Chapter Seven: The Gelth
"Gwyneth! Make us some tea!" Sneed ordered. He - clearly reluctantly - led the group into the living room and sat down in a rather comfortable-looking chair. Dickens sat down at the small tea table, the Doctor leaned against the wall next to the fireplace, and Chloe perched herself on a stool right in front of him.
Rose, on the other hand, didn't sit down. She had some words for this Mr. Sneed, words that were meant to be spoken standing up. "First of all you drug me, then you kidnap me, and don't think I didn't feel your hands having a quick wander, you dirty old man."
"I won't be spoken to like this!" Mr. Sneed shouted.
Rose ignored him, saying, "Then you stuck me in a room full of zombies! And if that ain't enough, you swan off and leave me to die! So come on, talk!" She sat down again,
"It's not my fault!" Sneed exclaimed. "It's this house. It always had a reputation. Haunted. But I never had much bother until a few months back, and then the stiffs… the er, dear departed started getting restless."
"Tommyrot," Dickens half-laughed.
Sneed shook his head. "You witnessed it. Can't keep the beggars down, sir. They walk. And it's the queerest thing, but they hang on to scraps.
Gwyneth placed a cup on the mantelpiece. "Two sugars, sir, just how you like it. And a glass milk for you, miss."
Once her back was turned, Chloe looked up at the Doctor. He was clearly a bit confused, and rightly so - they hadn't told Gwyneth a thing about their tea preferences (or lack thereof), had they?
Sneed paid no attention to this exchange, continuing, "One old fellow who used to be a sexton almost walked into his own memorial service. Just like the old lady going to your performance, sir, just as she planned."
"Morbid fancy," said Dickens.
"Oh, Charles, you were there," the Doctor sighed.
"I saw nothing but an illusion," Dickens said firmly.
The Doctor was clearly not happy with this answer. "If you're going to deny it, don't waste my time. Just shut up." Chloe grinned. As scary as all of this was - and it was incredibly scary - it was comforting that the Doctor was still very much his rude self. "What about the gas?" he asked Sneed as Dickens stormed out of the room.
"That's new, sir. Never seen anything like that."
"Means it's getting stronger, the rift's getting wider and something's sneaking through."
"What's the rift?" Rose asked.
"A weak point in time and space. A connection between this place and another. That's the cause of ghost stories, most of the time."
"That's how I got the house so cheap," Sneed mused. "Stories going back generations." The door slammed as Dickens left. "Echoes in the dark, queer songs in the air, and this feeling like a shadow passing over your soul. Mind you, truth be told, it's been good for business. Just what people expect from a gloomy old trade like mine."
"Wonder what Mr. Dickens is up to," Chloe murmured to the Doctor.
"Let's find out, shall we?" He helped Chloe up and they walked out of the room.
They found Dickens in the room with the coffins, where he was waving his hands over the corpses that had spoken to them earlier.
"Checking for strings?" the Doctor asked.
"Wires, perhaps," Dickens replied. "There must be some mechanism behind this fraud."
"Oh, come on, Charles," the Doctor sighed. Chloe shot him a pointed look. "All right. I shouldn't have told you to shut up. I'm sorry. But you've got one of the best minds in the world. You saw those gas creatures."
"I cannot accept that," Dickens said firmly.
The Doctor ignored this, continuing with his argument. "And what does the human body do when it decomposes? It breaks down and produces gas. Perfect home for these gas things. They can slip inside and use it as a vehicle, just like your driver and his coach."
"Stop it!" Dickens explained. There was a slight silence, and then he asked, "Can it be that I have the world entirely wrong?"
"Not wrong," Chloe said softly. "There's just more to learn." The Doctor squeezed her shoulder approvingly. He liked this girl more and more every minute.
