D is for Doctor
“Where’s your apple, Mark? Where’s your apple?”
“I…I don’t know! It was right here! I saw it…just now!”
“Oh God, it’s too late…he’s coming up the driveway!”
“Oh God, oh God…”
Rain was pelting down on the already sodden privets outside as a shadowy figure lurched up the concrete drive – hunched against the wind, white coat billowing around him.
“I can’t believe you would be so irresponsible.”
“I swear, it’s always here next to the door, I must have been distracted by dinner…the chicken is nearly done….I couldn’t just leave it…..”
“But there’s no one else here, how could it have gone?”
There was a knock on the door, purposeful, foreboding. What had started as a date night had turned into a nightmare. Some host Mark was, thought Billy.
They stood huddled in the corridor, looking out through the frosted glass at The Doctor. They knew he could see them – there was no escape.
“It’s too late, Billy… it’s too late.”
Mark and Billy’s hands parted as he went to the door.
“Mark, no!” she called after him feebly.
The latch crunched open with the sound of scraping metal – a final, heavy sound. With laboured breath, Mark pulled the door open – hands shaking, body half-hidden.
“Good evening, Doctor.”