The Doctor didn't know he was dreaming. He thought he was lying on his back with his eyes shut, trying to figure out why he was awake. He felt as if he'd been lying here for hours, heavy-limbed yet restless, his mind skittering from one trivial thought to another. He decided to focus on something relaxing by turning his thoughts into music. Mozart. One of the horn concertos.
He said out loud, "Why am I afraid to open my eyes?"
His words bewildered him. Then he realised they were true. Perhaps 'afraid' was too strong a word, but he definitely did not want to open his eyes. Why not? He extended his other senses out into his bedroom in the TARDIS. Everything was in order. There were no strange smells or unusual noises. The sheet lay raspily light against his skin; the room temperature was the same as always.
Open your eyes, he thought, but he didn't. His hearts continued to beat at the usual rate; his breathing didn't change. He wasn't showing any of the symptoms of fear. But that didn't matter. He didn't want to open his eyes.
"Oh, for heaven's sake," he muttered and, just as he spoke, muffled under the sound of his voice, there was a noise. Not nearby. Far away in the corridors of the TARDIS. It was sudden and, if not loud, carrying, but he hadn't heard it clearly, he wasn't sure what
It came again.
It sounded like a stick breaking. Only it echoed.
He opened his eyes. Blackness. He shifted his vision up and down the spectrum into what human beings called the 'nonvisual' wavelengths, but all he saw was the usual pulse and flow of the TARDIS energy, running its engines, maintaining the environment. In the 'normal' spectrum, everything was black. Nothing.
Nothing and silence.
He listened to the reassuring sound of his own breathing, still regular and calm. He listened to the deep double thump of his hearts.
Crack!
He inhaled sharply. It was nearer. And the sound wasn't a breaking stick.... no, something else... a grinding snap... like a bone cracking. How could it be so loud when it was still so far away? No. No, it wasn't loud so much as- penetrating. He had felt the vibration of that splintering bone in his own marrow.
He lay quietly, listening. He wondered why he had wanted so badly to keep his eyes shut. The darkness was gentle. It was his ears he wished he could close, at the same time as he wanted to hear more, hear better, hear something identifiable...
I should get up, he thought. Go into the hall. More options for escape there. Assuming whatever it was was after him. That didn't necessarily follow. Perhaps it was merely taking a stroll through the TARDIS...
Something patted at the door.
The Doctor stopped breathing. He lay still as stone, staring at the ceiling he couldn't see. The patting came again. Tentative. Exploratory. Like a palm placed flat against the door, but very softly. Very, very softly. The Doctor found he couldn't move. His limbs felt like clay.
