Wishing Well

by Trevor Baxendale

  'I've been on to the local council,' stated Gaskin without preamble. 'They haven't sent anyone here today.'

  Ah,' said the Doctor, 'that's because you asked the wrong council.'

  'Wrong council? What are you blithering about, man?'

  'We're from the Well Council.'

  'Well Council?'

  The Doctor smiled. 'All's well that ends well, that's our motto.'

  'I've no time for impudence,' snapped Gaskin. 'You'd better leave before I call the police.'

  'Hang on a minute,' said Martha, 'we're not doing any harm...'

  'It's pointless arguing with him,' said Angela. 'He won't listen, he never does.'

  'I'll listen if there's anything worth listening to,' Gaskin replied tartly. His dog was busily exploring the well, sniffing here and there at the equipment spread about. Gaskin's beady eyes alighted on the new windlass. 'What's that?'

  'The new windlass,' said Sadie.

  'You've no right.'

  'Don't worry about it,' said the Doctor. All we need now is a new rope. Give us enough and we'll hang ourselves, no need for you to put yourself to any trouble.'

  'The Doctor's going to go down the well,' Angela announced triumphantly. 'Spot inspection, on behalf of the Well Council.'

  'Wishing Department,' smiled the Doctor genially.

  'I absolutely forbid it,' Gaskin said. He gave the Doctor a very black look. 'I don't know what you're doing here, young man, but I'm calling a halt to it right now. I know the stories about this well – treasure and monsters and what have you. You lot are just trading on those stories for your own ends. There is no treasure and there are no monsters. Fact. Now I am asking you, once again, to stop what you are doing and leave.'

  Angela stepped forward, hands dug deep into her camouflage jacket pockets. 'Now listen here, Henry. I've had just about enough of you trying to throw your weight around this village, and particularly this well. The truth is you have no business here, no authority, and there's nothing you can do to stop us. Sadie and I were voted onto the refurbishment committee by the village Residents' Association, and there's not a blind thing you can do about it. We're not after any treasure – frankly I don't even believe in it – but we do want this well properly restored and fit for use. If you don't want to help us with that, then at least don't try to hinder us.'

  Gaskin met her gaze steadily for a long moment. The two of them stared at each other, as if each was willing the other to break the silence. Finally, in surprisingly gentle tones, Gaskin said, 'Very well, if that's your final word on the matter – I'll let you waste your time and money on a pointless exercise. It'll be your loss.' He turned to leave and then paused. 'But don't say I didn't warn you, Angela.'

  And with that he strode off towards the manor, with the Collie dog at his heels.

  Sadie clapped her hands. 'Oh, well done, Angela! Bravo! You were superb!'

  About time someone stood up to him,' muttered Angela. She seemed suddenly deflated, as if the confrontation had taken all the energy out of her.

  Martha was frowning. 'But what was that all about at the end – what warning? What did he mean?'

  'Don't take any notice, dear,' Angela said wearily. 'He's full of hot air, that one. He's just trying to frighten you.'

  'Which is interesting,' the Doctor said quietly to Martha. 'We've heard all about the treasure and the highwayman and the well... but he's the first person to mention anything about monsters.'

  NINE

  The Doctor checked the last buckle on his harness and grinned at Martha. 'All set?'

  'No,' said Martha, arms folded. Angela and Sadie were busy fitting a new rope to the windlass, having supplied the Doctor with the necessary equipment. Angela still had a lot of her ex-husband's climbing gear and had dashed home to fetch it. Now the Doctor wore a sort of mountaineer's belt fitted with leg-loops and various metal hooks over his own suit. 'Isn't there anything else we can do?' Martha asked eventually.

  His expression grew more serious. 'Nothing – except just walk away. Go back to the TARDIS and leave. And we're not going to do that, are we?'

  'No.'

  'There's no point standing around up here wondering what's down there,' the Doctor told her as he fastened a karabiner to his climbing harness, 'when we can easily go down and just have a look.'

  'But you saw what happened to the bucket,' Martha argued. 'It nearly broke the windlass.'

  He shrugged. 'Sadie could be right, it could have been an accident.'

  'You don't really believe that, do you?'

