Thorn Bush (Doctor Who Story)

Chapter 32: Deep Breath Part Two

"What do we do?" Clara whispers, slightly panicked.

"Well, you don't want to eat, do you?" The Doctor answers.

"Hmm. Slightly lost my appetite. Ahem. How long before they notice that we're different?" Clara wonders.

"Not long," Kathy says.

"Anything we can do?" Clara asks.

"Well, Kathy and I have a respiratory bypass and could easily hold our breaths for an hour or two. You on the other hand, do not." The Doctor says.

"We could just casually stroll out of here, like we've changed our minds," Clara suggests.

"Happens all the time." Kathy agrees. Perhaps they could walk out and not end up trapped in the larder.

"Ha. Course it does." Clara beams, happy that her suggestion seems to be a good one.

And very casually, they push back their chairs, stand and almost immediately, a heartbeat later, all the chairs in the room are scraping back. All the diners now standing, but none turn to look at them. They're just standing staring directly ahead, blank, unseeing. They try to take a step to the door, but every diner room takes a simultaneous step towards them. They try again but the diners get even closer.

"Might be best to try and blend in for now, yeah? We were looking for the source of the problem after all." Kathy interjects and pulls them back to the table.

So, they sit down again, and the diners return to their tables, continuing their charade just as before. Kathy, the Doctor, and Clara pretend to look at their menus.

"What are they?" Clara whispers.

"I don't know. But don't worry, because that's not the question. The question is, what is this restaurant?" The Doctor replies.

"Okay, what is this restaurant?" Clara asks obligingly.

Kathy winces. "You don't want to know."

The Waiter approaches the table, moving with the same stiff gait as the others. He looms over the table. Just stands there. A blank, cadaverous face.

The Doctor puts on a great show of nonchalance. Flicking through the menu with disdain. "Er, no sausages? Do you? And there's no pictures either. Do you have a children's menu?"

Silence. The waiter takes his pen and shines a small green light at the Doctor from the tip. He scans the Doctor.

"Any specials?"

When the Waiter speaks, it's a grating, mechanical sound. "Liver."

"I don't like liver."

"Spleen. Brain stem. Eyes."

"Mmm. Is there a lot of demand for those?" Clara asks in a high-pitched voice.

"Clara, we are the menu." Kathy murmurs.

"Lungs. Skin." The Waiter has turned to look at Kathy.

The Doctor now studies the side of the Waiter's head. "Excuse me."

The Doctor reaches over, grabs the Waiter's jowel, and simply rips the face from the front of his head leaving the back of the head, and the hair is still in place. Revealed, the metal mesh face, verging on rusty. In the centre of this hollow head, a flame. A simple flame, like from a bunsen burner. The Waiter turns calmly to "look" at the Doctor. Kathy cringes at the sight of it.

"Okay. Robot in a mask." Clara remarks still panicked.

"It's a face."

"Yeah, it's very convincing."