Shadow Street Chapter 9
From the Blog
https://johnsaye.com/the-long-game-doctor-who-season-1-episode-7/
Fiction Excerpt
Shadow Street Chapter 9
We scrambled down the road. It looks as though everyone on the street but us has a tentacle hanging from a nostril, ear, or mouth. They stagger about, but some of them are getting a grip and walking upright.
Mr. Curtis shoves the key into our apartment on shadow street and we practically fall in, locking the door behind us.
“The kitchen!” said Mr. Curtis.
“Salt!” I said, scrambling around behind him.
“That will be enough, gentlemen,” said Mrs. Constellation. She turned, wearing a long black dress, and with tentacles pouring from her mouth, nose, and ears, she opened her mouth wide enough for her head to appear to split open so the creature inside could get both eyes out, and use its mouth, though it continued speaking with her voice.
“You’ll do nothing of the kind.”
She whipped out a tentacle and stopped me from making the kitchen. Beak or no, she smiled a weak, prim smile at me. “I want you to know it's nothing personal. The invasion is in full swing, and from here there is nothing you can do about it.”
“Nothing?” said Mr. Curtis. “I've never known nothing I couldn't do something about.” He grinned and shot his tongue past her into the kitchen, where a small salt shaker sat by the tea tray.
“You!” she said, then whipped it away from him, and right towards me. His smile faltered, but only for a second, and while I was watching the salt shaker fly at me in slow-motion, spinning like a top and spreading salt everywhere on the parlor floor, I watched him jump on her head and pull her skirt back and cover her head.
I caught it.
“Good man!”
The shaker had plenty left in it, so I started shaking, while Mr. Curtis started hitting the tentacles coming from Mrs. Constellation that were still visible with drops of holy water.
The creature had burns on its skin. It hissed and pulled back with each drop.
Again, it hissed.
“No!”
“Invasion? What invasion?”
“We’re coming!”
“Looks like you're already here.”
Drop. Hiss. It shrank back from him. I started salting my way up the stairs.
“Come on now.”
“Through the food. Germinating in the bread. We traveled the stars for eons. Ages and ages.”
“Why not ask for help?”
“We need hosts to…”
“To?”
“To grow. You're just a child, aren't you?”
Mrs. Constellation fell to her knees.
“Sorry, need her back before she dies.”
“No, don't..”
He poured a measure of holy water over her.
Mrs. Constellation fell to the floor, writhing in agony. She clutched her throat, screamed, and then relaxed as the creature escaped from her mouth and ran for the door.
It skittered through the salt, limping in its tentacles with pain before it got to the door, where Mr. Curtis opened it, and let it out.
He croaked and lashed his tongue up to straighten his hat.
“You let it go.”
“Yes,” he said.
“Why?”
“Mrs. Constellation. I wanted it out of here long enough to revive her.”
She lay still on the floor.
“Come on, frog, she’s dead!”
He held up a finger. “Bullfrog.”
“Right. She’s dead, face it. The whole town is about to go under now. Look outside, they are everywhere.”
“True, but she’s not dead.”
“Of course she is. There’s the corpse!”
“Have you checked her pulse, Doctor?”
“No, I, uh.”
“Go on, check her.”
I reached down, mostly watching my bullfrog friend make sure a tentacle didn't fall from his mouth. Her pulse was there. I checked it again.
“She is alive.”
“Thank you, Dr. James.”
“Help me.”
We picked her up and put her on the chaise. She opened her eyes, and they were wild. “You boys have no right. I'm going to kill you both!”
She sat up on her elbows and continued to fuss.
“You are never bringing me such a terrible breakfast ever again, and you, Dr. James, I need you to quit spreading the bloody salt all over the place. I've got a mind to take you out back and hog…”
“I love you too, Mrs. Constellation. You’re back to normal. I’m glad.”
“Back to… I went nowhere. I’m going to…”
Mr. Curtis pulled back the curtains in the front window.
“Hey, I never leave those…”
“I know,” I said, and led her forward to see outside.
“Down the street, that's Phil Coleson from the farmer’s market. What's that coming out of his nose, spaghetti?”
She looked up the street, “Martha Wright. Why is she stumbling around? Her mouth!” More noodles were dangling there.
“The salt?”
“They can't cross it.”