The first chapter in my little story. Warning, everyone involved in this chapter is an OC. Other Doctor Who characters will show up in later chapters.


"Thank you all for coming," a short, thin girl with curly blonde hair said. The group of people in front of him shifted a bit, anxious to be dismissed. Scripts rustled, a boy in the crowd coughed, and in an electric saw whirred to life backstage.

"You did well for your first rehearsal, but please work on memorization." The girl continued. "Keep in mind that we have a time limit. Now then, I'll expect to see all of you back here next week, so we can start blocking with an actual set." The crowd waited impatiently. Even though the only lights they could see were those on the stage, summer still called out to them. Already they had been here for four hours, and any more might have proved fatal to the young director, who was, unfortunately, oblivious.

Finally, the words: "you're dismissed" rang through the empty auditorium. In a flash, two-thirds of the cast was out the door. The blonde girl sighed as she watched the crowd leave. One particular girl with wavy brown hair tried to weave her way to the front of the crowd without being noticed, which was a bit of a challenge, considering her height. At almost six feet, she towered over her fellow actors, and though it gave her quite an advantage on the stage, it didn't do so much for her hiding skills.

"Roxy!" The blonde girl called out. "Can I talk to you?"

The brown-haired girl stopped in her tracks and turned slowly towards her friend, a look between guilt and vexation on her face. "What's up, Candace?" By now, the two of them were the only ones left on the stage.

"I was wondering if you could give me some insight." Candace replied. "I mean, on the whole directing thing. Do you think I'm doing a good job?"

Roxy gave a longing glance at the rest of the group, all of them making their way out into the summer sun. "I…think you're doing wonderfully. You certainly know what you're doing, don't you think?"

"But what if it turns out I'm terrible at it, or that I was never meant to do this in the first place?" Candace replied mournfully. "What if by the end of this everyone hates me?"

"I think they hate you already," Roxy murmured to herself.

"Huh?" Candace said.

"Nothing," Roxy replied. "Listen, you're doing fine. Nobody can hate you yet, you just got started."

"Yeah, but—"

"Enough with your woes, Candace," Miss Minerva, the theater teacher, said, walking onto the stage. "This was only your first rehearsal, and there are many more to come. Don't have a breakdown yet."

Candace nodded, knowing well enough not to complain to Miss Minerva. The teacher was very tall, very imposing, and on certain occasions, very scary. She was a woman of almost sixty years, with graying black hair, but was probably still as strong as an ox.

"Now then, Candace, go home and rest." Miss Minerva continued. "You have a long month ahead of you." Candace nodded and left the stage. Roxy was about to follow her when Miss Minerva said: "Not you, Roxy. It's your turn to clean up."

"But I—" Miss Minerva put up a hand to stop Roxy's argument.

"I understand that you have a busy life, Roxanne, but you're as much part of this club as anyone else, and you need to pull your own weight. Besides, we don't want any complaints from those idiots who run the church." Miss Minerva turned to walk away. "Lionel will help you. Don't stay too late."

Roxy frowned. She waited until the door closed and she was alone on the stage. "Pull my own weight? I do more around here than half the members, and I'm not even an officer!" She sighed a bit when there was no reply. What sort of reply was she expecting, anyway?

"Cutter!" She yelled at the top of her lungs. She had to sometimes for him to hear her. That boy spent most of his free time lurking around every corner of the theater, trying to find hidden rooms and passageways. One time he managed to find an entire room above the catwalk.

"What?" came the reply, not as far away as Roxy had expected.

She walked towards the sound of his voice. "Where are you?"

Cutter, sometimes known as Lionel, walked out of the classroom that was adjoined to the theater. "Here," he said. "Hey, are you in a hurry?"

Roxy shrugged. "I would like to get out of here soon, yeah."

Cutter smiled. "My goodness, you used to be so sad whenever you had to leave the theater, now you can't wait to get out. What's changed?"

Roxy looked away. "I don't know. I just feel…strange nowadays. Like I shouldn't be here or something. It just feels…sinister."

"Oh, the theater ghosts are just getting to you." Cutter said, reaching over to ruffle his friend's hair. "There's nothing sinister here. You're just a little stressed, that's all. It is summer and you haven't even taken a chance to rest. That can't be healthy."

Roxy felt her pulse quicken, and she hoped her face wasn't as red as it felt. She reminded herself that Cutter was always this way towards her, showing concern for her well-being. That didn't necessarily mean anything. He acted that way towards plenty of people, not just her. Still, her mind said. You get to spend the day cleaning up with him.

But despite the fact that she was with her heart's desire, she still felt uneasy in this place. As a younger student, the theater had been like a second home to her. Each play brought on a new lesson, a new adventure. Now, she was on the brink of becoming a junior, and everything was changing. The people in the Theater Club weren't as welcoming as they used to be. But she could understand that quite easily. Roxy had quite a bit of talent, and she knew just how to use it, and her fellow actors really hated that about her.

But something else was bothering her. As a freshman and sophomore, the walls of the theater had always had a welcoming, warm, home-like feel to them. She had never felt lost or alone within them. Now, they were cold, heartless. It was like the theater itself was rejecting her, and that felt worse that any hostility brought on by her peers.

"So," Cutter said, opening the supply closet. "Are you going to just stand there, or are we going to get this place cleaned up?"

Roxy shook herself out of whatever mental carousel she had just been on, and picked up a broom. The sooner she left these empty walls, the better.

"Do you know what time it is?" Cutter asked after a little bit.

"I don't know. I don't have a watch." Roxy replied, sweeping in a mechanical type of way.

"Yeah you do," Cutter said, stacking cardboard boxes in a corner. "You have that odd-looking old-fashioned one that you always carry around. The one with the weird circles on it."

Roxy felt at the little bulge in her pocket where she, indeed, had an old watch. "It doesn't work."

"So why do you keep it?" Cutter asked.

Roxy paused, her hand over her pocket. Why did she keep it? She never much bothered to ask herself this question. She just…always had it with her, even when she was a little girl. She had never asked about it, never cared enough to figure out where it came from.

"I just like it." Roxy finally replied.

All of a sudden, she heard a noise. She stopped sweeping, turning her head to hear it better. It was some sort of engine, but it sounded almost…alive.

"Do you hear that?" Roxy whispered to Cutter, who was now arranging costumes nearby.

"Hear what?" Cutter asked, folding a long skirt with great care.

Roxy strained to hear better, but just like that, the noise was gone.


Thank you for reading! I would really appreciate some reviews :D