"Doctor!" Charlie hollered again. The words scraped the inside of his throat like sandpaper.

"Hold on, Charlie," the Doctor yelled back at him, releasing him with one of his hands to fumble for the sonic screwdriver.

The Doctor's grip weakened, the thing under the bed yanked at his foot again. He sank further into the shadows, the small of his back grazed by the sharp edges of the bed.

He ignored the pain, aware that he was trapped in the middle of a lethal game of tug-of-war – which the Doctor was losing. If they lost, it would end in his death – or something far worse.

Charlie really didn't want to think about it.

The sonic screwdriver flared and whined, but it did nothing; the thing's iron grip was as strong as before.

"Doctor? What- what's going to happen to me?" Charlie asked, his voice bleeding with distress.

"Nothing will happen to you," the Doctor snarled through gritted teeth.

Charlie took a deep breath, trying to keep a hold of himself - and the Doctor's sleeve.

He was stunned to hear Miss Rossini utter an animalistic roar, expending all her energy to heave at the bed, and flip it over. It crashed into another empty bunk.

The creature's grip vanished instantly.

Charlie shared a bewildered look with the Doctor. He peered back at the now-vacant dusty space.

With the bed's shadow gone, there was nothing there.

The Doctor's almost skeletal fingers were still clamped around his arms, and it took him a minute to think to let go.

"Was that…?" Miss Rossini trembled.

Mrs Madigan chose this moment to burst into the room, her ever-present shotgun by her side.

"What happened?" she barked.

Her eyes darted around the room, but detected no danger.

"The monsters are inside," the Doctor explained.

"Inside?" Mrs Madigan exclaimed. "How is that possible?"

"They're everywhere – lurking in the shadows. Nowhere is safe."

"But… but-but… was that even real?" the shell-shocked Miss Rossini mumbled.

"It…" Charlie held himself back, before he could utter a curse, "…felt pretty real to me!"

"It wasn't there! I never saw anything!" she protested.

"There was something there!" Charlie argued. "Doctor?"

"Yes," the Doctor growled, glaring at the two women. "They're always real. The monsters under the bed… the creatures in the closet… the beasts outside the window…"

Charlie frowned, recalling his first adventure with the Doctor – the Wraith outside his bedroom window, which couldn't possibly have been real. But it was – the Doctor had shown him that the impossible could indeed be very plausible.

"But no!" the Doctor turned sharply on his heel, and changed momentum. "It's the wind, and the trees. The pipes, or your eyes playing tricks. It's just… your imagination!"

The Doctor's voice was dripping with sarcasm, and Mrs Madigan shot him a puzzled expression. She didn't quite understand.

"But those things are just nightmares. They're just things the children dream up," she argued.

"Why do children dream up monsters?" the Doctor asked, throwing his arms into the air. "It doesn't make sense!"

He grinned, but his grin turned cold, and melted away.

"Who chooses to be afraid of the dark? No-one! But we all were. We all are."

Charlie bit his lip, the Doctor's words striking close to home.

"Has it never occurred to you that the children aren't making it up?"

The children were looking up at the Doctor in awe. As though he was the first grown-up who had ever listened to them, and understood them.

"Why do they believe in monsters? We don't teach them," the Doctor paused, thrusting his fist under his nose, before continuing. "Has it never occurred to you that the monsters your children are scared of are real?"

Mrs Madigan was dumbfounded.

"That's… preposterous." She waved her finger in the air, pointing outside. "Now, those creatures outside – the ones trying to kill us. They're real."

The Doctor grunted.

Charlie couldn't tell whether he was agreeing with her, or whether he'd just lost his patience.

The latter seemed more likely; the Doctor kept glancing at his watch.

Charlie pulled his phone out of his pocket, and checked the time. The digits kept changing, blinking from one random number to another. He showed it to the Doctor.

"Why's it doing that?"

The Doctor stared at it for a second.

"Time is very complex. Time in a dream has no relation to time in the real world. The numbers keep changing, because you have no idea what time it is."

Charlie frowned, sliding the phone back into his pocket. "I keep forgetting this isn't really happening."

