'How the Angels Stole Christmas'
featuring the Doctor as depicted in 'The Man in the Long Black Coat'
and the Weeping Angels, created by Steven Moffat
A/N: This is a continuation of my still-unfinished story 'The Man in the Long Black Coat'. You don't need to have read that to appreciate this story, but if you want to, please do! Other than that, read on. Reviews would be wonderful. Merry Christmas!
Prologue
Dead Man Walking
RUE CELESTE
THE YEAR 6782
THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS EVE
Millennia ago, the people of Earth had celebrated a holiday called Christmas. What had started as a pagan celebration of the winter solstice had metamorphosed into a religious feast, commemorating the birth of an itinerant preacher one of the planet's major religions had considered to be the messiah. Over centuries, the religious connotations of the day had been subsumed by the general spirits of giving, of love and family and togetherness.
As humanity had spread amongst the stars, Christmas followed them, if not in name then at least in spirit: the shortest, coldest day of the planetary year would be marked by a feast, by gift-giving, by games and fun. The settlers of fog-choked Sardick's World, for example, called it the Crystal Feast. On Messaline, the Hath and human civilisations that shared the terraformed world enjoyed Togetherness Day.
On the planet Rue Celeste, however, it was still called Christmas.
The capital city of Rue Celeste, a town of about twenty thousand people which was also named Rue Celeste, was located in the northern hemisphere at a latitude that rarely experienced snow. On the night before Christmas Eve of the year 6782 C.E., though, snow had started falling over the town. Tinsel decorated the trees, deciduous and evergreen alike, wreaths were hanging on doors and the three moons shone merrily down as snowflakes danced towards the ground.
Barnabus Alec Merrick, mayor of Rue Celeste and effective ruler of the planet, had no interest in the beauty that surrounded him as he stalked through one of the cobblestoned streets at the edge of the town. Someone was playing a practical joke on him, and he was not impressed. A tall, stooped man with an extensive belly, he was a real estate developer who had bought his position. He was a rich, powerful individual who commanded respect from the townspeople and was quite happy to sue to protect his good name.
Rue Celeste was actually the second colony on this planet. The first had been abandoned four hundred years before Merrick Planetary Real Estate had secured the development rights. The new colony had been built over the ruins of the original one, and so whenever a new subdivision was opened up for new residences construction crews would dig up long-abandoned buildings.
Apparently, they'd uncovered one of the old places of worship. The very thought was enough to make Merrick, an irreligious man, shiver with annoyance.
"Merry Christmas, Mr. Merrick!" beamed a happy, broad-faced woman as she walked past him on the street.
"And to you," he said, largely uninterested.
A walk through the town was one of his favourite things to do. Most of the residents knew him personally and all of them were unfailingly polite. He'd created a picturesque little village, with winding streets and beautiful houses that looked like they belonged in central Europe back on Earth, five thousand years before. There were statues and fountains and not a hover vehicle in sight. Rue Celeste had spent the last ten years at the top of Colonist Monthly's year-end "Most Desired World" list, but Merrick and the Colony Board had been very selective about who to let in. All the better to increase the prestige and drive up property prices.
He reached the end of the cobblestoned street and found himself facing a chain link fence. This was the construction site. He couldn't hear any of the machinery running, which both troubled and relieved him.
"Hello?" he shouted, swiping his ID card and accessing the site.
"Mr. Merrick!" yelled a deep, booming voice. Chiliband Holm was the foreman of Construction Crew Three and he was one of Merrick's most trusted lackeys. "Merry Christmas, sir."
"And to you," Merrick growled back, impatient. "Where is it, man, where is it?'
Most of the crew had gathered around, a small army of men and women wearing mud-stained yellow coveralls and carrying tools. Holm indicated one of the holes that had been dug. A great, muddy rift in the soil.
"One of the old churches was here," Holm said as he led Merrick towards it. "We've excavated the graveyard and, well... you'll have to see for yourself."
There was scaffolding leading down into the pit and Holm and two of his men helped Merrick down. The hole would eventually be the basement for a new home, but for now it resembled the forlorn graveyard it had once been. The Intergalactic Trust required that new developments record for posterity the ruins of former civilisations and, under the archaic rules of the trust, the failed colony counted as one.
