As each arrived and knocked on the door, Ruby offered the same cheerful greeting:
“Come on in. The kettle’s on... I’ve been expecting you!”
They all settled themselves in the living room and began telling one other their various versions of events; each admitting, during the course of conversation, that they didn’t know exactly why, but they'd felt that they simply must be here this morning. This was strange, all agreed, but recently they had come to accept the strange as, well, pretty normal, really...
‘Ting! Ting! Ting! Ting! Ting!’
Ruby tapped her teacup with a teaspoon to bring their chatter to end and the meeting to order.
Reverend Phullaposi and Pearl were seated in the comfy chairs. Malcolm was lounging on the sofa. Eddy and Chen were on the table and Tobias lay on a cushion on top of the cabinet near the window.
“I expect you are all wondering why we all felt such a strong compulsion drawing us all here together this morning? I think it is a need for... what our American Cousins, in their tacky, cheap and confrontational television talk show programmes, would call... “Closure”. In order for us to begin to understand what we have been through, where we are now, and why we feel the way we do, we must first return to the very beginning of this momentous and perilous period in each of our lives...
“I first started to suspect that something was amiss when David seemed so determined to reclaim a piece of paper that he insisted was worthless. To paraphrase the great bard: 'The postman doth protest too much.' Then it occurred to me that I couldn't quite remember the last Doctor ever actually leaving Widdowshins, nor the new Doctor, Hariman, taking over. And, as I soon discovered, neither could the Reverend. This was question number two: How could we not recall that event? Unless, of course, we had all somehow been rendered incapable of remembering. And why would that be? Who would profit by this action?
“My suspicions were confirmed that some left-handed dealings were afoot during the bogus visit by the Doctor to examine me. While he was here, I was having trouble with the tea-light. I asked the Doctor for a match, which he duly supplied, but as is so often the case in life, it was a little thing that gave him away. He was betrayed by, of all things, the box of matches. A small, perfectly ordinary, new box of household matches, exactly like a million others. The problem, however, was the fact that it was new. You see, I noticed the brand name on the box as I was handed it: ‘Lucifer’. Hardly appropriate for me, but highly apt, as it transpired, for Hariman. But, you may ask, apart from the obvious connotations, why should I be perturbed by a box of matches thus named? Well, the fact that this particular brand of matches ceased trading a good while since did rather raise a question. How could anyone get hold of a box of 'Lucifer' matches, new, today? eBay may be a source of many rare objects, but a vehicle to travel through space and time is asking a little much, even of the Internet, I think you would all agree? That, was question number three.
“Number four; Devizes and Nutter. The Doctor claimed that they were both close family. Devizes and Nutter are only related through an unholy alliance, ergo, I had to assume that the Doctor was himself of the same ‘family’.
“Number five; Hariman’s wholly excessive, pantomime reaction towards tea and biscuits. This completely gave the game away. You remember, Reverend, how I recommended you make a similar purchase from Marks and Spencer? This was no idle promotion of a favoured store, not at all. For the benefit of those gathered who are not aware of the importance of home-branded merchandise, I would like to point out that the proprietary brand of Marks and Sparks is, of course... Saint Michael. Hariman could never stomach anything with such a connection, so his convulsions just underlined my earlier suspicions.
“Now... Number six. David. Our poor Mr Hinchy was simply a fortunate ‘accident’ for them. He just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was helping to tend the cemetery and chose a particularly ill-fated moment to go into the privy to relieve himself. Here, I suspect, he heard a certain voice, calling to him...”
At this point in the narrative, Malcolm stirred on the sofa, opened his mouth, and seemed about to make some form of objection or observation; but then, all at once, he paused; his face took on a baffled, confused expression, and he slumped back in silence, as Ruby continued:
“I might add here, Reverend Phullaposi, that this voice never would have been given this opportunity had you talked to me about certain... esoteric and arcane matters, and gained a little background information, before having a little ‘dabble’ of your own. But I think that's a lesson learned now, is it not?”
The Reverend coughed and shuffled uncomfortably.
“Anyway, David was a perfect choice for Hariman’s purposes. Who else could pass through the village, seen by everybody but unnoticed by anybody; popping things through letterboxes that would spellbind the whole village into believing that our Demon Doctor had been here all the while. And he was easy enough to win over to the cause. Throw a few cheap promises in his direction – power, influence, and the like – and his loyalty was sealed.
“The problems only started for them when David began to get so worried about leaving evidence of his ‘secret’ lying around that he decided to take Hariman’s written instructions with him. Of course, given the nature of David’s job and the sheer volume of paper that passes through his hands, it was
