Honestly, this was going to be posted tomorrow, but I accidentally posted it on AO3 already and I figured, what the hell, might as well post it here early too
So, I'm trying to use a part of this chapter to write in dream logic. Like, stuff that makes sense as long as it's self-contained, but stops having meaning as soon as you wake up and think about it.
Tell me how you think I did!
thank you iHateFridays for reviewing
Marion landed on her feet, which, if you've ever fallen from a non-fatal or dangerous, but still considerable height, you know how that feels on your ankles.
Not. Great.
Honestly, was there a reason that she was getting thrown around like this. Couldn't she disappear in a flash of light?
Actually, knowing her luck, it'd be bright enough that she'd spent the first five or so minutes after arrival blinded instead of slightly sore. Or on fire. Or both.
Yikes.
Anyway.
A quick look around told her that this was the Twelfth Doctor's TARDIS. It was larger and much darker than any of the classic console rooms, and it was missing the coral columns, the crystal fingers, the orange, and the green of the other NuWho Doctor's console rooms.
Also, the walls were covered in bookshelves, there was a rolling chalkboard on an upper level and a guitar leaned against one of the too-far-away-from-the-console chairs so there wasn't any else who it COULD be.
Marion didn't have more than a general idea of where she was. She knew she was in the console room, so there should, in theory, be someone else here. The Doctor or Clara or Bill or that one woman with the shaved head whose name Marion was completely blanking on but the TARDIS was empty.
Which meant that the TARDIS had probably landed somewhere already.
Which meant that she should probably stop standing there wasting time trying to figure out EXACTLY which point on the Doctor's timeline she'd been dropped into. Marion took one more look around in case the Doctor was about to come from a hallway or something, and then took the steps two at a time up to the TARDIS door.
She wasn't sure if she was about to open the door to a spaceship or an alien planet or an empty field or open space or-
An office. The door opened to an office.
The Doctor's office.
At St. Luke's.
Or at least Marion was pretty sure that that's where she was.
As soon as Marion stepped out of the TARDIS, she was face to face with the side of a bookshelf. She stepped out of the TARDIS and looked around the room curiously.
The room was roughly the size of Twelve's console room, but with more solid corners as opposed to the TARDIS's circular dome. The room was all browns and deep reds. Very dark academia.
One of those "TODAY IS-" dry erase boards was stuck to the side of the bookshelf directly across from the TARDIS door. Fall 2003 was written on it in bright green. The dry erase marker that had been clearly used to write it was stuck just above the board with a strip of clear packing tape that had clearly been removed and replaced multiple times. To her right, was a wide, bay window with a cushioned bench wedged just under it between the walls. To her left was the rest of the room. The light wood floor was covered with a rug.
Two doors were on either side of the left wall with a fireplace situated in between them. The opposite wall was full of bookshelves, and a rolling blackboard was situated in front of it. A few half-used pieces of chalk lay on the tray, and the board looked like whatever was on it had been erased, but not properly wiped down. So it was still covered in white smears. On a small table off to the side, was a half-played game of chess.
Marion couldn't tell who was winning.
In the middle of the room was a large desk littered with books and paper and pens and open notebooks and a couple of empty mugs.
Honestly, it was a little cluttered, but it was still neater than any of her desks had ended up being, so she didn't have any room to judge. One side of the desk was more covered in open notebooks full of doodles and sketches and what appeared to be, when Marion looked up, a list of names in her handwriting written in an open spiral back notebook. Some of the names had had their first names written on top of a strip of white-out, whatever had been there before had either been rewritten or replaced.
All of those names were highlighted, and for some reason, Marion marked the page with a strip of blank paper and closed the book.
On the other side of the desk, most of the books were neatly stacked. Judging from the sticky note pads covered in handwriting; too messy for Marion to make heads or tails of it. Another thing that was on this side of the desk were the photographs. There were three large ones and a bunch of smaller ones.
The first of the large ones was black and white and depicted Susan. She had a look on her face as if the person behind the camera had retaken the photo a bunch of times and the girl was tolerating it, but only barely.
The second photo was of River Song, smiling softly at whoever was behind the camera.
The third photo was of herself. It was weird to look at a photo taken in a location she had no memory of being in and no memory of sitting for. The photo was taken from slightly further away than the rest of the photos and at a side angle. Marion didn't fully recognize the background, but she could see old-looking bricks covered in moss. She couldn't see any extra discoloration on the visible side of her head but she also couldn't make out her right eye so figuring out when it was taken was difficult. But whenever it was taken, she was clearly happy.
Marion doubted that she knew the Doctor (or whoever had taken the photo) had taken that photo until after they'd taken it. She looked too relaxed to be posing. She was staring off into the distance resting her chin on the palm of her hands, and she had a sort of soft smile Marion knew she could make, but never knowingly.
