It’s Thursday and the fourth day in our week-long festive celebrations! Today, I have a story to tell you all. A story which I have to stress is 100% totally true. It’s about the time I was sat down to Christmas Dinner on my own (solely for the purpose of giving me less characters to juggle). The turkey was bronze, the carrots were orange and the stuffing was… well, that mouldy-brown colour. Everything was great. Then a rift in space and time opened up before my disbelieving eyes (stay with me here). What follows is my account of that evening, retold in the (sort of) form of a play. And remember, this absolutely, positively DIDnotHAPPEN.
JAMES is sitting down to Christmas Dinner on his own (boy, what a loser!) It is dark. The scene is illuminated only by candlelight.
JAMES: Wow, I sure do love the peace and quiet of a Christmas Day spent alone.
A stifled sob is heard. Suddenly, an inter-dimensional rift appears and fills the room with a thick fog.
Miraculously, the room is undisturbed. As the fog clears, five figures emerge from the rift. The rift closes behind them.
JAMES: Yikes! It’s the ghosts of Christmas past, present, future and… err… time and space!
FIGURE: Wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey… stuff, to be more precise.
JAMES: Wow, you’re Doctor Who! Uh… I mean, the Doctor!
THE DOCTOR adjusts his bow-tie and gives a roguish smile.
THE DOCTOR: Why yes I am. And who might you be?
JAMES: I-I’m James. Did you, by chance, bring the, uh–
THE DOCTOR: T.A.R.D.I.S.? No, afraid not. I seem to have been sucked through a dimensional rift. You’re not a Dalek trap, are you?
JAMES: Err… no?
THE DOCTOR: Hmm, not a very good one if you are… Oo, turkey! Oh, and bread sauce! You humans, eh?
THE DOCTOR sits down at the table and rips a leg off the turkey, dunking it in the pot of bread sauce.
THE DOCTOR: I mean, bread… sauce. Oh, you haven’t got any fish fingers, have you?
JAMES: Err, I may do, I–
THE DOCTOR: And custard! Yes, lots of custard…
JAMES: I’ll just go and have a–
Enter GANDALF THE GREY.
GANDALF: You shall not pass!!
JAMES leaps back in terror.
JAMES: Wh-what’s going on here?
THE DOCTOR: Santa! Hello old chum! How the devil are you?
GANDALF: My fellow, I am Gandalf the Grey – I am nothing more than a frail old man. I know not of this ‘Santa’ of which you speak.
Enter LOGEN NINEFINGERS “THE BLOODY NINE”.
LOGEN: You! Wizard! What are you doing here?
GANDALF: A wizard’s business is his own and you would do well to mind yours.
LOGEN: I’ve seen what chaos your kind bring before. C’mere and I’ll make sure this don’t hurt all that much.
GANDALF: You would do well not to underestimate me. Do not think me some cheap conjurer of tricks!
LOGEN: Look, you have to be realistic about these things. Now don’t make me chase you…
LOGEN produces a wicked-looking sword and gets a mad look in his eyes.
GANDALF flees, pursued by LOGEN. Exit GANDALF and LOGEN.
THE DOCTOR resumes eating.
THE DOCTOR: After much analysis, I have determined… that we are currently contained inside a ‘time-fiction relativity containment bubble’. Something confusing and whimsical like that, anyway.
JAMES: Well, how do we escape it?
THE DOCTOR: Aha! Good question! We don’t. This is all a construction–a physical, albeit temporary, manifestation of some poor fellow’s imagination. We can only return to our own realities when the imagining ends.
Enter MR. SPOCK and MR. DATA.
SPOCK: Doctor, I find your evaluation of our current situation most troubling. Namely, a ‘time-fiction bubble‘ is illogical by its very nature.
DATA: Interesting. Although the Doctor’s explanation is flawed, it would appear he was indeed accurate. This is a fascinating turn of events.
SPOCK raises an eyebrow.
SPOCK and DATA vanish from sight.
JAMES: Whoa! How did they–
THE DOCTOR leaps from his seat and begins pacing the room, tapping his forehead with his sonic screwdriver.
SHERLOCK: Hmm, late twenties to early thirties, bit of an outcast, keen traveller. Immaculately-dressed with penchant for the theatrical and whimsical. Carries an electronic device with seemingly indeterminate potential – most likely an emotional crutch. Enjoys the companionship of others, if only to inflate one’s own ego.
THE DOCTOR: You. I don’t like you.
SHERLOCK: No. I thought not.
THE DOCTOR activates his screwdriver and SHERLOCK slowly fades from view.
THE DOCTOR: Hey, this could be fun!
THE DOCTOR once again activates his screwdriver.
Enter SANDOR CLEGANE.
THE DOCTOR: Ew, no. Too ugly. Too… dark.
Exit SANDOR CLEGANE.
Enter ILLIDAN STORMRAGE.
ILLIDAN: You are not prepared!
THE DOCTOR: No, I suppose not…
Enter PRINCESS LEIA.
THE DOCTOR: Aha! Now we’re in business. Good day, I’m the Doctor. Doctor Who? Nope, just ‘The Doctor’. Devilishly handsome traveller in space and time. Ship’s bigger on the inside than the outside. What say you and I go for a jaunt round the rings of Ethidium IV? No need to answer. No time. Hah! I crack myself up sometimes.
THE DOCTOR activates his screwdriver and points it at himself and LEIA.
Exit THE DOCTOR and PRINCESS LEIA.
JAMES: I feel like none of that made sense. It’s like I’ve been in an episode of Doctor Who! Or Game of Thrones! Or–
FADE TO BLACK
Yep… true story…
Tomorrow is our final festive post and it’s set to be a cracker! Tune in tomorrow for the slightly less comical short story: Niklaus.
Festive Fantasy Week 2013 (#FestiveFantasyWeek)