine during the War."
"Well, it's over now, these past three years."
"Not for me."
"I'm sorry. The war is like that. My daddy died in it, so I never forget it."
"I'm sorry for your loss," said the old man warmly. He took another sip of coffee, and changed the subject. "The Sheriff didn't seem to care for me much."
Don't take it personally," said Rachel. "He's a good, God-fearing man. It's just that strange shapes have been seen about, and folks have gone missing."
"Missing people again," the old man muttered to himself.
"What's that, Mister?"
"Is there any pattern to there disappearance?"
"Just the old house. I would go near it."
"Not even to rescue a friend."
Rachel's lip trembled and a tear ran down here cheek. "I'd give anything to see Tallulah again."
"Tallulah?" asked the old man thoughtfully. "That's an unusual name, but I've heard it before. Come on, Rachel. Let's go to that old house and find your friend."
"The Sun's soon to set!" cried Rachel. "It's not safe."
"Sure, it'll be, Rachel. I'll be with you."