The Crawling Terror

by Mike Tucker

  The hairs on Clearfield’s neck were standing on end, but it had nothing to do with the static being created by the machine. In the centre of the stone circle, a glow was beginning to build. ‘It’s working … he murmured. ‘It’s working.’

  The low crump of anti-aircraft guns suddenly echoed from somewhere in the distance, and Clearfield glanced up in alarm. Above the treeline he could see the glow in the night sky that marked the position of the decoy site on Salisbury Plain. He glanced over at Sergeant Hughes for reassurance, but the soldier was transfixed by what was going on inside the circle.

  The swirling Celtic patterns that decorated the stones had started to glow with a brilliant, electric-blue light. As the brightness increased it almost seemed as if the lines were dancing across the surface of the stone.

  One of the scientists called out from the control vehicle. ‘Full power achieved and holding!’

  Clearfield held his breath. Only a few more seconds until the equinox …

  With a sound like a thousand church bells chiming in unison, the centre of the circle erupted into a ball of brilliant light. With a cry, Clearfield turned away, shielding his eyes from the glare. From all around he could hear yelps of pain and the sound of shattering glass.

  There was sudden, deafening silence, and for a moment Clearfield wondered if his eardrums had burst.

  He forced his streaming eyes open, desperate to see what the result of his experiment had been. The Bell was dark and silent, the purple glow extinguished, the ceramic surface steaming gently. The circle too was dark, but in the shadows at its centre something huge and black was gently moving to and fro.

  Rubbing at his eyes, Clearfield started to edge forward, his heart pounding. All around the circle the soldiers were starting to move forward as well, rifles clutched nervously in their hands.

  As one of them reached the edge of the circle, a huge claw reached out from the darkness, snatching him off his feet and snapping him almost in two.

  Clearfield staggered backwards in terror as a vast, black scorpion burst out of the circle.

  Chapter

  Fourteen

  From the back of the truck where he and the Doctor were being held, Charlie Bevan stared in horror as the huge scorpion emerged from the circle, its razor-sharp claws lashing out at the soldiers and scientists. There was a moment of stunned silence and then the night air erupted with the sound of gunfire.

  ‘What is it?’ Charlie’s voice was hoarse with sheer terror.

  The Doctor’s face was grim. ‘A Wyrrester.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘A Wyrrester. A mutant arachnid species from the planet Typholchaktas in the Furey-King Maelstrom. Intelligent, vicious, dangerous.’

  He turned to the two soldiers watching open-mouthed at the battle unfolding before them.

  ‘Shouldn’t you two be out there trying to stop it?’

  The soldiers exchanged a brief glance, obviously unsure as to whether to leave their prisoners unguarded or not.

  ‘Your colleagues are being massacred!’ snapped the Doctor.

  The two soldiers scrambled out of the truck, unshouldering their rifles as they ran towards the screeching monster.

  The Doctor nodded in satisfaction and rose to his feet. ‘Well, that avoids the need to come up with a complicated and longwinded escape plan.’

  ‘Are they going to be able to stop it?’ Charlie watched as the two young men – no more than boys, really – launched themselves into the fray.

  ‘No,’ said the Doctor bluntly. ‘You heard the story that Robin told us.’

  ‘So you just sent those men to their deaths.’

  ‘Those men are already dead,’ said the Doctor matter-of-factly. ‘As far as you and I are concerned, they’ve been dead for seventy years. Nothing we do here will or can change that.’

  ‘So that’s it? We just leave them to it and go home?’

  ‘Not before I retrieve my sonic screwdriver,’ said the Doctor, jumping down from the back of the truck. ‘Wait here.’

  Charlie was suddenly very frightened; not least by the man who had whisked him back through time. All that he wanted to do was get as far away from him as possible, but as he watched the Doctor making his way across the green he knew that he had no choice but to do as he was told if he was going to escape from this nightmare.