The smaller photos depicted other companions. There was one of Jamie, who looked like he'd gotten no warning other than "hey look at here" before the photo had been taken. There was a quite serious looking one of Victoria like she'd been told her picture was being taken and couldn't stop herself from standing motionless like it was a proper Victorian portrait and not something that had been snapped quickly. There was a photo of Sarah Jane with an arm around her shoulder that was probably Four's. There was a photo of Peri and Jo and Steven and Ian and Barbara and Tegan and Adric (Oh fuck Adric he looked so young. He WAS so young. And he was going to die in a fiery extinction event causing space shipwreck unless she found a way to change it. He was literally fucking fourteen years old) and several other companions and all the photos were placed inside of a multi-picture frame.
Marion knew that only the two large photos of Susan and River had been there originally. The smaller photos of the other companions had to have been taken by herself (or at least because of herself) because the Doctor hadn't had photos other than the two large ones.
Marion picked up the photo of herself and sat down at the desk. She stared at the backdrop trying to piece together where the photo was taken.
"God those bricks look familiar," Marion mumbled under her breath, "and the moss, it's on the tip of my tongue."
"The Eye of Orion,"
"Ah," Marion nodded and then realized that there was someone standing next to her who hadn't been standing there a few moments prior. "AH!"
Marion turned sharply to see the Twelfth Doctor standing next to her. He was holding a brown paper bag in one hand and had a small stack of papers in the other.
"Well, hello to you too!"
The Doctor placed the brown paper bag down in front of her before sitting down on the chair.
"Lunch. The Associate picked you up something to eat and told me to pass it along for you before they zipped off again to who knows where. Along with this,"
The Doctor passed her the stack of papers. Marion reached into the brown paper bag and unwrapped the contents, a sandwich that still felt warm to the touch.
Marion didn't realize she'd felt as hungry as she had until she took that first bite. She picked up the sheet in her other hand. It was a stack of about 30 or so sheets of paper that had formerly been stapled to something else. Marion looked at the top page.
"On the Use of Perspective and Geometry in Renaissance Architecture." She read aloud. The page was covered in red writing and labeled with a number out of twenty.
"Forced Perspective in Architecture", "The Illusion of Depth and Size in the Renaissance". Marion continued through the stack. It was a stack of single-paged handwritten essays with similarly styled titles and all but the last five or so had at least some quick notes written on them in what looked to be her own red handwriting and a number.
"Doctor, what's this?"
"Papers. For grading."
Marion stared back down at the papers for a moment.
"No, no, I got that."
"Then what's the issue? You studied Architecture at university, didn't you! And you did rather well if I remember correctly!"
"I mean, I passed. But-"
"You're my Professor's Assistant aren't you?"
"I am?"
"Ah," the Doctor like likely already known she was younger than whatever version of her he'd just spoken to, but he only now seemed to realize just HOW how young she was compared to whoever he'd just been with, "Well, I needed some reason for you to constantly come in and out of my office. You and Nardole couldn't have both been my valets, now could you? So you take notes during lectures, answer questions before someone tries to ask me and suggest and grade short extra credit essays about some of my lectures. Like these."
Marion blinked.
"Ah. I'm not sure that I'm qualified to do all that,"
"Eh, you've been working here since the 40s and no one's complained."
"The- haven't people noticed? I mean, people might give you some leeway, but sooner or later, someone's going to notice if someone who looks twenty-five at BEST has been on this campus for over 60 years,"
"Marion, we look about the same age, and no one's noticed me yet."
"Ah…" Marion stared at Twelve for a moment in silence before making the decision that whatever she was about to say probably wasn't worth it."...okay."
Marion looked at the last three ungraded essays. A quick glance at them said they were all about architectural history. And like, she'd studied this in college, but…
"Doctor aren't you a science professor,"
"I teach a wide variety of things at St. Lukes,"
"Yeah, but like, according to St. Luke's, you're a science professor. Why are you assigning an extra credit paper on Architectural History."
"I didn't assign the Extra Credit. That's your job. My job is to lecture,"
"Why were you giving a lecture about Architectural History,"
"Reinassance architects would play with perspective to make their creations appear smaller than they actually were or make buildings appear bigger and go further back than they actually did. It's about geometry and light. The science of illusions and perspective. Making things appear bigger on the inside. THAT is what I was teaching them!"
Marion tilted her head to the side. That…made some sense, Marion guessed. She read through the first of the five essays. She wrote a note correcting whomever Carol Newman's spelling of Brunelleschi and continued to write. She yawned, took a bite of her sandwich, and then continued to write. She reflexively reached to reset the food button on her arm and then rested her chin on her palm.
By the time she was on paper two, written by someone named Lucas Wiltshire, the Doctor had started to softly play the guitar. Marion recognized the song he was playing. It was the one he had played for Bill. The woman, whose face and name he'd completely forgotten.
Clara Oswald.
"Doctor, do you want me to-"
"-tell me about her?" the Doctor finished. "You've tried. Believe me, you've tried everything. Descriptions, drawings, paintings, photos, videos. And considering where you are in your timeline, I know you're going to try them anyway. Nothing's ever stuck for more than a couple of minutes. Once, you tried saying her name over and over and over again and each time, I forgot the beginning of it before I got to the end."
"I'm sorry,"
"Don't be. It wasn't your fault," the Doctor stopped playing for a moment, "You've always been like this. You shouldn't blame yourself for every little thing. That's a terrible habit you know."
