by Doctor Who
‘Well, quite,’ Angela said. ‘A lot of hard work, though not the sort of thing the Gaskin family would have entered into lightly, I’d have thought.’
‘Oh, they didn’t do the actual digging. They hired labourers. Ex-miners, in fact. The tunnel was properly constructed. They got quite a way, too, by all accounts, before it was abandoned.’
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‘Why was it abandoned?’ asked Martha.
‘Rupert died. Influenza, I believe. Tragic business. The idea was shelved anyway when a distant relative passed away at around the same time and the Gaskins inherited another small fortune, saving them from financial disaster. Suddenly the impetus to carry on with the tunnelling wasn’t there any more and the whole project was forgotten about. The tunnel was left to rot.’
‘How far does it go?’
‘I’ve really no idea.’
‘Haven’t you been down there yourself?’
‘Good heavens, no.’ Gaskin looked distinctly uncomfortable now.
‘I’m not all that good with enclosed spaces. Touch of claustrophobia, in fact. But you could ask Nigel. He’s been down there.’
Nigel Carson was leaning awkwardly against the side of the tunnel, his face still pale and one hand stuffed into his jacket pocket. ‘The original tunnel extends nearly 700 metres, right under the manor. It practically reaches the base of the well-shaft according to Ben Seddon’s calculations. Close enough for us to be able to complete the project, anyway. It’s taken a little while and a lot of sweat on their behalf but we’re nearly there.’
‘You believe this treasure actually exists?’ asked Martha.
‘Yes.’
‘How come?’
‘Gaskin Manor was used as a convalescent home for wounded sol-diers during the Second World War. My own grandfather was interned here in 1943. He never went back into battle, but while he stayed here he had the run of the place. He found out all about the Gaskin Tunnel, the well treasure, everything. He handed the plans down to me when he died. I enlisted the help of two friends from university – Ben Seddon does the logistics and Duncan Goode does the digging.’
‘And you need the money, do you?’
Nigel shrugged. ‘I need a lot of things.’
‘And what about you?’ Angela directed this question at Gaskin.
‘A place like this costs an awful lot to run,’ he said quietly. ‘Every little helps.’
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‘Huh! And you were always so dismissive of any stories about the treasure! No wonder you didn’t like us trying to renovate the well.
Probably thought we’d rumble your little treasure hunt. And we have.’
‘It’s all a bit academic now, anyway,’ said Nigel, checking his wrist-watch. ‘Ben and Duncan should be almost through to the bottom of the well by now.’
Martha clicked her fingers. ‘Perfect! I’m going down there.’
She headed for the tunnel but Angela and Gaskin immediately protested. ‘Hold on a moment! You can’t go down there!’
Martha paused. ‘Of course I can. It’s the best way to reach the Doctor. If he’s at the bottom of the well then I’ll find him.’
‘It’s a bit of a long shot, isn’t it?’
‘It’s all I’ve got.’
‘I’d strongly advise that you don’t go down there at all,’ said Nigel.
‘Don’t worry,’ Martha told him, ‘I’m not interested in your stupid treasure. I only want the Doctor.’
‘I’m not talking about the treasure. It could be dangerous, that’s all.’
Martha gave him a cool look. ‘Duncan Goode and Ben Seddon are down there – what can go wrong?’
And then she turned and started down the steps.
‘Shouldn’t you go with her?’ Angela said to Nigel.
‘Shouldn’t you? She’s your friend.’
‘It’s your tunnel!’
‘Actually, it’s Gaskin’s.’
Gaskin coughed. ‘I can’t possibly go. I’ve already told you – I can’t stand enclosed spaces. I’m an outdoors person.’ With a curse Angela turned and looked back into the mouth of the tunnel. But Martha had already gone.
‘Hey, look at this,’ Ben said quietly. He was examining the brickwork on the well-shaft more closely.
‘What is it?’
‘There’s more of that weed stuff here.’ Ben pointed to some thin roots growing through the cracks between the bricks. They had spread across the wall, and were embedded in the soil. ‘It’s all around here.’