"I've always railed against the fantasists," said Dickens. "Oh, I loved an illusion as much as the next man, revelled in them, but that's exactly what they were, illusions. The real world is something else. I dedicated myself to that. Injustices. The great social causes. I hoped that I was a force for good. Now you tell me that the real world is a realm of spectres and jack-o'-lanterns. In which case, have I wasted my brief span here, Doctor? Has it all been for nothing?"
Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Gwyneth was lighting a gas lamp to begin washing the dishes from tea. Rose followed her in and started washing dishes herself.
"Please, miss, you shouldn't be helping," Gwyneth protested. "It's not right."
"Don't be daft," Rose half-laughed. "Sneed works you to death. How much do you get paid?"
"Eight pound a year, miss," Gwyneth replied.
Rose's eyes widened. "How much?"
"I know!" Gwyneth exclaimed. "I would've been happy with six."
"So, did you go to school or what?" Rose asked, hoping this wasn't a dumb question.
Apparently this was a bit of a dumb question, because Gwyneth replied, "Of course I did. What do you think I am, an urchin? I went every Sunday, nice and proper.
"What, once a week?" Rose was sure this was also a stupid question.
"We did sums and everything. To be honest, I hated every second."
Finally, something Rose could understand. "Me too," she grinned.
"Don't tell anyone," Gwyneth whispered, "but one week, I didn't go and ran on the heath all on my own."
Rose laughed. "I did plenty of that. I used to go down the shops with my mate Shareen. We used to go and look at boys."
Gwyneth blushed. "Well, I don't know much about that, miss."
"Come on, times haven't changed that much. I bet you've done the same."
"I don't think so, miss." Gwyneth's voice became a lot more solemn as she retreated into herself.
"Gwyneth, you can tell me," Rose said gently. "I bet you've got your eye on someone."
Gwyneth sighed and gave in. "I suppose. There is one lad. The butcher's boy. He comes by every Tuesday. Such a lovely smile on him.
Rose nodded. "I like a nice smile. Good smile, nice bum."
Gwyneth gasped. "Well, I have never heard the like!"
"Ask him out!" Rose suggested. "Give him a cup of tea or something, that's a start."
"I swear it is the strangest thing, miss," said Gwyneth. "You've got all the clothes and the breeding, but you talk like some sort of wild thing."
"Maybe I am," said Rose. "Maybe that's a good thing. You need a bit more in your life than Mr. Sneed."
"Oh, now that's not fair," said Gwyneth, shaking her head. "He's not so bad, old Sneed. He was very kind to me to take me in because I lost my mum and dad to the flu when I was twelve."
"Oh, I'm sorry," said Rose.
"Thank you, miss," said Gwyneth. "But I'll be with them again, one day, sitting with them in paradise. I shall be so blessed. They're waiting for me." She paused for a moment, and then added as an afterthought, "Maybe your dad's up there waiting for you too, miss."
"Maybe," Rose mused, and then she realized something. "Er, who told you he was dead?"
"I don't know. Must have been the Doctor." Rose was confused by this. She hadn't told the Doctor or Chloe about her father, had she?
"My father died years back," she said, pushing this thought aside.
"But you've been thinking about him lately more than ever," said Gwyneth.
This did strike Rose, because Gwyneth was right again. "I suppose so. How do you know all this?"
"Mister Sneed says I think too much," Gwyneth explained. "I'm all alone down here. I bet you've got dozens of servants, haven't you, miss?"
Rose shook her head. "No, no servants where I'm from."
"And you've come such a long way," Gwyneth whispered.
"What makes you think so?" Rose asked nervously.
When Gwyneth spoke again, there was a tone in her voice, like she was in a trance. "You're from London," she said. "I've seen London in drawings, but never like that. All those people rushing about half naked, for shame. And the noise, and the metal boxes racing past, and the birds in the sky… No! They're metal as well. Metal birds with people in them. People are flying." As she continued, her eyes widened and widened in fear. "And you, you've flown so far. Further than anyone. The things you've seen. The darkness, the big bad wolf." The trance broke and Gwyneth stepped back. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, miss."
