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06 September 2011 @ 02:48 am
Fic: ‘If you go into the graveyard today.’  
Title: If you go into the graveyard today.
Fandom: Doctor Who.
Rating: (G)
Time Period: Early 21st century.
Summary: She goes to visit her mother.

Author's Note: This is quick ‘n’ dirty (for definition see the F. A. Q.).

Thick mist and a graveyard.

What else do you need?

With the exception of original characters created specifically for this piece of fiction, all characters contained herein are the intellectual property of the BBC; I am not affiliated with nor endorsed by them.


Mist, thick and grey, hides the ground underfoot; all she can see are the statues and bare rounded tops of gravestones, damp to the touch. She peers at each stone; this is the first time, on her own, she’s visited and she’s not sure where she should be. Shivering, her jumper slides from her shoulders – it’d been loosely tied around them – and she bends to pick it up.

When she straightens, she jumps back; before her is a statue, covering its face with one hand while the other is outstretched. She ducks under its arm, pulling her jumper over her head as she does. When she turns, the statue has turned as well, both hands outstretched, its face in a rictus of anger. Folding her arms, she walks away from it but she cannot help glancing at it, over one shoulder, as she does; when she glances again, its face is covered with both hands and, in this misty twilight, she could swear it is crying. A weeping angel, she faintly smiles. Poetry in a graveyard.

Shit!” In the silence, her mutter is as loud as a yell; she can’t help hopping on one foot. She stares down at the offending headstone and relaxes. It was just a grave, she tells herself. Simply a grave.

Behind her, the statue turns.

Fat drops of rain fall and she fumbles for the dark green umbrella she’d brought with her; she’d dropped it when she’d stubbed her toe. As she bends, she sees the name on the grave. “Not far now,” she murmurs to herself, for comfort. The umbrella found, she opens it.

And it fwaps against the outstretched hand of the reaching angel.

Walking along the rows, she stops every now and then to read the names on the headstones, moving on when it isn’t the one she’s come to see. Eventually, she stops and sits on the wet ground, umbrella held against the rain.

“I don’t know what to do,” she begins. “Dad’s lo—”


She spins around, still on the ground. She can’t see anything.

She looks up.

And screams.

A moment later, muted silence reigns once more. The wind buffets a dark green umbrella along the ground.
Armchair DM: Igor: A Rod Of Silencearmchairdm on September 8th, 2011 01:37 pm (UTC)
I'm remembering both why the Angels scare me in a way none of the other new series monsters do; and also why the Silurians scared me a heck of a lot more than Daleks and Cybermen, in the old series even.
F. J.: Lantern & Candles: Warmmorethanacandle on September 8th, 2011 03:10 pm (UTC)
Why's that?
Armchair DM: Igor: A Rod Of Silencearmchairdm on September 11th, 2011 02:25 am (UTC)
Yeah; it's what you don't see that's scary. The Autons; the Silurians, the Weeping Angels and the Vashta Nerada are far worse than Daleks, Cybermen, Sontarans and Slitheen. In the old series it was admittedly partially because the budget needed to stretch out for more; but recently Moffatt in particular; but also people like Gatiss and Cornell see the advantage of using old tricks.
F. J.: Lantern & Candles: Warmmorethanacandle on September 11th, 2011 03:18 pm (UTC)
There's a reason you always revisit old tricks that work.