Chapter Text
I can only describe the magnitude of my mistake by means of creative use of expletives. what is that cute little American saying again? Oh yes: FUBAR.
I did not intentionally land my TARDIS at the Pond household on Christmas Eve, nor did I plan to make it's chameleon circuit present the illusion of a fireplace. my red Nehru jacket, in retrospect... very poor choice , considering the circumstances, though I had hoped the lack of white trim would have prevented confusion. I thought I looked more... devilish .
To make matters worse, I landed there at midnight.
I did carry a large red bag over my shoulder, but it contained a dead body and severed limbs (long story, I'll explain later).
If my TARDIS still possessed the necessary components, I could have simply dropped the bag into a volcano, but I'd once again been forced to cobble together equipment from whatever pitiful resources I had at my disposal.
At any rate, out I stepped from the fireplace, merely intent on disposing of the body.
Not a bad home. Her parents must have had fairly decent jobs. The living room had the feel of a storybook cottage. a lot of stone and hardwood. A large television played the last half of some Harry Potter film. Technically a Christmas film, perhaps due to Snape also appearing in Die Hard .
The place smelled of sweaty socks, old cheese, toast, and burned sugar cookies.
A radio blared from a table atop a staircase: "The scientific community got into an uproar today about fifty caliber bullets found lodged in the skull of a Staurikosaurus dating from 237 million years ago. Once thought to be an act of vandalism, these bullets have also been found to date back 237 million years, an impossibility that has left many scientists in a quandary. Amidst accusations of tampering, many academic grants have been canceled. Our scientific correspondent, Ira Plato, explains..."
The educational news and classical music station. I self-consciously patted my pocket to make certain I still possessed the weapon...Though I suppose if I had, in fact, left the item behind, it would have been announced on this news program as well.
"The Action manufacturing company has only been making these rounds for 37 years. The company didn't even exist before 1946, and yet here is a predator from the late Triassic with a 13 millimeter hole in its forehead, and matching dents in its rib cage. What's more, it takes a mere 1000 years for steel to decompose, a maximum of four times that for aluminum, but somehow these... Desert Eagle slugs survived the epochs of history, all the way through the Jurassic and Cretaceous..."
The moment I deposited my immense bag on the off-green shag carpeting, a little redhead girl approached me, clad in ragged red sweater and white dress. "Santa?"
I did a facepalm, swearing under my breath. "Do I look like Santa?"
She stared at me, as if giving the question serious thought, but after only thirty seconds of that 'Duh, math is hard ' look, she nodded her head vigorously.
First time in history anyone assumed Santa possessed a goatee. I rolled my eyes. "Ho ho ho."
She reached for my body bag, but I slapped her hand away, quickly shoving a bloody paw of some hairy monster back inside. "Ah ah! Not until Christmas morning ...Little girl!"
No sight of the parents. Didn't mean they were absent from the house. I knew I'd have to work fast.
"My name's Amelia. Amelia pond."
Honestly, I just wanted the brat to disappear. Considered shrinking her to doll size, but then I'd have to deal with the nuisance of feeding her and hearing her cry. "Charmed. Did you... set out cookies for Santa? "
She didn't move. "Uh huh. There's milk too!"
I narrowed my eyes at her. "Santa is diabetic and lactose intolerant. Now do be a dear and make me... an apple carrot kale smoothie."
Amelia looked troubled for a moment, but still rushed off to the kitchen.
With such a tall, unreasonable order, I hoped to be rid of her for at least an hour, possibly the rest of the night. "Thank God!"
I frowned at the body bag, debating what to do with it. my original plan had been to steal a shovel from this supposedly empty house, and bury it in the back yard, but now I had a witness following me around, plus, with it being entirely the wrong time of year, the ground would be cold and hard packed. Impossible to not have a shallow grave. I would have to liberate an excavator from somewhere.
The house, I noted, also did not have a real fireplace. If only the TARDIS itself.. .
No, regardless of the fireplace, the size of the fire and temperature would set the entire building ablaze. Would need an actual crematorium to do a decent job, and a bonfire in the back would alert the local constabulary. A trifling annoyance I'd prefer not to deal with. Plus... the odors ...
I supposed the best route would be sawing the body apart and dropping pieces into a properly rated plastic tub filled with sulfuric acid, but, again, I had a witness now.
Grind grind grind. A witness apparently capable of crafting smoothies.
Still couldn't think of a better idea than burying my victims in the frozen dirt...Though keeping them buried with the child around would pose a serious problem.
No shovels in the immediate vicinity, unless you counted those for shoveling snow.