Marion stared at the Doctor for a moment, dumbfounded that HE of ALL people would say such a thing.
"You're one to talk"
The Doctor continued as if she hadn't spoken. "You have nothing to apologize for. Least of all to me,"
The Doctor continued to play, switching from "I Forget" to a few others. None of them were jarring, and Marion was able to grade the last few.
"After you finish those up, you should get back in the TARDIS and get some sleep. Your armbands just turned red.."
Marion glanced over at it. By the looks of it, she'd been awake for around twenty hours which wasn't exactly unheard of, for her, but if there was the chance she'd get torn away to somewhere where she needed to be alert and literate, yeah a nap was probably in order.
"Whatever happened to complaining about humans sleeping a third of hour lives away."
"I've come to realize the appeal of sleep. I'm not as young as I used to be, you know. Of course, we Time Lords only need an hour or so every few weeks-,"
"That sounds incorrect, but sure,"
"-but you Marion need much, much more than that."
"Sure. Let me just grade this last paper, and then I'll go right to bed,"
She didn't exist.
Well, that wasn't exactly accurate.
She could think and she could see, and she could hear and you need to exist and order to do those things.
Instead of saying that she didn't exist, let's say that she Didn't. Just, Didn't.
She Didn't, she Wasn't, and she Hadn't.
This wasn't an upsetting thing or a bad thing.
She simply wasn't.
It's hard to describe what it's like to not be to someone who is. And even if it was simple, in order to interact and be interacted with someone who is, you have to be. There were two exceptions to this. SOMEONE has to turn beings who aren't into beings who are but even they had no idea.
It's hard to remember what it was like to not be after you start being. After all, there was a time in everyone's life when they didn't, and yet no one can describe what that's like.
But here is a close approximation.
You aren't dead, you aren't alive, and you aren't asleep.
The only thing you are is aware.
This existence of simple awareness didn't cause her to feel sad of course. This was for two reasons.
The first was that she had never been. So there wasn't anything for her to compare her current situation to.
The second was that she'd never really FELT anything, physically or otherwise.
Eventually, she figured she'd feel something. It wasn't that she COULDN'T feel. That nothing had ever happened that she thought was worth feeling something about.
She was sure that something would eventually. It was only a matter of time. Everything was still new. Not everything that would ever be currently was.
And that was alright.
Perhaps one day, something would happen that would cause her to feel something.
Perhaps one day, she'd get to Be.
Marion woke up from her dream, in the way most people wake up from dreams that aren't nightmares, but are still rather odd: confusion.
She knew that it had made sense while she was asleep. She couldn't explain HOW it made a lot of sense, but it had. Her sense that the dream made sense was quickly slipping away. Before it could, Marion shot out of bed, grabbed the nearest piece of paper off her bedroom desk and frantically wrote down "Didn't exist?" and crossed out the word "exist". This, admittedly, didn't make sense, and was making less sense the longer she looked at it. Still, maybe it would later. Whatever she had dreamt about, hadn't been a nightmare, so she wanted to note it.
Maybe she'd remember those other dreams soon enough too.
Marion quickly went through the drawers at the foot of her bed and put on a pair of loose, tan canvas pants and a dark blue almost black knitted top that was, by Marion's guessing a little bit too short to be a dress (or at least one she'd consider wearing) and too long to be considered a tunic shirt
Or maybe it wouldn't have been too long to be considered a tunic shirt if the person putting it on hadn't been five-foot-one.
The point was that it was dark blue (dark enough to hide bloodstains, a morbid part of Marion thought), comfortable and had was all Marion really needed in a garment. She grabbed a pair of boots as well and then glanced over to her desk. The A and M drawers. The A drawer was empty the way that it always was. She opened the M drawer first. Inside of it was a note written in glowing orange and a deep dark blue zippo lighter patterned with silvery-white constellations.
"So funny story," the note began, "I found that lighter at a shop and thought 'hey that looks like MY LIGHTER' and then I remembered where I got my lighter and…
Anyway, it's probably a paradox but I'm literally your future self so pretty much off of our interactions are in some way paradoxical and the universe hasn't ripped apart yet, so it's fine.
On a seemingly related, but unrelated note, don't tell the Doctor about Clara." Marion grimaced.
"I'm not talking about Twelve, because not that it would work anyway or me telling you it won't work will stop you. Because it sure didn't stop me and I am you. But…you'll know what I mean when you get where you're going.
Don't tell him, it's better that he figure it out on his own and also the information we think we have isn't 100% accurate so there's no point anyway. The last time you met Clara SHOULD have been the Hyperion if I'm remembering right? I'm not sure. I should be more sure about these things. It's uh…it's been a bit.
-A
P.S. A lot of things related to the Doctor can't be changed but once again, remember the pen and remember what it's supposed to mean.
Cool, Marion had no clue what the pen was about.
You can save people, not just minor one-off characters, but people who you've talked to. Your friends who seem to be doomed to a terrible fate. You can save them.
I've saved them!
You're going to be amazing!"
Marion read that last part over and over and over again.
