Children of the Storm

Written in the spring/ summer of 2009, I like to think of this story as my first “proper” Doctor Who story and it’s also the new companion Anna Bailey’s first trip in the TARDIS. I suppose it’s quite a traditional DW story with the Doctor and Anna receiving a distress call and soon finding themselves in peril, all kinds of danger but nevertheless in an exciting adventure. In the TV series famous people from history have a habit of turning up in the Doctor’s adventures, some playing a funny cameo whilst others are integral to the plot, while I absolutely love the stories with Shakespeare, Agatha Christie and Van Gogh, I really wanted to see one with my favourite author, Emily Bronte. I’ve been a Doctor Who fan from my childhood and have been obsessed with all things Bronte since I was an angsty teen, so one day I thought it was time for those two worlds to collide. Some biographers claim Emily Bronte had a lover because how could she write one of the greatest love stories ever, well I’m not of that belief; however it gave me an idea for my story. If Emily Bronte was to have a lover, why not an extraterrestrial one? And as for the historical detail, no one can accuse me of not doing my homework though for any “artistic” plot liberties taken I apologize in advance to both Whovian’s and Bronte fanatics like myself who might happen to read this…

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1843-

March 20th was the date neatly entered into the poetry notebook of Emily Jane Bronte, the future author of Wuthering Heights which coincidentally will be one of the greatest novels of all time to come from planet Earth….But more about that later.

Emily had been at her desk in her narrow room writing continuously for hours, reworking some of her old poems. She could have chosen a larger bedroom, but this one was her favourite, where she found the most inspiration. The Parsonage was silent; the only sound was the wind blowing against Emily’s window. The other occupants at home were the servants, the Bronte family’s faithful and longstanding Tabitha Ackroyd and young Martha Brown. Her elder sister Charlotte was away studying in Brussels and her younger, Anne was at her teaching post along with her brother Branwell. Even Emily’s father the Reverend Patrick Bronte was in York, a witness for a forgery case. In the past Emily had left home, to study and teach, she was in Brussels last year with Charlotte. Although every time she’d left Haworth she had to return because Emily could not function properly without her home, to be precise she could not live without her moors….

Though there was something else which she could not begin to explain, even to her sisters. With the exception of her family and some of the locals, Emily was a solitary person by nature but also because she did not generally like the people she met, preferring the company of animals! At times she felt guilty that she couldn’t earn a living but this feeling usually passed as she’d now become the housekeeper at the Parsonage. Emily knew her importance in the family and at this time in her life was at her most happiest and creative. The church bells chimed, Emily had begun feverishly writing a new poem, she stopped abruptly, her thoughts distracted. She rose to her feet and stretched, clutching her ink stained hand which was aching with cramp. She bent down and stroked Keeper, her loyal Bull Mastiff who had been sleeping at her feet. Charlotte didn’t like the household animals upstairs, but she wasn’t here… Emily smiled mischievously as she spoke to her dog.

“I’m truly Master of this house… Oh the power Keeper, it’s quite gone to my head!” It was night outside; she shivered as she loosened her hair. “I wonder if he will come tonight?” Emily spoke distractedly to herself as she stared out the window, the sky was full of stars.

It was either in the calm of night or in the heart of a storm when she could feel his presence strongly… Emily gasped, it looked like a shooting star, she had seen many in her lifetime but never one so dazzling. The star seemed to be hovering momentary, then all of a sudden as though it had decided upon the direction to take, it shot off into the distance like an arrow. Emily Bronte’s heart was racing with excitement as she sat down at her desk, inspired by that wondrous vision but at the same time perplexed by something which seemed unearthly…