Yes, yes, I possessed a quantity of shovels in my TARDIS, but, unfortunately... let's just say there are some inconvenient things in the way, and I'd need an even larger bag to contain those bodies , once they became dead. The Type 75 has some...unfortunate factory defects.
I considered leaving the bag to search the other rooms, but didn't want the tyke to `peek at the Christmas presents' and screaming. She would likely get on the phone to summon police.
The other alternative would be carrying the sack all over the house, dripping blood everywhere, which, if `explained' poorly, would also summon police.
My only sensible recourse: Tossing the bag back into the TARDIS, through the fake fire ( that carried problems of its own, ones I won't get into just yet).
The child came running up to me with a dirty sloshing glass of murky green liquid. "Why did you throw your bag into the fire? Was I a bad girl?"
"Oh yes." I gave a dismissive wave. "The worst. Do you have any shovels?... Other than those by the door?"
The girl stifled a sob, tears rolling down her plump cheeks. The hand holding the glass of glop tilted forward, threatening to spill. "B-but I tried so hard to be good all year (well most the year) and..." He tone progressed to a near wail. "And I went through all the trouble of making you this!"
"My dear girl!" I snapped. "Do be reasonable! Not everyone can make it on the nice list, it's simple supply and demand economics. Santa's not on it either." Noting her doubting expression, I added, "There's been... some trouble at the North Pole. Mrs. Claus and I... no longer share the same bed." Do I need to paint you a picture?"
She shook her head violently offering me the glass.
I took one swig and spat it out.
Horrific beverage. Although containing an apple, carrots and bananas, with orange juice as its base...an excessive amount of kale, and two types of blackened cookies had been added to the mix. "Good God! My dear child, do you have any inkling about what the word diabetic means?"
Her lower lip trembled. "...No?"
"Let me clarify: If I had the condition before ingesting this... disgusting concoction, I would be dead by now."
Amy whimpered. "I'm sorry."
I smacked my lips. Acquired taste. Tolerable. I suppose I should have been grateful she didn't use milk and curdle the liquid. "Now don't go blubbering on me like that. I've had far worse during my years of drug experimentation, believe you me!" I finished the glass, setting it down on an end table. "Now, could you please locate a shovel for me? One not used for snow removal?"
"They're in the basement. I don't go down there because it's dark."
Rolling my eyes, I had the child direct me to the cellar.
I have no fear of the dark. If something evil exists in the shadows of some bumpkin's ordinary home, it is probably me. If something other than me, don't care if I die. A good fight to the death makes me feel alive. Plus, the thought of something like a grizzly bear attack actually makes me smirk at the comedic potential.
If I did master the thing in the dark, it would gave me a new resource to exploit for global domination.
No, my greatest fear in that place: Simply being trapped there by the child until the police arrived. Or worse, left to rot.
Loneliness. The most terrible thing I could imagine inhabiting that dark place. But I'd grown used to it, like a festering cavity.
I flipped a light switch and scoffed at the mundane surroundings: Wine rack, containing the commonest of vintages. Hacksaw, chainsaw, sledgehammer, various tools...in no danger of being locked in. The pungent smells of musty earth and wine.
I grabbed a round point shovel, a trencher, and a Bordeaux `95.
The fact the child not only held the door open for me, but also did not close it until I had escaped the confines of the cellar felt like a religious absolution for my multitude of sins.
"What are you planting?"
I answered, tight lipped, from the corner of my mouth. "Christmas trees." Another sin for the pile.
I set the bottle on the end table, frowning at the girl. Was she going to trail behind me throughout the entire burial process? Something had to be done about this. "Child, where are your parents?"
"They disappeared through the hole in my wall."
The haunted look on her face indicated that she had, perhaps, grieved their passage already. She didn't cry.
I rubbed my chin thoughtfully. "Show me."
A strangely Spartan bedroom for a little girl. Aquamarine walls, brass four poster bed with a tacky confetti quilt, dime store Oriental rug, antique dressers and doll cabinet. The teddy bears, a few dolls, and stuffed elephant hinted that a child might dwell in the place, but was not allowed much luxury. The wealthy often neglect to modify their museum houses to make room for childhood.
Dusty, floral scent, more of that cheese and sweaty clothing aroma, mingled with the curious whiff of ozone. Crumbs of cheese crackers lay scattered everywhere on the hardwood. Nibble, nibble, little mouse, I mused. She, of course, had cockroaches.
A television blasted, full volume, from a dresser. A Mastercard commercial.