Instead of putting the note on the desk like she normally did, Marion ripped off the bottom of the note, folded it, and slid it into her bag.
The note made her happy in a way she couldn't quite verbalize. She still didn't know what the pen was supposed to mean. But she was sure that by the time it became important, she'd probably figure it out.
Hopefully.
With a buzz under her foot, Honey directed Marion's attention towards her bedroom door. It was a jar and across it, was another open door, the bathroom. Marion rushed inside and looked at herself in the mirror.
Well, besides the fact she felt pretty well-rested, she must've slept well. Her hair was messy and flattened to one side from sleep. Still, nothing wetting her hair and running a comb through it for a bit couldn't fix. She had washed her hair the night before (she doubted she had gotten any pesticides in there and didn't want to risk it) so the comb went through fairly easily.
Marion stared at herself in the mirror. She really looked. She was trying to memorize the way that her face looked. Her hair was still mostly dark brown, but it wouldn't be for long. So were both of her eyes. Even though she knew something was going to happen. She was going to get shot in the face somewhere near the eye socket and it was going to leave the skin around her eye discolored and make its color go from dark brown to a watery brown.
And then orange.
Which…
Marion examined her neck. There were at least a couple of places where the death marks would overlap and make the discolored bits even lighter if that was a thing that they did. And they didn't. So she had no idea what the orange eye thing was about, but it was quite literally a problem for future her.
Present her's problem was her neck, and whether or not she wanted to cover it up or not today.
Marion brushed her fingertips across it.
If she hadn't looked in the mirror, she wouldn't be able to tell where normal skin stopped and ended.
All to make it easier to cover it up.
Marion lightly pulled at the mirror and grabbed the make-up. The same kind as before, and she was slowly getting better at using it. Once the evidence mark was covered, Marion looked at herself in the mirror again, and then she looked away.
She took her messenger bag off the door handle and tossed it over her shoulder. Marion reached back down to grab ahold of the doorknob and then, with even less warning than she was used to, she was grabbed by the wrist and yanked forward. For a moment, Marion thought she was going to crash face-first into the door.
For a moment, Marion wasn't sure where she'd landed. Only that she was only able to stand there for a moment, and then she was losing her balance. She windmilled her arms, let out a short exclamation of surprise, and then she was falling.
Marion heard two people, a man, and a woman loudly calling her name.
Instead of landing on the metal TARDIS floor (which probably wouldn't have hurt too bad, especially after she left the ship), Marion landed in someone's arms with an "oof".
The Doctor's light brown tweed jacket was gone in favor of a dark brownish purplish one, and his bowtie was darker as well.
"Nice of you to drop in!" The Doctor said with a grin.
Both Marion and Clara groaned.
"I hate you,"
"No you don't," the Doctor replied, setting her back down on her feet.
"What happened?"
"You landed on the railing and lost your balance. You're lucky the Doctor caught you in time,"
"Thanks," Marion squeezed at the bridge of her nose and let out a low groan. "Sure wish that they'd drop me off normally for once!"
"Who's they?"
"No idea," Marion stared at them in silence for a moment, "Anyway, what are you guys up to? What are we doing?"
"Marion," the Doctor slung his arm around her shoulder "What do you know about ghost hunting?"
Marion blanked for a moment.
"Uh, don't say their name out loud a bunch, they come in many types, try not to agitate the ghost, and if your fellow ghost hunter gets killed, make sure to take a photo of their corpse for the insurance money,"
"What?" Clara stared at her.
"It's- there's this game that I used to play all the time where you hunt ghosts. That's how the ghosts work. And that's where most of my knowledge of ghost hunting comes from."
"Well then," The Doctor, removed his arm from Marion's shoulder, clapped his hands, and moved towards the TARDIS. "Let's see if that game had any bearing on real-life eh? We are going to see a woman about a haunting!"
Not to be cliche, but when the three of them left the TARDIS, it was a dark and stormy night. The kind of night where if you were planning on going outside, you might as well take a shower in your clothes first. Luckily, the TARDIS had umbrellas.
"So what are we supposed to do when we get to the house?" Clara asked, "We can't just knock, can we?"
"Why can't we?" Marion replied, "It's a door, and we're asking to be let inside. What else would we do?"
"Isn't it a haunted house?"
"There are living people inside."
"Yes but-,"
Before Clara could finish, Marion heard another intense CRACK of thunder.
"Marion's right Clara, we just need to knock,"
The Doctor started to knock loudly on the large double doors.
A moment later, one of the doors swung open.
The Doctor's head darted to the side.
"BOO!" he said, startling the man who had opened the door with a laugh. "Hello, I'm looking for a ghost,"
Marion walked out in the open with a sigh. "Literal child. You are a literal actual child." She turned to look at the man who'd opened the door and the woman standing just behind him. "I'm so, so, so, so sorry about him," Marion said, knowing damn well that she probably would've done the exact same thing if the Doctor hadn't done it first.
Marion yelped as the Doctor poked her in the side.
"And you are?" the man asked.
Clara came from behind the two of them, wielding her umbrella like it was a blaster.
"Ghostbusters!"
