The Haunting – Chapter One
A bit of Doctor Who fan-fic, cross-posted to Teaspoon.
He had always wondered what it was like to be a ghost. SPOILERS for 6×01!
The Doctor was dead. Really. Actually. Finally. Hmm. It was a strange feeling, like when you don’t move your foot for a long time. Or like being underwater.
Just…numb. No more would he feel the wind on his face, the texture of sand, taste that great triumph of Earth, tea –
There was no engulfing darkness, no unbearable lightness. Merely nothing at all.
He was there for minutes, seconds, years, hours, centuries. No sense of time left. Which felt so very wrong to a Time Lord.
Not that he hadn’t felt it before. Ten times. Ten little deaths. But he didn’t know this part. He knew the beginning — unbearable pain, a sharp gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach. He knew the end — renewal, respite, the first drop of water on a parched mouth. This felt like waiting — waiting for something that would never come.
Nothing happened. Nothing would ever happen again.
But a light — like something projected from a TV — and he saw himself. “Great,” he thought bitterly, “another bloody rewind.” Assuredly, he was quite dead. (And he was quite handsome.)
The picture moved, Amelia wept. It was the worst form of torture: seeing your friends broken, despondent, and not being able to do a thing about it.
River; firm, solid, stony. She’d never been one to hide her feelings…something was wrong. That innate need to help, to fix, to meddle burned inside him. But he couldn’t do anything.
Rory; calm, steady, genuinely worried. The kind of man the Doctor could never be. And had never wanted to be, but he wondered now. What it would have been like if he’d been nice.
He had told them nothing. Nothing but a feeble apology. It was strange, it was stupid — if there was one thing the Doctor could do, it was talk. He had thought that in death, at least he could rest. But he couldn’t rest until he’d told them. Even if he wasn’t exactly sure what he was going to say.
Time, no time passed. The Doctor watched Rory pour gasoline on what used to be him. Amelia was still crying.
The walls of his prison evaporated. The projection became the world again. “Well, this is rubbish,” thought the Doctor, “just when I’m starting to get used to being dead.” He could hear Rory light a match, hear the crackle of fire on flesh. Looking down, he noticed he had gained a rather transparent form. The bow tie was cool, even in the afterlife. The Doctor grinned childishly. He had always wondered what it would be like to be a ghost.