  *

  Clearfield stumbled away from the circle, terrified at what he had unleashed. If he could get to the control vehicle, somehow reverse the settings of the Bell …

  He was sent sprawling as something sharp hit him hard between the shoulder blades, and he was suddenly aware of a terrible burning sensation. Screaming with pain he tried to rise, but something held him fast, pinning him to the ground.

  The wave of fire spread through his body until he was aware of nothing else. Finally, mercifully, the sensation started to recede, and the stinging weight pressing on his spine lifted.

  Groaning with the effort, Clearfield rolled over onto his back, and came face to face with the monster that he had summoned into existence.

  Despite the pain, the scientist in him couldn’t help but be fascinated. Whilst at first glance the creature bore remarkable resemblance to a terrestrial scorpion, up close the differences became terrifyingly apparent. The face that loomed over him was not that of a simple animal, but instead blazed with a fierce, alien intelligence. The jet-black eyes seemed to look into his very soul, and mandibles quivered as the creature uttered harsh, indecipherable alien words.

  Curling high over the thing’s back, the needle-like sting at the tip of the tail still dripped with venom, and the two huge claws – inscribed, he realised, with the same swirling patterns as the stones – opened and closed slowly as the creature scrutinised him.

  There was a fusillade of rifle shots, and bullets ricocheted off the scorpion’s carapace. It scuttled around to face the oncoming soldiers, hissing with displeasure. Claws whipped out, sending men tumbling, arms, legs and even heads severed by the force of the blows.

  As the monster pursued its attackers across the field, Clearfield was suddenly aware of a figure approaching though the rain. As he tried to focus, he realised that it was the man that they had caught in the control room earlier. What was it that he had called himself?

  ‘Doctor …’ he spluttered as the man hunched down on the grass beside him. ‘I think this house call might be a little late …’

  The Doctor said nothing, just reached out and removed the silver tube that nestled in Clearfield’s jacket pocket.

  ‘Ah,’ said the professor weakly. ‘I see.’

  The Doctor snapped open the device and it warbled faintly as he ran it over the professor’s head and torso.

  ‘Well? Does it still say that I’m an idiot?’

  The Doctor examined the readings on the device. ‘Your system has been flooded with a powerful alien neurotoxin that is reacting with the residual energy field left over from the activation of the Bell.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ asked Clearfield, coughing as tremors started to wrack his body. ‘What will that do to me?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ The Doctor got to his feet. ‘I guess that you can tell me in seventy years’ time.’

  ‘Wait …’ Clearfield reached out feebly, already unable to feel any sensation in his fingers. ‘You’re not just going to leave me here?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said the Doctor, slipping the device into his own jacket pocket. ‘There’s nothing that I’m able to do.’

  Then he turned and walked slowly away.

  Privates Sanford and Davies had been patrolling the perimeter of the village checking for more intruders when the Bell activated. The shock wave had practically knocked them off their feet, and the flash had lit up the surrounding countryside for miles. So much for their decoy site …

  Sanford’s head was still ringing with the noise. He grinned at the other man. ‘I guess that’s why they call it the Bell.’

  The two of them started to make their way
back through the village when the sound of gunshots rang out through the damp night air. Then the sound of screaming.

  And then the sound of something else …

  ‘What in the name of God was that?’ Sanford’s skin went cold as the blood-curdling, inhuman screech echoed through the night air.

  ‘Well, we’re not going to find out hanging about here.’ Private Davies unslung his Lee Enfield rifle from his shoulder and pulled back the bolt. ‘Come on!’

  He ran off through the rain.

  ‘No, Davies, wait.’ Cursing, Sanford unshouldered his own rifle and started to run after him. As he did so a sudden stabbing pain stopped him dead in his tracks. He clutched at his chest as the familiar tightening sensation took hold.

  ‘Oh, please, no.’

  Dropping his rifle he scrabbled in his uniform pocket for the bottle of pills that he had carried with him every day since he was a child.

  ‘Not now.’

  As he struggled to unscrew the top from the little glass bottle he suddenly heard someone trying to hide in the shadows ahead of him.

  The pill bottle slipped from his fingers, scattering its contents on the wet earth as he scrabbled to pick up his rifle.