"It's all right," Rose said nervously.
"I can't help it," Gwyneth whispered. "Ever since I was a little girl, my mam said I had the sight. She told me to hide it."
"But it's getting stronger, more powerful, is that right?" Rose turned to see that the Doctor and Chloe were right behind them.
"All the time, sir. Every night, voices in my head."
"You grew up on top of the rift," said the Doctor. "You're part of it. You're the key."
"I've tried to make sense of it, sir. Consulted with spiritualists, table rappers, all sorts." Rose and Chloe weren't sure what these things were, but from Gwyneth's voice, they were pretty sure that these were not exactly "good" things according to the culture of the time.
"Well, that should help. You can show us what to do."
"What to do where, sir?"
"We're going to have a séance."
Everyone sat down around a table in the living room. "This is how Madam Mortlock summons those from the Land of Mists, down in big town," said Gwyneth. "Come, we must all join hands." A hint of a smile played over her face.
"I can't take part in this," Dickens exclaimed, and he began walking away.
"Humbug? Come on, open mind," said the Doctor.
"This is precisely the sort of cheap mummery I strive to unmask," said Dickens. "Séances? Nothing but luminous tambourines and a squeeze box concealed between the knees. This girl knows nothing."
"Now, don't antagonise her," the Doctor chastised. "I love a happy medium."
"I can't believe you just said that," Rose half-laughed. Chloe looked up at her curiously. "I'll explain later," Rose mouthed.
I'll bet it's like a prostitute, Chloe thought, grinning slightly, before looking over to Dickens and saying, "Please, Mr. Dickens. We might need you."
Dickens sighed and sat down between Chloe and Gwyneth.
"Good man," said the Doctor. "Now, Gwyneth, reach out."
"Speak to us," said Gwyneth. "Are you there? Spirits, come. Speak to us that we may relieve your burden."
Somewhere in the room, they could hear whispering. "Can you hear that?" Rose asked nervously.
"Nothing can happen," said Dickens. "This is sheer folly."
"Look at her," Rose retorted.
"I see them. I feel them," said Gwyneth. The blue gas appeared above their heads.
"What's it saying?" Chloe asked. Her face paled in nervousness.
"They can't get through the rift," the Doctor explained. "Gwyneth, it's not controlling you, you're controlling it. Now, look deep. Allow them through."
"I can't!"
"Yes, you can. Just believe it. I have faith in you, Gwyneth. Make the link."
"Yes," she whispered. The gas flew around her and formed outlines of people.
"Great God!" said Sneed. "Spirits from the other side."
"The other side of the universe," said the Doctor. Chloe shivered. This was giving her the creeps.
When the ghosts spoke, they sounded like children. "Pity us. Pity the Gelth. There is so little time. Help us."
"What do you want us to do?" asked the Doctor.
"The rift. Take the girl to the rift. Make the bridge."
"What for?"
"We are so very few. The last of our kind. We face extinction."
"Why, what happened?"
"Once we had a physical form like you, but then the war came."
"War?" Dickens asked. "What war?"
"The Time War." Rose and Chloe looked at the Doctor, whose face fell instantly. "The whole universe convulsed. The Time War raged. Invisible to smaller species but devastating to higher forms. Our bodies wasted away. We're trapped in this gaseous state."
"So that's why you need the corpses," said the Doctor.
"We want to stand tall, to feel the sunlight, to live again," said the Gelth. "We need a physical form, and your dead are abandoned. They're going to waste. Give them to us."
"But we can't!" Rose interjected.
"Why not?" the Doctor asked.
"It's not. I mean, it's not-"
"Not decent? Not polite? It could save their lives."
"Open the rift. Let the Gelth through. We're dying. Help us. Pity the Gelth." And with that, they went into the lamp and Gwyneth collapsed
Rose and Chloe called Gwyneth's name simultaneously, but while Rose's "Gwyneth?" was full of concern, Chloe's "Gwyneth!" was full of fear.