Thunder continued to boom outside. Marion reached into her bag at the same time the Doctor did and pulled out their psychic paper. Marion focused her thoughts on producing something that would make her look as official as possible, and then shut it before the man could get that good of a look.
"I'm the Doctor." the Doctor introduced. He brushed past the man at the door and ran inside.
"Doctor what?" the man called after him.
"More like Doctor Who. Hello, I'm Marion, and that's Clara. Do you mind if we-" Marion scooted inside after the Doctor.
It was a big house, (if it counted as a house and not a manor), and a nice one too. Full of green and dark woods and greys and a cream that fit in much better with the walls that white would. The room that might've been the parlor or whatever it was called had had the majority of its furniture shoved out of the way to make room for what could only be described as "fancy 70s science stuff."
The Doctor cheerfully ran up to one of the screens.
"Ah, but you are very different." he turned around to face the man, "You are Major Alec Palmer. Member of the Baker Street Irregulars, the Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare. Specialized in espionage, sabotage, and reconnaissance behind enemy lines. You're a talented watercolourist, professor of psychology, and ghost hunter. Total pleasure. Massive." the Doctor eagerly shook his hand.
"Actually, you're wrong," replied the woman. Sounding less like she believed what she was saying and more like she wanted them to believe that she believed what she was saying, "Professor Palmer spent most of the war as a POW."
"Actually, that's a lie told by a very brave man involved in very secret operations. The type of man who keeps a Victoria Cross in a box in the attic, eh? But you know that, because you're Emma Grayling, the Professor's companion."
"Assistant." Grayling corrected.
"It's 1974. You're the assistant and non-objective equipment," he turned back to look at Clara, "Meaning psychic."
"Getting that. Bless you, though."
The Doctor walked past Palmer, clapping him on the shoulder as he walked back to the computers.
"Relax, Emma. He's Military Intelligence," Palmer soothed.
'That was technically correct' Marion thought. 'In fact, if it's 1974, I think Three's at UNIT right now. And even if that doesn't count, I don't think the Doctor was ever officially made not a UNIT employee.'
"So, what is all this in aid of?" Palmer asked the Doctor.
Clara perched on the table as Marion sat backward in the red cushioned chair.
"Health and safety," the Doctor explained, "Yeah, the Ministry got wind of what's going on down here. Sent me to check that everything's in order."
"They don't have the right!"
"Don't worry about it," Marion waved her hand, "We'll be out of your hair soon enough. We're just doing a little look around."
"Oh! Oh, look." the Doctor snapped his fingers and excitedly started to fidget with what looked like a large switchboard. It reminded Marion of the part of the TARDIS console that controlled the scanner, "Oh, lovely. The ACR 99821. Oh, bliss. Nice action on the toggle switches. You know, I do love a toggle switch," the Doctor stopped messing with it, sat down on the table next to Clara and tilted his head.
"Actually, I like the word toggle. Nice noun. Excellent verb," Clara went to turn a switch, and the Doctor slapped his hand, "Oi, don't mess with the settings."
The Doctor stood up and started scanning around the room with his screwdriver. He focuses the light on Palmer and Graylin's faces.
"What's that?"
"It's an EMP reader,"
"Don't you mean EMF," the Doctor asked.
Marion blinked. "I do in fact mean EMF,"
"He's scanning for EMF?"
"Among other things," the Doctor continued to wave it around the room.
"Like what?"
"Classified, I'm afraid. You know, while the back room boffins work out a few kinks."
"What's it telling you?" Clara asked.
"It's telling me that you haven't been exposed to any life-threatening transmundane emanations," the Doctor spun on his heels to face them again, "So, where's the ghost?" thunder crackled as the Doctor picked up a lit candelabra from on the table, "Show me the ghost. It's ghost time."
Marion kept pace next to the Doctor with Palmer and Grayling trailing behind them and Clara at the rear.
"I will not have this stolen out from under me," Palmer shouted after the Doctor, "do you understand."
"Don't worry about it," Marion waved her hand, "If anything important gets found, you'll be the one who gets to keep the credit. We've got no interest in stealing your research."
"Do you think you're the first bureaucrat to make that kind of promise? I will not have my work stolen, then be fobbed off with a pat on the back and a letter from the Queen. Never again. This is my house, and it belongs to me."
"This is actually your house!" Clara stopped walking and stared at the man.
"It is,"
"Sorry. You went to the bank and said, you know that gigantic old haunted house on the moors? The one the dossers are too scared to doss in? The one the birds are too scared to fly over? And then you said, I'd like to buy it, please, with my money."
"Yes, I did actually,"
"That's incredibly brave,"
Lightning struck once more.
"It takes a very specific kind of person to do something like that,"
"Are you that kind of person Marion?" Clara asked.
"Oh absolutely not. Are you insane?"
"Listen, Major," the Doctor said, his voice low, "we just need to know what's going on here."
"For the Ministry."