"Oh, but it is," the Doctor explained. "Your body can't tell the difference. I would imagine that if you were to die here, the shock will probably kill you."

"Oh, great," whispered Charlie. "That makes me feel so much better. So if those… things come in, they might kill me – and I'll actually die?"

"Don't worry," the Doctor assured him. "I put up a psychic defence around the building. Nothing's powerful enough to get past that."

There was a loud crash from downstairs. The splintering of wood. Almost certainly the front door caving in.

"Hmm," grumbled the Doctor. "Maybe I should have kept that to myself."

Charlie looked at him in horror.

"What was that?" Miss Rossini quivered.

A second later, there was a wail of terror from the reverend, which was abruptly cut short.

Miss Rossini's mouth dropped open in shock, and she, along with everyone else in the room, was stunned into silence, not daring to make a noise. They feared the worst.

The Doctor waved his hand, indicating that everyone should keep back, as he crept towards the door.

He listened for a moment, but heard nothing.

He turned back to Charlie, fixing him with an expression that asked: are you ready?

Charlie wasn't, but the Doctor grasped the door handle regardless, and yanked the door open.

Charlie's heart almost stopped, and he stumbled backwards.

In the doorway, was a child. The boy couldn't have been older than nine or ten.

There was war paint streaked across his face, and twigs knotted into his hair. He was dressed in the tattered remains of what appeared to be his original garments, with the addition of animal pelts stretched around them. There was a malevolent gleam on his round face.

He looked fierce; dangerous, even without the heavy club he was wielding.

Except it wasn't a club, Charlie realised, a feeling of nausea broiling inside him. It was a bone. A human bone.

His mouth curled into a snarl, and he growled, softly.

The noise raised the hairs on the back of Charlie's neck.

He was more animal than child.

The boy's wild eyes scanned them all, in turn. There was an unnatural energy about the boy. As though he could run for days, without tiring. As though he had no fear.

The eyes glanced over Charlie, and the thought crossed his mind that he was going to die. This kid was going to kill him.

Finally, the eyes settled on the Doctor.

It was clear that he had assessed the room, and found no one to be a threat – except for the Doctor.

The kid's features twisted into a frown, and regarded the Doctor with childlike curiosity. He inclined his head, unsure.

The Doctor held the kid's gaze.

"We're going to get out of here," the Doctor said, levelly, without taking his eyes off the child.

"On three. One… two… three!"

The Doctor slammed the door shut, and pressed his shoulder against it, using all his weight to barricade the door.

Mrs Madigan blasted one of the boarded-up windows with her shotgun. Miss Rossini pulled a coiled rope ladder from a chest, and unrolled it out the window.

The kid outside began to hammer on the door with his club. It was a hollow sound.

Charlie dreaded the thought that very soon, it would be his bones that the kid would be wielding.

"Quickly, outside," Mrs Madigan ordered. "Run as far as you can, and hide."

The kids began to climb out of the window. It was an evacuation drill they'd practiced before. One they'd hoped never to have to put into action.

Poppy had begun crying. It wasn't the loud, sobbing kind of crying, but silent.

The children had learnt to cry without making a sound.

Charlie's heart twinged – because he knew that feeling. For once, he actually felt a connection with these children, afraid and alone.

Miss Rossini hissed at her to hurry and, tears streaming down her face, Poppy climbed out.

"Is there nothing we can do?" Charlie urged the Doctor.

"No," the Doctor managed, struggling against the door. "We can't reason with them. We can't stop them."

The Doctor sighed, his resolved weakened.

"I can't stop them.

Charlie felt cold. The Doctor was giving up.

The door flew open, and the Doctor staggered backwards.

The kid screamed at them. No words or thought – just pure rage.

Mrs Madigan aimed her shotgun.

"Keep back!" she yelled. "I will shoot."

The kid merely grinned at her. And he knew that Mrs Madigan could never bring herself to pull the trigger.

He snaked towards her, shoulders hunched, ready to pounce.

"Charlie!" the Doctor shouted.

Charlie realised that he'd been transfixed by the kid's advance. Shaken into action, he raced for the window, and scrambled outside.

He kept missing the rungs of the rope ladder in his desperation to get out, and he was almost surprised that he made it down without breaking his bones.