"All true," Dickens whispered. "It's all true."
Five minutes later…
"It's all right," Rose said gently when Gwyneth opened her eyes. "You just sleep."
Gwyneth shook her head and sat up. "But my angels, miss. They came, didn't they? They need me?"
"They do need you, Gwyneth," said the Doctor. "You're their only chance of survival."
Rose glared at him. "I've told you, leave her alone. She's exhausted and she's not fighting your battles. Drink this." She handed Gwyneth a cup of tea. "Chloe, here. You too." She beckoned Chloe over, who gratefully came running from her stool to Rose's side.
"Thanks," Chloe mumbled, taking a sip of milk, hoping that she would swallow the lump in her throat along with it. Her friend Nate had paid her twenty quid to watch a ghost movie a few months ago, and she'd barely survived that, let alone actual real live ghosts... or rather, actual real dead ghosts.
"Well, what did you say, Doctor?" asked Sneed. "Explain it again. What are they?"
The Doctor grinned. "Aliens."
"Like foreigners, you mean?"
"Pretty foreign, yeah. From up there." The Doctor nodded towards the sky.
"Brecon?"
"Close. And they've been trying to get through from Brecon to Cardiff but the road's blocked. Only a few can get through and even then they're weak. They can only test drive the bodies for so long, then they have to revert to gas and hide in the pipes."
"Which is why they need the girl," Dickens finished.
"They're not having her," Rose declared.
"But she can help," the Doctor argued. "Living on the rift, she's become part of it. She can open it up, make a bridge and let them through."
"Incredible," said Dickens. "Ghosts that are not ghosts, but beings from another world, who can only exist in our world by inhabiting cadavers."
"Good system," said the Doctor. "It might work."
"You can't let them run around inside of dead people!" Rose exclaimed.
"Why not? It's like recycling."
"Seriously though, you can't," Rose said firmly.
"Seriously though, I can," said the Doctor in the exact same tone.
"It's just wrong. Those bodies were living people. We should respect them even in death."
"Do you carry a donor card?" the Doctor asked.
Rose shook her head. "That's different. That's-"
"-It is different, yeah. It's a different morality. Get used to it or go home. You heard what they said, time's short. I can't worry about a few corpses when the last of the Gelth could be dying."
"I don't care. They're not using her."
"Don't I get a say, miss?" Gwyneth interjected.
Rose turned to her. "Look, you don't understand what's going on."
Gwyneth cracked a hint of a smile. "You would say that, miss, because that's very clear inside your head, that you think I'm stupid."
"That's not fair," said Chloe, even though it partly was.
"It's true, though," said Gwyneth. "Things might be very different where you're from, but here and now, I know my own mind, and the angels need me. Doctor, what do I have to do?"
"You don't have to do anything," said the Doctor.
"They've been singing to me since I was a child, sent by my mam on a holy mission." Now Gwyneth's smile was full-fledged. "So tell me."
The Doctor grinned, finally in his element. "We need to find the rift. This house is on a weak spot, so there must be a spot that's weaker than any other. Mister Sneed, what's the weakest part of this house? The place where most of the ghosts have been seen?"
Sneed thought for a moment before saying, "That would be the morgue."
Rose sighed. "No chance you were going to say gazebo, is there?"
Hey guys! Sorry for taking so long to update. But here it is! Chapter seven! Finally! Yay!
Make sure to checkout all of the stuff! (What the Fluff, Ofelia Sent Me, the Lone Shippers, LiaTalks, cover images…)
Also, I'm writing a novel called From Jenna, With Love - you can find it on Wattpad; I'm unshakespearean!
And as always, love and ducks to the Lone Shippers, hugs to supporters, thanks to Eleonora, Noe, Hanul, and Kizzie, shoutouts to my chosen-sisters, and cookies for all!
Love,
Ofelia xxx