"You know I can't answer that,"
Palmer sighed and looked away. "Very well, follow me,"
The living room was smaller, cozier, and more comfortable than the parlor they'd entered at the start. The walls were wood-paneled, and the chairs were comfortable to sit in (especially when you sat on them with your back against one armrest and your legs draped over another). The fireplace crackled and drove away from the remainder of the chill from the rain outside and between the fireplace and the many candles the room was merrily lit. Towards the back of the room was a table covered in snacks. Cookies, coffee, cheese, crackers, simple stuff.
Palmer took things from off a table and started to pin things to a rolling cork board.
The Doctor took the investigator's camera and snapped a picture of himself.
"Marion, come over here for a second," he called.
"Okay?"
Marion walked over to the man and before she could say much of anything, she felt a hand on her shoulder and winced as she was temporarily blinded by the camera's bright flash.
"Geeze," Marion said, blinking rapidly, "Warn a girl next time?"
Marion grabbed a cookie from the side table and popped it into her mouth.
"So, what's an empathic psychic?" Clara asked, she had sat down on a chair opposite Grayling.
"Sometimes I sense feelings, the way a telepath can sense thoughts. Sometimes, though. Not always."
The Doctor picked up the thing of instant coffee, smelled it, shook his head with a grimace, and then picked up the whole carafe of milk. He took a sip.
"The most compassionate people you'll ever meet, empathics. And the loneliest. I mean, exposing themselves to all those hidden feelings, all that guilt, pain and sorrow and-"
"Doctor?" Clara interrupted him by tapping him on the elbow.
"Yes?"
"Shush,"
"And wipe your mouth," Marion added.
The Doctor reached inside of his jacket for a handkerchief and wiped his face as Palmer called the four of them over.
"Would you care to have a look?" he gestured to his board.
Practically every inch of it was covered in polaroids and developed film and prints. All of them featured a view of the house and a wispy white figure. Despite Marion knowing that the woman looked like well, a normal woman, her eyes looked like black pits, distorted out of their proper eye shape.
Marion remembered that the woman's name was…
Marion did not remember her name.
She remembered that she was a time traveler stuck in a pocket universe. Marion remembered that much. And she was a descendent of Palmer and Grayling. And she was running from something.
Any part of the board not covered in a photograph had a handwritten account of an encounter.
"Caliburn House is over four hundred years old," Palmer explained, "but she has been here much longer. The Caliburn Ghast. She's mentioned in local Saxon poetry and parish folk tales. The Wraith of the Lady, the Maiden in the Dark, the Witch of the Well."
Marion closed her eyes and pinched her nose. "And so people looked at this incredibly haunted piece of land and thought 'You know what, I'm going to build my house right on top of it.' Honestly!"
"Is she real?" Clara asked, "As in, actually real?"
"These kinds of things usually are," Marion tapped one of the photos, "Our spirit might not be a ghost or a demon or whatever, but she's most certainly real,"
"In the seventeenth century, a local clergyman saw her. He wrote that her presence was accompanied by a dreadful knocking as if the Devil himself demanded entry. During the war, American airmen stationed here left offerings of tinned Spam. The tins were found in 1965, bricked up in the servants' pantry, along with a number of handwritten notes. Appeals to the Ghast," he pointed to one of the notes, "For the love of God, stop screaming,"
"People built a house here," Marion mumbled under her breath. It wasn't that Marion didn't already know this, but it hadn't fully hit her yet until she was actually there in person in the house. "People actually built a house here and you actually purchased it intentionally on purpose knowing it was a house built on haunted land with an active and screaming ghost."
Clara started at the board for a moment and then pointed to a spot on the picture. "She never changes. The angle's different, the framing, but she's always in exactly the same position. Why is that?"
"Maybe because she hasn't had a chance to move,"
The Doctor took the candelabra from the table and held it closer to the pinboard.
"We don't know," Palmer replying to Clara's question and Marion's comment, "She's an objective phenomenon, but objective recording equipment can't detect her-"
"Without the presence of a powerful psychic." the Doctor finished.
"Absolutely," Palmer took off his glasses and gestured towards the Doctor with them, "Very well done."
Marion looked over at Greyling. The woman didn't look entirely there. She was staring off into space.
"She knows I'm here," Her voice sounded breathy like she was in some kind of trance. "I can feel her calling out to me."
"What's she saying?" Clara asked.
"Help me." Greyling's voice was quiet.
Marion heard a loud gust of wind from somewhere behind the group. Marion's head darted around, and she found nothing.
The Doctor held up the candelabra to one of the handwritten notes.
"The Witch of the Well. So where's the well?"
Palmer gestured towards a nearby desk where an old-looking blueprint for the house was spread out.
"A copy of the oldest plan that we could find. There is no well on the property. None that we could find, anyway."
"Marion, you don't see anything do you?"
Marion knew she wouldn't but she scanned her eyes across it anyway. "Nope." Marion shook her head, "I mean, it's possible a room was boarded up and not included in the plans." Marion looked pointedly at the Doctor, "Not that I think that's something that happened. But anyway, you wouldn't be able to see something like that in the plans so the point is moot,"
The Doctor picked the candelabra up again and silently, nudged Marion. Before she could say anything, the Doctor shook his head and pointed at Clara who had her back facing the two of them. He smiled mischievously and slowly walked over to her, gesturing for Marion to come along with him.