He waited for the Doctor to make it out, as the children swarmed around the house.

They were everywhere, some concealed in the undergrowth, some out in the open, beating clubs together.

Charlie's head swam, as he looked around, trying to locate them all in the darkness.

Miss Rossini was doing her best to protect the children, but Charlie could see that they were all terrified.

He could see moonlight streaming through the forest canopy, shining bright as a black cloud slid aside. One of the kids, balanced on a branch high in the trees, began to howl.

Some of the other kids took up the call.

Charlie began to panic, until the Doctor, from out of nowhere, grabbed his arm.

"Run!" he roared.

Charlie didn't hesitate this time.

He could hear the children laughing as they began to flee.

"Find them! Get them!" they chanted.

Miss Rossini didn't make it very far, before the children were upon her, knocking her down like a cheetah tackling a gazelle.

There was nothing they could do to help her. Charlie didn't dare watch, and kept running.

She screamed.

Just like the reverend's cry, it ended horribly.

He didn't see what happened to the other children. He didn't want to know, but he hoped that they were able to escape. He hoped that they wouldn't be turned into these… monsters.

Charlie vaulted over a broken fence, and found himself back in the dense forest. The trees were a blur as he ran.

The Doctor was racing alongside him. Charlie glanced behind, and found that only Mrs Madigan was still with them. She blindly fired a warning shot, but it did nothing to deter their hunters.

She stumbled, and winced sharply.

Looking back, wondering what had happened, Charlie saw that she had injured her ankle. Mrs Madigan was an old lady. Charlie seriously doubted that she'd been able to run like the Doctor.

"Doctor!" she called.

The Doctor paused for a moment, and Charlie did too, despite his desire to run as far away from here as possible.

"Help me," she pleaded.

All things considered, Charlie thought it was incredible that this woman – who had shot the Doctor for believing he was a devil – was now asking for his help.

He thought it more incredible that the Doctor was actually considering stopping to help, because any second now, those kids would be upon them.

And what would happen next scarcely bared thinking about.

"Doctor?" Charlie urged. He wasn't sure what the Doctor was going to do. He wasn't sure he could do anything.

"You keep running!" the Doctor growled.

"And what about you?" Charlie argued.

The Doctor looked torn between staying to help Mrs Madigan, and running with Charlie, to make sure he got away safely.

With the sounds of yowling and yelling getting closer, the Doctor made his decision.

"I have to try to help them."

It felt as though the Doctor had punched him in the chest. Charlie knew that the Doctor would do anything to help someone who needed his help. Even if it put him in danger.

Charlie fought his indecisive mind. The Doctor wanted him to run, without him, and find the TARDIS. But he didn't want to leave the Doctor by himself. And perhaps, although he didn't dare admit it, he didn't want the Doctor to leave him.

It scared him to face these monsters alone.

"Then… I'll stay, as well," he settled.

"No!" the Doctor roared. "You – run!"

Charlie saw the wild kids break through the barrier of trees, and immediately did as he was told.

It felt wrong – really wrong – but he ran, leaving the Doctor and Mrs Madigan to face the savages alone.

Charlie wasn't sure how far he could run, but he didn't like his chances.

They had boundless energy, primal and unnatural; he feared that it wouldn't be long before they caught him.

He was already out of breath after a few minutes, but he pressed on. There was no other choice.

He could hear the children behind him, yelling sinister chants and taunts. He found it in him to run faster, even though it was murdering his legs. He barely touched the ground as he tore through the trees.

There were more of them, standing on the edge of a ridge to one side, armed with projectile weapons: whittled spears, sharpened to a point – primitive, but deadly.

He veered away from them, and was lucky to avoid a rock hurled at his head.

Charlie kept running, but they were still chasing behind him.

It didn't occur to him that the hunters had been clever. They weren't mindless savages – they were fiercely intelligent, and cunning.

He realised too late that he had been driven straight into a trap.

Just as he spotted the two kids ahead of him, his foot snagged on a piece of twine, and he tripped up, flying face first into the dirt.

He didn't dare look up, burying his face in the earth, as the footsteps trampled the rotten twigs around his ears.

This was it.