The graveyard had been divided into four quadrants by a cross-shaped path. At the centre of the path, where the two branches bisected one another, was a statue that was surprisingly intact. The grave markers, laid out in orderly rows in the quadrants, were cracked and broken, mainly, though a few still stood.
Holm led Merrick to the upper left quadrant, to a stone at the very end of a row. The sun was beginning to set and the temperature was dropping, but the snow was still falling with a pleasant softness.
He signalled for one of his crew to bring a light.
Shining the lantern down over the grave stone, he pointed at the letters that had become visible as layers of mud had been scraped away. Merrick swore very loudly. For there, on the marker, was the name BARNABUS A. MERRICK. "What kind of sick joke is this?" he demanded, whirling on Holm. "Was it you?"
"Of course not, boss," Holm said. "I don't want to get sued."
At least he was honest, Merrick thought to himself. "Must have been one of the kids, from the Open Colonisation Front."
"The OCF hasn't been around the town in months," one of the workers piped up. He was a lad of eighteen and Merrick didn't recognise him.
"Careful, boy," Merrick said threateningly. He turned to Holm. "Halt construction. I'm going to get the constable on this. We'll get to the bottom of it, you mark my words."
With that, he walked down the row of markers and back to the path. He marched past the statue, head held high. He didn't care to look at the statue's intricate craftsmanship. It depicted an elegant woman, clad in a long robe. The most striking and beautiful of the statue's features, however, were the wide, eagle-like wings that jutted from her back.
If he had looked, even for a moment, he might have noticed that when he'd arrived the woman's face had been hidden by her hands. Now, empty, stone eyes were peaking above long fingers. They were almost peering after him.
Barnabus Alec Merrick, mayor or Rue Celeste, would never have admitted that such a silly joke could shake him but of course it had. All men like him feared death; what good was wealth and bought power and galactic prestige if you weren't around to enjoy the spoils? Unsettled, he left the construction site and set off towards the village square, where the constable's office was located. Crime was almost non-existent in Rue Celeste but the Intergalactic Trust required that a peace officer be kept on staff at all times.
He muttered to himself, making a mental list of who could have done this. "Just a silly prank," he insisted to himself, but the dread that crept up his spine as he walked on gave him pause.
Night had fallen over Rue Celeste and the street lights flickered to life. The temperature was falling rapidly and most of the residents were now indoors. The constable would be clocking off soon. If he'd have bothered to look behind him, he would have seen it: a stone woman, identical to the one down in the pit. He would have seen a statue, with hands covering its eyes and wings folded behind it.
Instead, he walked on as the night grew darker and colder.
He took a turn down a side street, hoping it would be a shortcut, but he found himself in an alleyway. The doors of the houses here were locked, the curtains drawn over the windows. The sound of carollers in the distance reached him. On any other night, it might have charmed him.
As he turned around, intending to leave the alley, he saw the figure that had pursued him for the first time. He blinked. A stone statue depicting an angel. He recognised it as a creature from Earth mythology, commonly linked to Christmas. He hadn't noticed it as he'd entered the alley, and it was against zoning laws.
"Who put this there?" he said, shaking his head. Unconsciously, he blinked.
When he opened his eyes, the statue had moved. Noticeably. It was a metre closer than it had been before. He took an unthinking step backwards. His heart was beating faster, adrenalin was flowing. He was scared.
He blinked.
Now the angel was less than two metres from him. Its arms were outstretched and he could see its blank, stone eyes. Horrifyingly, its mouth was open and full of fangs.
His mouth worked soundlessly. "Wh—what is this?" he managed. Then, shouting "Who's doing this to me? I demand answers! Do you know who I am?"
His words fell on ears of stone, uncaring and unfeeling. If the people in the houses bracketing the alley could have heard him, they might have come to help. As it was, though, none of them could. Their doors were quantum locked, their houses impossible to leave or enter.
He kept his eyes wide, staring at the statue—the creature.
The street light that illuminated the alley began to flicker. The alley was plunged into darkness for a split second. That was all it took. The statue, the creature, the being, whatever it was, was on top of him, its cold, hard, stone hands fastened around his neck.
He uttered a strangled cry.
The light flickered again.
And Barnabus Alec Merrick vanished forever.