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‘Perhaps it’s the remains of a dead tree or something.’ Duncan suggested.
‘I still don’t like the look of them,’ Ben admitted. ‘If you watch closely, it’s like they’re sort of. . . creeping.’
But something else had caught Duncan’s eye. He moved back to the skeleton in the corner and knelt down. ‘That stuff’s all over the place, now you mention it,’ he remarked. ‘I didn’t notice it before, but it’s here too, all around Joe Bones.’
‘It must have been there all along.’
Duncan shrugged. ‘Maybe.’ He reached out and pulled at some of the strands. Then he made a face. ‘It feels really odd. Like it’s warm.
Touch it.’
‘No thanks.’
‘Wait a sec. Switch the torch off a minute.’
‘Why?’
‘Just switch it off – and the other lamp.’
Ben sighed and switched off the lights. Immediately the tunnel went dark – but not so dark that they couldn’t see each other. Ben could clearly make out Duncan, squatting down by the skeleton, lit by a faint green glow.
‘It’s luminous,’ Ben realised. ‘The weed glows in the dark!’
‘You mean it glows in the dark while it grows in the dark,’ smiled Duncan. He peered down at Joe Bones. The thin web of glowing strands picked out the man’s skull in ghostly detail. ‘Now that’s scary,’
he whispered to himself.
And then froze as the skull turned slowly to look at him.
Duncan felt his heart miss several beats, and then, jus I as he opened his mouth to call out to Ben, the skeleton’s outstretched hand whipped up and grabbed him by the throat.
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Theearlypartofthetunnelwasingoodrepair,thewallsbrickedand the floor cut into a series of steps. The light from outside made it easy for Martha to see where she was going at first, but the further she went, the more the shadows deepened, and soon the entrance arch was no more than a distant white spot behind her. For a moment she hesitated, wondering if she should go back for a torch after all, but then decided against it. She had no more time to lose now.
Her eyes gradually got used to the dark but she had to move more slowly, feeling her way down each step. She didn’t particularly want to touch the moss-covered walls, so she folded her arms and tried to make sure she didn’t stumble.
It grew very cold and damp. The rich, peaty smell of earth was all around her now and guessed that this part of the tunnel didn’t have brick-lined walls. She could hear her own breathing very loudly in the confined space. Keep calm, she told herself. Just carry on. Duncan and Ben are at the end of the tunnel.
She began to see a faint light ahead of her. Spurred on by this, she sensed the tunnel was levelling out, but there was less headroom and she had to duck under the heavy wooden support joists that were just becoming visible in the gloom. The ground was getting noticeably 99
rougher, She guessed she had reached the newest section of the tunnel because soon there were plenty of loose earth and stones underfoot and she had to be careful not to trip or twist an ankle.
With a surge of relief she realised that Duncan and Ben must be just ahead, where the light was coming from. Then she frowned, hearing the sounds of some kind of commotion.
‘Duncan?’ she called. ‘Ben? Is that you?’
With a choked gasp of pure horror, Duncan felt the cold fingers grip his throat. Before he could pull away, the skeleton’s other hand joined the first and Duncan was compl
etely unable to breathe.
Ben saw what was happening from the far side of the tunnel. As Duncan fell backwards, dragging the cadaver with him, Ben suddenly felt galvanised into action. He dived towards his friend and tried to drag the skeleton off him. Duncan’s face was twisted into a mask of fear and pain as the dead hands remained fastened on his windpipe.
Ben, whimpering with fear but compelled to help, grabbed hold of the bony forearms. For a few seconds the three figures struggled in the middle of the tunnel. The skeleton’s grip was impossibly strong, and Duncan’s face was turning an ugly colour in the lamplight. The veins bulged on his forehead as he fought for breath.
Ben couldn’t even begin to think about what was happening, but suddenly he knew things were turning from very bad to much, much worse.
A spark of green energy leapt from the skull’s open jaws towards Duncan. For a moment, he was illuminated in the strange, crackling glow. And then he let out a long, awful groan from somewhere deep inside him.