  He didn't reply. He simply turned to Angela and asked, 'All set?'

  She gave him the thumbs-up and demonstrated the winch and pulley system she had set up under the new windlass. 'It's a modern equivalent of a block and tackle,' she told them. 'Very simple to operate – it lets the rope out at a steady rate through this...' she rattled a steel handgrip through which the rope passed. There was a hand-operated lever attached so that it looked like an oversized bicycle grip and brake. 'If I keep the lever pressed the rope plays out. If I release the grip then it locks. Safe as houses.'

  'This rope is a lightweight nylon mix used by mountaineers and potholers,' explained Sadie, holding up a length of bright blue cord which led back to a large drum. 'It's perfect for this kind of job.'

  'You're certainly well prepared,' commented Martha, impressed.

  'The secret of our success, dear.'

  'We'll lower you down,' said Angela, as the new rope was attached to the Doctor's climbing harness. 'Take it slowly because we really don't know what you'll find – there could be partial collapse of the shaft wall, tree roots, undergrowth, anything. You'll need this, too.' She handed him a large torch. The Doctor switched it on and trained it on his other hand; even in broad daylight the beam looked powerful. There was a lanyard attached, which the Doctor hooked onto his belt.

  'Take this as well,' Sadie said, handing him a compact radio. 'Walkie-talkie. You can stay in touch with us up here, and report back what you find. If there's the slightest problem, yell and we'll pull you up sharpish.'

  'It'll be cold down there,' cautioned Angela. 'Don't you want to put something warmer on?'

  The Doctor said he was fine as he was and then swung his long legs over the parapet of the well-shaft. Martha looked down into the inky depths and shivered. 'You will be careful, won't you?'

  "Course I will,' he replied cheerily, as if he was never anything but. 'Don't worry, I'm only popping down for a quick look. I'll be back in five minutes.' He checked the rope by giving it a hard tug, and then looked at her. Again, there was that seriousness back in his dark eyes and Martha felt an intense pang of worry. 'Listen,' he said, quietly. 'If anything goes wrong – go and see Henry Gaskin.'

  Martha frowned. 'What? Why him?'

  But the Doctor had already swung himself off the wall and was dangling over the well-shaft. He swung gently to and fro, and Angela began to squeeze the winch grip. Slowly the rope began to move through the pulley hanging from the windlass and the Doctor was lowered into the well.

  'Good luck!' Sadie called down after him. He looked up and grinned, already disappearing into the cool shadows. 'Be careful!'

  After a very few seconds Martha saw the Doctor switch his torch on and a bright white beam stabbed into the shaft wall. She caught a glimpse of crumbling brickwork as the light swivelled erratically; the Doctor was beginning to turn on the rope. The torchlight described a complete circle and the last thing Martha saw of the Doctor was a brief glimpse of his long, pale face looking back up at her. Then he was submerged in a pool of darkness and all she could make out was the distant glow of the torch. He had been completely lost from sight in a remarkably short time.

  She forced herself to look up at the winch. There was still an awful lot of rope on the drum to play out. He had a long way to go.

  Duncan and Ben were working their way past a large rock embedded in the earth. It took several big hits with the pickaxe to split the thing, but eventually they were a
ble to pull the broken pieces out and discard them. They were taking less care with the loosened soil now because they knew they were nearly at the end of things; there was no need to ferry it all back up to the entrance and keep everything tidy.

  'Watch out for our friend,' said Ben, as Duncan threw a chunk of rock across the tunnel and narrowly missed the skeleton.

  'Sorry, mate,' Duncan grinned at the skull. 'I wonder who he really was?'

  'I told you, it was the highwayman,' said Nigel. He was leaning against the tunnel wall, hands on his knees, feeling very unwell. The others put it down to claustrophobia. He knew it was something far worse.

  'I mean, what was his name?' wondered Duncan.

  Ben said, 'We'll have to call him John Doe.'

  'Nah, too American. He's English: Joe Bloggs.'

  'Joe Bones, you mean.'

  'Hah! Yeah, Joe Bones. Hello, Joe, nice to meet you!' Duncan bowed to the skeleton. 'Hey, Joe, you've lost a bit of weight.'

