Dr. Who - BBC New Series 25 by Ghosts of India # Mark Morris Read Free Book Online

‘What did these
    figures look like?’
    Again Wilkins glanced at his colleagues. ‘Well, sir, they… they looked like ghosts.’
    ‘ Ghosts?’ exclaimed Daker.
    ‘Yes, sir. They were white, sir. Chalky white. And their faces were… sort of unfinished, sir.’ He shuddered.
    ‘And you were so frightened that you ran like children!’ sneered Daker. ‘A dozen members of His Majesty’s so-called elite fighting force. It’s an utter disgrace. You should be ashamed of yourselves.’
    ‘Yes, sir,’ Wilkins mumbled. ‘Only…’
    ‘Only what? Spit it out, private,’ ordered McMahon.
    ‘Well, sir, we… we didn’t run when the figures vanished, sir. We ran when they came back.’
    ‘What?’ Daker snapped. ‘You mean these damned “ghosts” of yours are still there?’
    ‘They… they might be, sir.’
    ‘Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place, you stupid boy?’ Not for the first time that day Daker drew his service revolver. ‘Come on, McMahon, let’s sort this out.
    You lot wait inside. I’ll deal with you later.’
    He stalked off, McMahon in tow. The squaddies’
    sleeping quarters were behind the main HQ building and administration offices, in a dozen wooden huts arranged in twin rows of six. Each hut contained sixteen beds, eight on each side, with a narrow central aisle. The hut from which Wilkins and his colleagues had fled was on the second row on the far right. It was the hut that was closest to (though still some distance from) the perimeter fence.
    Behind the huts a carpet of thick undergrowth led to a
    dense screen of bamboo trees.
    As Daker and McMahon bypassed the first row of huts and approached the second, they saw that the door to the now-empty hut was gaping open. A light above the door threw a pool of illumination onto the ground.
    ‘I would advise caution, sir,’ said McMahon as Daker strode brazenly forward, revolver at the ready.
    ‘Don’t tell me you believe this ridiculous ghost story, McMahon,’ Daker retorted, making no attempt to lower his voice.
    ‘Not as such, sir, though it seems likely enough that we’ve had intruders of some kind.’
    ‘If they’re made of flesh and blood, then I’d like to see them try to defy a bullet.’
    ‘They might be armed themselves, sir,’ McMahon pointed out.
    ‘Hmph,’ Daker said, though he changed direction and skirted the pool of light, using the shadows as cover.
    McMahon approached the door from the opposite side, his gun also drawn. When the two officers were pressed against the wooden wall on either side of the doorway, Daker nodded and pointed at himself, mouthing, ‘Me first.’ The instant McMahon nodded, Daker went in, fast and low, gun held out before him.
    The hut was empty, and aside from two rows of beds which had evidently been vacated in a hurry, there was nothing to suggest that anything untoward had occurred.
    Both officers examined the beds of the men who had allegedly vanished. The sheets were rumpled, and a pillow from one of the beds had fallen to the floor, but there were
    no other signs of a struggle – no muddy footprints, no bloodstains, nothing damaged or knocked over.
    Daker frowned. ‘What do you think, McMahon? Mass hysteria?’
    McMahon shrugged. ‘Could be, sir, but these lads are pretty level-headed. Plus it still doesn’t account for the disappearance of Fox and Swift.’
    ‘Hmm,’ said Daker. ‘Perhaps we’d better have a quick poke about outside. You head east, I’ll head west. We’ll move inwards and meet in the middle.’
    ‘Understood, sir.’
    The two men vacated the hut and headed off in opposite directions. Most of the fenced area housing the army barracks was well-lit at night, though the sizeable patch of ground behind the huts was cloaked in shadow.
    Daker again rubbed at the sore spot behind his ear. The skin felt raised there, as if some insect had bitten him.
    Typical if he contracted something nasty less than a month before he was due to head home.
    Aside from