A thin glowing crack stretched across a section of wall near the door, the source of this thick... ozone smell. The presence of dishes, crusts of bread, and bits of paper indicated that the child had been attempting to communicate with, and possibly feed, her missing parents. Now, of course, the crack had no room for letters nor sandwiches.
The moment my hand made contact with this anomaly, the programming on the television changed. A familiar musical sting, and then, "All irregularities will be handled by the forces controlling each dimension! Transuranic heavy elements may not be used where there is life..."
A chill ran down my back, but I dismissed it with a casual mutter. "British Ghostbusters."
I rammed the point of the trencher into the crack, attempting to wiggle the gap wider.
The child stared as I pulled the handle down, shoved the point deeper into the wall. "You're going to save my parents, aren't you?"
"Yes, that's exactly what I'm doing," I lied. "I believe I may need to borrow your sledgehammer."
I rushed downstairs, into the shadowy basement, little girl hot on my heels the entire time. I would have shut her in the basement, to keep her out of my hair, but out of terror of the dark, she ran past me as I charged up the staircase with my weighty implement.
Opening the glowing crack proved... challenging. The most effortless swings merely punched holes through the sheetrock, exposing mundane wood structures, wires, and a sewer pipe. "Has this...crack posed any difficulties for you when bathing or using the loo and sink?"
"I haven't bathed since they disappeared."
I took a sniff and coughed. "Quite right. But...no drainage problems? No anomalies with the plumbing at all?"
She shook her head. "There is a funny smell."
I frowned. That answer could mean anything, including a little girl not cleaning the WC.
I raised the sledgehammer, swinging at the glowing portion like I intended to win a prize at the county fair.
At last I hit `pay dirt,' the glowing gap in the wall now enlarged to the size of a microwave.
I bashed the opening wider. And wider.
Disturbing how one could see nothing beyond, just a...featureless white void.
Amy leaned over the hole. For a brief moment, I contemplated pushing her in... to join her parents, but I confess terrible loneliness preventing me from eliminating my sole witness.
Besides, who would believe a little girl's tale about a white void behind her wall? They'd accuse her of watching too many Twilight Zone reruns.
As quick as I could, I rushed back to my TARDIS, produced the large red bag, lugged it back to the child's sparsely furnished bedroom.
Without a word of explanation, I threw the bag into the void.
"Oi!" the child shouted. "Why did you throw all those toys in there?"
I rolled my eyes. "They were ...defective."
She clenched her little fists. "You're...not doing this for my parents, are you?"
I shrugged. "Sorry. It was just too convenient to pass up. You'd have to be positively insane to go in there."
I turned my back to her, preparing to depart in my TARDIS, leaving the child to her own devices, and The State.
"Meow!"
A black cat leapt out from the void, speeding around my legs, to the first floor landing.
For some unexplained reason, the cat did an about-face when I stepped across the threshold, rushing back into the room, where it disappeared through the hole once more.
Seconds later, an unearthly roar shook the bedroom with such violence that framed pictures dropped from the wall and shattered, toys and other objects tumbling from the dressers.
A massive black head emerged from the wall. Fanged, toothy, covered in slime, no visible eyes. Dripping tentacles lashed out from the depths.
My eyes widened in horror as one whipped toward the child. "Amelia! Get away from there!"
Still don't know what possessed me to make such an outburst. Alas, the dull child failed th respond in a timely manner.
Stomping in close, I drew my pistol, firing rounds point blank into the thing's slimy face. Yellow teeth shattered, translucent white blood splattering on the dime store rug.
I yanked the girl's wrist with the kind of forceful roughness that (I assume) her coddling parents would frown upon, hurling her behind me. "If you value your life, I would quit this room post haste!"
The girl, sobbing, with tears in her eyes, obediently dove into the hallway.
I fired two more shots into the creature before the weapon clicked empty.
The beast appeared to be no worse for wear. The rest of its body, loathsome beyond description, entered the bedroom.
Resorting to an attack with a flung sledgehammer, I rushed outside the room, slamming the door shut.
I grabbed the nearest piece of heavy furniture I could find: A China cabinet, brimming with expensive antique dishes, toppling it sideways to block the door. The shattering porcelain made a terrific amount of noise, delicate white and blue fragments, elaborately decorated with toxic lead paint, tumbled over staircase railings.
I bolstered the cabinet with a grandfather clock. I highly doubt anyone would but myself would appreciate the supreme irony of such an act.
The beast thundered against the door, causing my pitiful barricade to shift backwards.
I gave the cabinet a forceful shove. This clearly would not hold for very much longer.
The girl clutched my hand. "You're not really Santa, are you?"
I smirked. "What gave you the first clue?"