  They laughed together, starting to feel a bit drunk on the prospect of being so close to the end. Treasure or not, they both wanted this digging over.

  'Hey, look at this,' Duncan said, when they had calmed down a little. He was pointing at the cavity in the earth where the big rock had been. Immersed in the soil was a tangle of pale and fibrous vegetable matter. 'What's that?'

  'Roots or something, I suppose,' said Ben.

  'I'd have thought we were a bit far down for roots,' Duncan remarked. 'There aren't any trees near enough which could have a root system running this deep.'

  Ben shrugged. 'I don't know. There could be some old growth down here, I suppose.' He bent down to have a closer look. The tendrils were so pale they were almost white, straggling through the soil like thin wires. 'It looks very pale – starved of sunlight. No photosynthesis. Probably dead.'

  'Weird!' Duncan moved the torch closer and the roots almost seemed to glow. 'I've never seen anything like that before!'

  'Come and have a look at this, Nigel,' said Ben, indicating the remains of the white weed-like substances trailing through some of the soil and rock fragments. 'What do you make of it?'

  'Nothing,' Nigel replied, hardly sparing it a glance. He sounded distracted. 'It's not treasure is it? That's all we're interested in...'

  Duncan was watching Nigel closely. 'Hey, Nigel. You don't look well, you know.'

  'I'm fine.'

  Ben looked. 'Dunc's right. You look as white as a ghost. Why don't you go and have a sit down, let us carry on.'

  By now Nigel was leaning weakly against the tunnel wall. 'I think I'm just tired. We're so close...'

  Duncan rested a hand on his shoulder. 'Do what Ben says. Go and have a rest. We'll come back and get you the moment we find anything.'

  'I-I don't know...' Nigel didn't look happy about it.

  'We've got another couple of metres to go,' Ben assured him. 'It's not much but there's a lot of rock and it could take a little while longer. You can't stand here. You look like you're going to throw up any minute.'

  'All right,' Nigel nodded. 'Call me the instant you find anything.'

  'Will do.' Duncan patted him on the arm and Nigel walked slowly away, heading back up the tunnel.

  Nigel stopped at the mouth of the tunnel and took several deep breaths. The climb back up the steep gradient had winded him but his whole body was tingling and there was a familiar stirring deep inside his head.

  He felt in his coat pocket and took out the stone.

  It was vibrating; just slightly, enough for him to feel it through his gloves. A sort of complacent hum, almost like the purring of a cat.

  He raised it up so that he could look at it more closely. The surface had changed. And, even as he watched, the surface began to move – microscopically, almost as if a million tiny fragments were chasing each other around like insects. It made the stone appear almost fuzzy, or blurred. Nigel had once seen a termite mound disturbed; the number of insects that had poured out had formed a sort of living mass, a river of movement, and that's what the surface of the thing looked like now. It still felt solid in his hand, but he could see and feel the activity.

  He wondered if the stone was as excited as he was.

  'What's the matter?' Nigel asked. 'You've never done this before.'

  -i must grow... i must feed-

  'Nearly there,' he murmured soothingly. 'Nearly there...'

  -hurry-

  Tiny little fingers stood up from the surface of the stone, uncoiling and probing the air like worms. They waved blindly for a few moments, sliding over his fingers and hands, and then began to lash back and forth in a more feverish manner.

  -i must grow-

  Nigel smiled. 'Yes! I know... I know... we're so very close now...'

  -it is not enough-

  'I'm sorry, I don't understand...'

  -you will never understand-

  Suddenly, sharp, barbed spines dug into his hands and Nigel cried out in pain. He felt the blood welling from his palms and fingers, and, when he tried to let go of the stone, he found that it was impossible.

  'What are you doing? You're hurting me!'

  -i must feed and grow. the time of rising is near-

  Nigel gasped in pain. 'I don't know what you mean—'

  -i am ready-

  'R-ready for what?'

  -the rising-

  He couldn't bear it any long, couldn't understand what was happening. The pain in his hands was intense, but nothing compared to the pain in his head. It felt as if the little barbs had reached all the way into his mind and were tearing through his brain tissue.

