Doctor Who - Prologue

Prologue

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It started with a low rumbling. Nothing Sophia could hear, not yet anyway. But she could feel it. It reached in and pulled her from her dreams, not that she’d been dreaming much anyway, but still. She blinked hard, trying to fight away the sheets, her thoughts still only half-formed. What had woken her up? She sighed, her eyes starting to close when she felt it again.

“Uh?” she grumbled, sitting up. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness. Now there was a sound too. It sounded like… like glass. Rattling glass. The windows! She whipped her head towards the dark windowpanes of her bedroom. She couldn’t tell if they were shaking, but the sound seemed to confirm it.

“Earthquake,” she hissed, scrambling out of bed. She winced, the floor icy cold against her bare feet as she raced across the room. “Ma?” she shouted, “MA!” There wasn’t time to light the gas lamps, so she stumbled through the house in the dark.

She’d just reached the end of the hall and had her foot on the bottom step of the staircase when a loud boom resounded through the house. She tumbled backwards, crashing onto the carpet. Pain shot up the back of her head and her vision blurred. As she fought to regain her wits, she heard a crash from downstairs. The rumbling had stopped. She took a deep breath.

“Stay in your room, Ma!” she shouted, slowly getting back up off the floor. Her legs were shaky, but she was able to stand. She brushed a strand of her out of her face, staring into the darkness, willing herself to go and see what lied there.

One step at a time she made her way down to ground floor. There was still some clinking and cracking coming from the far end. And then… a groan. Someone else was in the house. She paused, looking around for the first thing she could grab– a decorative vase sitting in the hall. She hoisted it up in the air and approached the parlor cautiously.

In one swift move she pushed the door open. She gasped.

The parlor stuck out the side of the house, looking out onto the lake of the family property. It had been considered the finest room in the house, where her father would receive and entertain guests. Now it was a complete wreck. There was a gaping whole in the ceiling, letting in the moonlight. This allowed her to see the rest of the mess clearly– the shattered wood everywhere, the cracked coffee table, the shards of glass. And in the center of it all, a man. He stirred, groaning, as if trying to stand.

“E-Excuse me, sir?” she asked. He looked up at her, for a split second, then grew limp. She was about to step closer to him when he started to glow. “Well I’ll be…” she said, clutching the vase to her chest. He glowed brighter and brighter, so bright she had to shield her eyes. And then he began transforming, right before her eyes. The features of his face, already somewhat hard to make out in the night, were shifting, his dark hair becoming blond. Then it subsided. She stood there for the longest time, watching him, vase in hand. Taking a deep breath, she put the vase down and crouched beside him, placing her hand on his head.

He gasped, grabbing hold of her hand before she could jerk it away, and stared right into her eyes. It was almost as if she could feel his pain and it hurt, God did it hurt.

“Please… help me…” he whispered, before losing consciousness.