  ‘Halt!’ he stammered. ‘Who goes there?’

  A figure emerged from the garden of one of the cottages at the edge of the green, his hands raised. It was one of spies that they had caught earlier!

  ‘How did you get away? And what’s going on back there? Your friends come to rescue you, have they?’

  The man dressed like a policeman shook his head, obviously scared witless by something. ‘No. Don’t shoot! It’s not me you need to worry about – it’s the thing. The scorpion!’

  ‘Scorpion?’ Sanford struggled to concentrate. He could feel his forehead going clammy as his heart started to pound faster and faster, threatening to burst from his chest. ‘What are you talking about?’ He wiped the sweat from his eyes with his sleeve. His vision was starting to blur at the edges. ‘And where’s your mate?’

  ‘Here.’

  The other man, the tall, strange-looking one, had suddenly appeared from nowhere. Private Sanford swung his rifle to cover him.

  ‘Private, you need to listen to me.’ The man’s voice was compelling, hypnotic. ‘This experiment, this Bell, was a horrible, dangerous mistake. It has brought something onto this world, a creature that, if unchecked, will destroy every living thing.’

  ‘Creature? What do you mean, creature?’

  ‘An alien. A being from another planet. At the moment it’s alone, but soon there will be more. Hundreds more. And only you can stop it.’

  ‘Me?’

  From the direction of the stone circle, Sanford could see flames now, and hear the unmistakable rattle of a Sten gun. The high-pitched animalistic scream came again followed by the dull crump of a hand grenade.

  As the explosion lit up the night sky, Sanford caught a glimpse of a monstrous silhouette.

  ‘Dear God …’ He let his rifle drop.

  ‘This thing cannot be stopped with bullets, Private.’ The tall man’s voice cut through the cacophony. ‘But it can be destroyed. You can destroy it …’

  He bent down, scooping the spilt pills back into their bottle and screwing the cap back on.

  ‘Oh yeah?’ Sanford gave an almost hysterical laugh. ‘Me and whose army?’

  The man tossed the bottle to him. ‘Actually, you and the Luftwaffe …’

  That simple sentence struck home with almost physical force.

  The man was right. The carbon arc searchlight was still sitting in front of them on the village green. If the German aircraft were still in the area then he had the means to show them exactly where to drop their bombs.

  ‘The arc light …’ He motioned at the two men with his rifle. ‘Right. Turn around.’

  The tall man shook his head, his face in shadow. ‘This is for you to do. I’ve already given all the help that I dare. We cannot, must not, get involved any further.’

  Sanford raised his rifle. ‘I said, turn around.’

  The policeman couldn’t tear his gaze from the barrel of the rifle. Then, with a deep sigh of resignation, the tall man closed his eyes.

  ‘Soldiers …’

  Keeping the two men covered, Sanford shook two of his pills into the palm of his hand, almost choking as he struggled to swallow them dry. Trying to slow his breathing and calm his hammering heart, Sanford marched the two prisoners across the green, keeping them to the shadows, his eyes never wavering from the monstrous shape that heaved and roared in the centre of the stone circle.

  Even from here he could see that the field around the circle was littered with bodies. It had taken this creature less than ten minutes to massacre an entire battalion, and they hadn’t even slowed it down.

  As he watched, the creature swung around and lumbered across to where the Bell was standing. The squat grey shape was still steaming in the damp March air. As the creature drew near it started to stab at the controls on the casing with its claws, snipping cables and reconnecting them with surprising dexterity.

  Then, to Sanford’s horror, the base of the Bell started to glow with unearthly purple light, and the low, throbbing hum started to build once more, making the ground beneath his feet vibrate. The creature had tapped into some other power source. It was reactivating the machine.

  ‘You’re running out of time, Private Sanford,’ said the tall man. ‘It’s calling for reinforcements! You need to get that light on!’

  ‘Shut your neck,’ he snapped. But the man was right. He was out of time. ‘Right you two, we’re going to get to that searchlight and start that generator. Quickly now! Whilst that thing is busy!’