  Nigel forgot all about Duncan and Ben, all about the treasure, everything. All he wanted to do now was get out and breathe fresh, clean air. He had to get away from here.

  He had to get away from the stone.

  But, try as he might, he couldn't get rid of it; he shook his hands but the stone held fast, digging its little fingers deeper into his flesh.

  With a sob of fear, Nigel emerged into the blinding light of day and stumbled forward.

  TEN

  At the top of the well, Sadie was showing Martha how to use the walkie-talkie. This red light means it's on. That's the frequency – it's set to channel one. Press this switch when you speak, release it to listen.'

  'Gotcha.'

  They were looking down into the well, but all they could see was the blue rope disappearing into the darkness. Martha kept thinking she could see the distant glimmer of the Doctor's torch as it moved around the shaft, but she couldn't be sure.

  She pressed the switch on the walkie-talkie. 'Doctor? Are you there?' She remembered the way people usually spoke on radio transceivers and added, 'Do you read me, over?'

  The walkie-talkie crackled and then the Doctor's voice rang out loud and clear: 'Hello, Martha!'

  She laughed with relief and pressed the switch again. 'We can't see you any more. What's it like down there?'

  'Dark and cold,' came the reply with a crackle of static. 'There is a lot of vegetation down here, weeds and stuff, but you can tell Sadie the shaft wall is in pretty good condition so far.'

  'That's great!'

  'Hang on a...' the Doctor's voice faded briefly and then returned, '... to get through here. I'll need... hands to move it.'

  'Didn't get that. Can you repeat, over?'

  Crackle. 'Lots of weeds and... yes, probably brambles I think. I'll need both hands to move it so I can get past. Hold the rope a minute. I'll have to switch the walkie-talkie off. Over and out.'

  The radio crackled and Martha looked at Angela. 'I heard,' she said, and stopped winding the rope out. 'He's doing well, isn't he?'

  'I hope so,' Martha said. 'He has a knack of finding trouble, though.'

  The Doctor spun slowly in the darkness, watching the light from his torch play over the shaft wall. There was a tangle of weeds and roots growing all over the old brickwork, and a big patch of brambles. The light gleamed briefly on the tips of some viciously sharp thorns.


  With great care he pushed aside some of the thinner, more straggling branches, doing his best to avoid the thorns. The brambles grew more thickly below, almost like a barrier.

  Craning his neck, the Doctor looked back up the wellshaft. It was very dark, but he could still see a coin-shaped white disc above him. The sky. It seemed alarmingly small and distant. But there was still a lot further to go; he had to carry on.

  Steeling himself, he turned back to the matter at hand. He swung himself across the well and grabbed hold of one of the sturdier roots. It was growing out of the shaft wall, but the damage didn't look too bad. Nothing that couldn't be patched up once the vegetation was removed. He twisted around in his harness and shone the torch downwards. He could see a narrow gap through the bramble thicket. If he took it carefully, he could probably climb down right through it.

  Beyond the brambles was nothing but impenetrable blackness. The torch beam was simply swallowed whole. He found the walkie-talkie and pressed the call switch. 'Hello up there...'

  Martha's voice crackled faintly: 'Hi! Everything OK?'

  'I've found a way through the worst of it. You can lower away'

  'Right! Lowering away.

  The rope hummed and the Doctor positioned himself so that he dropped through the clear way. The odd thorn snagged on his clothes, but otherwise he passed through without a hitch. The brambles closed over his head like a tangled ceiling as he descended into an altogether colder, damper darkness.

  The Doctor shivered. It wasn't the cold so much as something else – a deathly atmosphere completely at odds with anything he had experienced on Earth before. It was as if in passing through the brambles he had passed into another world.

  The torchlight picked out something else growing up the brickwork; a strange, fibrous growth which stayed close to the walls and was much paler than the vegetation he'd seen so far. Some of the stems looked oddly withered, meandering in a haphazard fashion with milk-white tendrils creeping between the narrow gaps around the bricks. There were other things down here, living things, moving in the torchlight: snails and beetles and spiders. When the light hit the snails, their translucent antennae shrank to nothing; the insects and the spiders scurried away into the cracks in the wall.