The Doctor reached out to tap Clara on the top of her head as Marion cheerfully whispered "Hello!"
Clara jumped and turned to glare at the two of them.
"You coming?" the Doctor whispered.
"What?"
"Ghosthunting Clara," Marion said with a grin, "what else,"
"Why would I want to do that?"
"Because you want to," The Doctor gestured towards the door to the living room with his head, "Come on."
"Well, I dispute that assertion."
"Eh? I'm giving you a face. Can you see me? Look at my face."
"He's giving you a face," Marion repeated. "Come on, it'll be fine. Do a little bit of investigation,"
Clara stared at the two of them for a moment and then stepped closer to the two of them.
"Fine." Clara crossed her arms, "Dare me."
The Doctor leaned down to look at Clara and grinned. "I dare you. No takesies backsies."
Clara smiled and took the candelabra from the Doctor and started to walk down the corridors. He clapped his hands and laughed, followed behind her, with Marion right next to him.
Grayling called out to him. "The music room is the heart of the house. You should check there,"
"Gotcha!" Marion gave the woman a thumbs up. "The music room is the ghost room!"
Marion wondered as they were walking through the halls using a candelabra instead of a flashlight.
Then she remembered that she didn't have a flashlight on her other than the one on her phone, so you know what, the candelabra was good enough.
"Say we actually found her," Clara asked as the Doctor tried a locked door, "What do we say?"
"We ask her how she came to be, whatever she is."
"Why?"
"Because he's the Doctor, and he likes to know everything about everything."
"Ignorance is…" the Doctor trailed off, what's the opposite of bliss?"
"Carlisle."
"Yes," the Doctor snapped his fingers, "Yes, Carlisle. Ignorance is Carlisle."
They continued to walk slowly through the halls; every now and then jumping at the sound of thunder and noises that Marion tried to write off as thunder, but knew wasn't thunder.
They crept into the kitchen. Clara waved the candelabra around the room, bathing the place in flickering firelight that made the shadows even eerier.
The Doctor ducked down to look under tables so sharply that Marion was surprised he didn't fall over.
Marion constantly glanced back towards the way they'd come in. She didn't THINK that something was going to dart in after them, but Marion's memory was fuzzy. She'd probably only seen this episode like, twice and one of those times it had been in the background while she'd done other things.
The Doctor opened a teapot and looked inside.
"The music room is this way," Clara gestured with her head while standing at the door on the other end of the room. "I think I can see a harp. Marion, that's the music room down there, right?"
The Doctor looked up from the teapot while Marion stuck her head down the hall.
"Yup, that looks like it, come on,"
Marion had thought that they arrived sometime late at night, but judging from the sunlight that was creeping through the windows of the music room, it must've actually been sometime early in the morning. Sometime between when they'd left the living room and arrived here, the sun had to have risen.
Not having to depend on flickering candlelight to see past shadows made everything significantly less creepy. The room had the same warm wood as the rest of the house. Statues stood around the perimeter, and in the center of the room, there was the harp that Clara had to have seen, and one of those stands where people placed sheet music.
That being said, while Marion wasn't getting the same cold sense of dread that always popped up moments before the Doctor being in danger started to give her vertigo and make her dizzy.
But still, she could FEEL that something was wrong and off.
The Doctor scanned around the room with the sonic screwdriver. The light and buzzing fluttered and flickered. The Doctor slapped his hand against the side of the device as if he could knock whatever malfunction back into place.
"Ah, the music room. The heart of the house. Do you feel anything?"
"No,"
"Clara, don't lie," Marion gestured around the room, "The vibes here are absolutely rancid. I know you can feel it. This room feels terrible,"
"Marion, how did that game of yours work,"
"What?"
The Doctor spun his wrist. "The ghost hunting game."
"Well, uh, the first thing you'd want to do is try to find the ghost room,"
Clara waved the candelabra around the room. "Well, we've done that, what's next,"
"Well, then you'd want to avoid agitating the ghost, but also start looking for ghost evidence," the Doctor started to walk around the room, scanning the room as Marion spoke. "Y'know, stuff like fingerprints, footsteps on salt, ghostly writing in books, high EMF readings, setting up a dot projector and seeing if anything walks through it, spirit box responses-"
"Incredibly cold temperatures?"
"Yes, freezing temperatures are-,"
The Doctor was standing in the doorway on the opposite side from where they had come in. He turned around and while the room wasn't exactly hot (in fact, Marion was glad she was wearing something with long sleeves) but it was nowhere near cold enough for the Doctor's breath to be visible.
"Right." Marion said, nodding slowly, "Freezing temperatures are."
Marion had forgotten about this bit.
"Cold spot," the Doctor said quietly, barely loud enough for his two companions to hear him. "Spooky. Cold. Warm," he stepped away from near the door and back again."Cold Warm," he stepped to the side this time, "Cold," And then he stepped back again, "Warm. Cold. Warm. Cold."
All the while, from the other side of the room, the house began to creak loudly in a way that even the most in denial idiot in the world couldn't pin on the house just settling.