The sound was so unnatural, so inhuman, that Ben automatically let go. The skeleton gave one last convulsive rattle and then seemed to disintegrate, collapsing into a pile of dust and bones. The skull landed with a hollow thud and rolled to a stop by his feet, grinning sightlessly up at him.
But Duncan was changing. He was standing in the middle of the tunnel, hands still grasping at his own throat as he fought for breath.
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Even without the skeleton throttling him, he was suffocating. His lips pulled back in a terrible grimace, revealing long, sharpened grey fangs. His eyes bulged from his head, shot with blood, brimming with fear.
Gradually Duncan’s clawed fingers pulled away from his neck. The skin beneath was webbed with thick, pulsing grey veins which seemed to move beneath the flesh like living things.
‘Duncan. . . ’ groaned Ben, backing away until he met the tunnel wall. ‘What. . . what’s happened?’
Duncan turned to look at him, and Ben could see nothing of his friend in the cold and inhuman gaze.
‘Dunc. . . ?’
Silently, inexorably, the thing that had been Dun all moved towards Ben, hands outstretched.
Martha heard the scream first and ran towards it. That was a reflex now. Before the scream had even finished, Martha reached the end of tunnel and found Duncan Goode strangling Ben Seddon.
Although it wasn’t Duncan. Not really. The thing that held Ben by the throat was wearing Duncan’s clothes, and bore a superficial resemblance to the young Welshman, but that was as far as it went.
Martha glimpsed the distorted features, the writhing veins beneath the grey flesh, but then realised that she was actually witnessing a murder.
Green energy crackled out of Duncan’s open mouth, spreading over Ben’s face and neck, and the skin beneath started to twist and blacken.
Martha watched in horror as Ben’s flesh seemed to break apart and then, with a final shriek of pain and terror, he crumbled into dust.
For a second, there was complete silence in the tunnel as the remains fell from Duncan’s fingers like flakes of burning paper.
Then Duncan turned to look at Martha.
‘Duncan?’ Martha croaked, trying to find her voice. Nervously she began to back away, because there was no sign of recognition in Duncan’s inflamed eyes. No sign of anything human at all.
∗ ∗ ∗
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At the tunnel entrance, Nigel Carson swayed as if he was about to faint. Gaskin caught him by the arms and held him upright. ‘You’d better rest here for a minute,’ he said, steering him to a low wall.
Nigel sat down heavily. He looked awful; his skin was almost white and he had dark rings under his eyes.
‘What’s the matter with him?’ demanded Angela.
‘I’ve no idea.’ Gaskin patted him gently on the shoulder. ‘We should get him back to the house. He looks like he could do with a stiff drink.’
‘But what about Martha? What about Ben Seddon and Duncan Goode?’ Angela ran a hand though her tangled white hair in consternation. ‘What about the Doctor?’
‘I don’t know!’
‘But you must know something! Carson’s been working here – with your cooperation!’
‘As far as I was concerned, Nigel Carson was finishing the tunnel begun by my great-grandfather.’
‘Digging for gold.’
Gaskin seemed uncomfortable. ‘I’m not sure.’
‘What do you mean?’ Angela gave a sudden hiss of annoyance. ‘Oh, I haven’t got time for this! You take Carson back to the house. I’m going to check on Martha.’
‘Angela!’ barked Gaskin. ‘Don’t be silly –’
But, like Martha Jones before her, Angela had already disappeared into the shadows of the tunnel entrance.
Duncan appeared to be in some pain, which wasn’t all that surprising.
He had sprouted angular spikes from his arms and shoulders, and every vein in his body seemed to be bulging up beneath his skin. But it did mean that his responses were slow.
Martha ducked past one outstretched claw, and he simply wasn’t quick enough to catch her. She heard the jagged talons swish through the air behind her back as she rolled across the tunnel floor and sprang to her feet. Duncan whirled round with a snarl and advanced again, but Martha had gained a few extra metres and ran for her life.
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Which turned out to be a bit of a mistake. With a sob of frustration, she realised she was heading deeper into the tunnel. Three more strides took her to the wall of earth that represented the end of the line. Now Duncan was behind her, blocking her way to the exit. She was trapped.