  Wincing with the pain that was building in his chest once more, Sanford urged the two prisoners forward. The tightness in his chest was now almost unbearable, and his vision was beginning to blur. ‘You,’ he pointed at the policeman. ‘Start it.’

  Eyes fixed on the rifle, the policeman gripped the handle, his face flushing as he tried to turn the stiff crank. The generator gave a click but nothing more.

  ‘Again!’

  Sweating with the effort, the policeman turned the handle again, this time coaxing a choking cough from the engine.

  ‘Again!’

  Sanford offered a prayer of relief as finally, on the third turn, the generator roared into life.

  He staggered across to the searchlight, throwing the switch and shielding his eyes as the arc spat and spluttered into life. A beam of brilliant light lanced up into the cloud-filled sky. Clawing his way around to the controls on the other side, he unlocked the searchlight and twisted the wheel, bringing that beam to bear on the creature in front of him.

  The powerful searchlight raked across the village green, lighting up the tableau in the field as if it was a stage production. Caught in the glare, the monstrous scorpion staggered backward from where it was working on the Bell, hissing with pain as its eyes were scorched by the brilliance of the light.

  Sanford gave a gasp of disbelief as the searchlight finally revealed the full horror of the thing that had killed his friends and colleagues, and he felt his chest tighten even further.

  Claws snapping in anger, the creature scuttled around trying to locate the source of the light that was blinding it. As it did so, it gave a bellow of rage and, to Sanford’s horror, started to make its way down the path towards him.

  Sanford stepped back from the searchlight, fumbling with his rifle, realising that his prisoners had taken advantage of the distraction and had fled, vanishing into the rain.

  As the scorpion bore down on him Sanford abandoned the searchlight and started to run towards the church. If he could just get to the cellar … His legs felt as though they were made from lead, and there was a droning hum beginning to build in his head.

  He had almost reached the churchyard when his ailing heart finally got the better of him and his legs gave out. With a cry of despair Sanford collapsed onto the wet grass of the
village green. As he lay there, feeling the cool patter of rain on his face, it suddenly struck him that the droning noise wasn’t in his head after all. It was coming from the sky.

  Moments later all he could hear was the roar of high explosives, and the screams of the monstrous scorpion, as the Luftwaffe found their target.

  Charlie Bevan ran. Ahead of him the Doctor was a thin, gangly shadow, flitting through the rain. Behind them the village green had erupted into a blaze of light and noise as the German bombs started to fall.

  They raced up the footpath towards the circle. The ground underfoot was slick with rain and blood and, as they dodged through the bodies that littered the grass, Charlie suddenly slipped, crashing heavily to the ground.

  ‘Doctor!’ he screamed, terrified of being left behind. Skidding to a halt, the Doctor ran back to him, grasping him by the collar and hauling him to his feet. As he did so there was a whistling shriek, and something huge and grey plummeted from the sky, landing in the centre of the circle just yards from them.

  The impact threw both men to the floor and Charlie threw his hands over his head, waiting for the explosion that would end his life.

  It didn’t come.

  He felt hands pulling him upright once more.

  ‘Don’t just lie there, man!’ yelled the Doctor angrily. ‘Keep going!’

  As the explosions started up once more, the two of them ran for their lives. Behind them flames billowed hundreds of feet into the cold night air. For what seemed like an eternity there was nothing but noise and light, but finally the chaos was left behind and the two of them reached the meadow where the TARDIS had landed.

  Unlocking the doors, the Doctor bundled Charlie inside. Moments later there was a swirl of wind, and a grating rasp as the TARDIS faded from the fields of Ringstone.

  Through the trees, in the village, the air raid slowly started to subside, and soon there was nothing but the low crackle of distant fires and the distant, lonesome tolling of a church bell sounding the all-clear.

  Chapter

  Fifteen

  ‘So, the British experiment ended in disaster. That still doesn’t explain why you have this?’ Clara nodded towards the Bell with its swastika markings, waiting for an explanation.