The Doctor reached into his pocket, kneeled down on the floor, and started to draw a wide circle on the floor near the door. He scanned the ground and examined the results on his screwdriver.
Marion stepped close to the Doctor and waved her hand around in the circle and, yup. Cold. Very cold.
She pulled her hand back. The Doctor nodded and continued scanning around the circle.
"Doctor? Doctor!" Clara called, catching the man's attention.
The Doctor looked away from his screwdriver and over at her.
"What?"
"I'm not happy," she said in a hushed tone.
"No?"
The Doctor grabbed Marion by the hand almost absent-mindedly and started to walk over the circle and out of the music room.
"CLARA" Marion said in a sharp soft whisper. Catching the woman's attention. "Come on,"
Clara ran after them and quickly caught up with them in the hallway right next to a large floor-to-ceiling window. A loud metallic banging noise rang out louder and louder and louder until a strong gust of wind blew through as if the window they were standing next to was open. The candelabra was blown out in an instant. The sky went dark again, and it began to storm.
They stared at the snuffed out candles for a moment in stunned shock and horror and then at each other. The silence was only broken by the sound of frost creeping on the windows rapidly and the occasional loud THUD of something heavy slamming against something else.
"Okay, what is that?" Clara asked.
"It's a" The Doctor leaned an elbow against one of the tapestries. He was stuttering slightly. "It's a very loud noise. It's a very loud, very angry noise."
"What's making it?" Clara aksed in a low whisper. "Marion what's making it,"
"It's the uh-" Marion couldn't remember if it was the monster or the time traveler that that noise was coming from. "It's the thing that people are calling the Witch of the Well,"
"I knew you were going to say that," the Doctor groaned, "I knew it, I just knew it"
"Marion" Clara said in a low whisper.
"Yes,"
"In that game of yours…"
"Uh-huh," Marion asked nodding and trying to remind herself that everything was fine, the ghost was a stuck time traveler and the monster she was running from was just looking for their mate and everything was fine and normal and no one was about to get yanked off their feet by and invisible force and hurled down a flight of stairs.
"You said that you're not supposed to agitate the ghosts. What happened if they got agitated,"
'I could tell her that if they get agitated they start hunting you, and if you don't run far away or enough or hide and keep the door closed, they kill you,'
"Don't-don't worry about it. It's just a game, and we aren't even in that much real danger."
"Marion-"
Another loud THUD.
And then another one. Each one louder than the last as if something was getting closer and closer to them. Another thud banged loudly from the other side of the wall the Doctor was leaning against. He pushed away and ran next to Clara, staring at the tapestry he'd previously been leaning against.
The Doctor stared towards the music room with his eyes wide.
"Marion, Doctor," Clara whispered after a moment.
"Hn?"
"I may be a teeny, tiny bit terrified. And you avoiding my question didn't help Marion."
"Sorry,"
"But I'm still a grown-up,"
The Doctor nodded, " Mainly, yes, and-?"
"There's no need to actually hold my hand."
"Clara," Marion said slowly as the Doctor nodded. He then looked over at Marion's open hands and his own. His eyes widened. "Don't freak out but-"
But Marion and the Doctor held up their palms, the Doctor's a lot shakier than Marion's.
This was an interesting time to not have shaky hands.
"-but we're not holding your hands,"
Clara looked down at her hands as well. Her eyes widened.
Lightning struck thunder boomed, and the curtain behind them was illuminated, revealing a shadowy creature that was built like a man crouched on the ground that looked like it was covered in strops of something that might've been bark or might've been fungus that made the creature look like a mummy or fucked up paper-mache creation.
Naturally, the three of them fled as fast as they could in the opposite direction.
Next Chapter: Ghost Hunting, (But It's Not A Ghost)
Marion: Yeah, I used to play this ghost hunting game all the time.
Clara & the Doctor: You were good at it right?
Marion: …
Clara & the Doctor: You were good at it right?
I feel like it was pretty clear, but if it wasn't the game that Marion's talking about is Phasmaphobia.
Oh, and the architecture thing, there's this thing they in the Renaissance used to use a lot of funky techniques to make things look a lot smaller than they actually are. Brunelleschi's Foundling Hospital has huge doors and stairs but is built proportionately to those. So when you see it, you think you know about how big it is, but you are wrong, it's much bigger. A lot of churches are like that too.
Santa Maria presso San Satiro also has this really cool mural in the back near the pulpit so it when you look at it straight on, the church looks like it's bigger on the inside.
I am actually an Architecture Major so I'm forcing Marion to be as well. The smell of burnt cardboard is to her,
Oh BOY I am Super Duper excited for the next chapter. This is for a variety of reasons but more because it gives me an excuse to be a little more…explicit about what's going on with Marion? Like, I've dropped a lot of hints but I'll be able to drop an actually explicit clue.
Also, while I was watching part of Hide for this chapter, I had a Microwave Society video open in one in picture-in-picture, and let me tell you something. Having an episode of season seven doctor who open in one tab and Milo from Morbius doing…That Dance is certainly An Experience.
Anyway, see you in two to three weeks. I'm not exactly sure which.