She turned her back to the wall to face him. The veins were white beneath his flesh, pushing up so hard that it didn’t surprise Martha when they started to burst through the skin. She’d studied anatomy as part of her medical training and she knew that whatever was inside Duncan was no longer any human system of veins or arteries. They looked like some sort of wild, pallid root growth surging from his body.
They were exactly like the white weeds growing all around the soil and tunnel wall behind her.
Weeds that moved, creeping and undulating beneath her fingers as she pressed herself up against the wall. They grew around her hands and arms, holding her fast, keeping her in place as Duncan approached.
It didn’t matter how slow he was now. Martha couldn’t move. All she could do was watch, eyes wide open, as the shambling, spiny monster bore down on her.
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Martha felt the tunnel wall shift violently behind her. With a loud scrape of granite, blocks of stone began to push out through the soil and weed. She had noticed them before, but hadn’t had time to register what they represented: Ben and Duncan had reached the well. They’d finished the Gaskin Tunnel.
And now something was pushing the bricks out from the inside of the well; the white weed thrashed like a nest of snakes as the stones fell through in a shower of earth and dust, and Martha opened her mouth to scream as a grimy hand thrust its way through the hole and grabbed her by the arm.
The hand was followed by a head, and no amount of dust could disguise the spiky hair and thin, cheery features beneath.
‘Hello!’ said the Doctor, clambering through the hole. He forced his way out of the gap, trailing weeds and dust. Eventually his long legs unfolded and he fell into the tunnel, holding onto the Martha for support. He looked at her, dark eyes gleaming with joy and a wide, boyish grin on his face. ‘D’you come here often?’
‘Doctor!’ It was a yell filled with both relief and terror. The weed was still holding her, dragging her away from him.
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‘Oh no you don’t!’ The Doctor raised a foot and kicked heartily at the grasping roots. The twisting growth seemed to withdraw slightly under the onslaught and Martha was able to pull herself free.
The Doctor grabbed her hand. ‘Run!’
And immediately skidded to a halt. ‘Stop!’ he cried.
In front of them stood Duncan
– or what had been Duncan. Taking in the long grey spines and alien weeds sprouting from all over the man’s body, the Doctor winced. ‘Duncan? You know, you don’t look at all well.’
The inhuman eyes bulged from their sockets like raw onions as they fixed on the Doctor.
‘Maybe I can help. I am the Doctor, after all. Say “aaahh. . . ”.’
Duncan opened his fanged jaws with a roar. Inside the gaping mouth was a strange green glow, not unlike the luminescence of rotting meat.
‘Ooh, that doesn’t look good,’ the Doctor said. ‘What do you reckon, Dr Jones?’
Martha gulped. ‘Well, it isn’t tonsillitis.’
‘A very perceptive diagnosis. I go left and you go right – now!’
Martha let go of his hand and dashed past Duncan on the right-hand side. She was dimly aware of the Doctor moving in the opposite direction. With a snarl of anger, Duncan missed both of them. By the time he had whirled around, the Doctor and Martha had grabbed each other’s hands again and were both haring away up the tunnel.
‘Ha!’ cried the Doctor triumphantly. ‘Badaboom!’
‘What’s happened to him?’ yelled Martha.
‘I have no idea!’
‘But we’ve seen it before – when Barney Hackett changed. . . ’
‘Not quite. Barney Hackett collapsed and turned to dust. Duncan is still very much alive and well.’ The Doctor paused and glanced back.
‘Or at least he’s still alive.’
They ran up the tunnel. ‘Where are we?’ asked the Doctor.
‘Nigel Carson’s tunnel. It leads right back up to Gaskin Manor. Carson and Gaskin are in this together.’
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‘Typical,’ the Doctor complained as they ran. ‘I’m only down the bottom of a well and I miss everything.’
Angela was already regretting her decision to follow Martha. She had to feel her way down the tunnel because she couldn’t see a thing in the darkness. She wondered what could have possessed her to come down here on her own; she wasn’t a fit young woman like Martha.