Sneed and Company offer their sincerest condolences, sir,
in this most trying hour.
Grandmama had a good innings, Mr Sneed.
She was so full of life,
I can't believe she's gone.
Not gone, Mr Redpath, sir.
Merely sleeping.
May I have a moment?
Yes, of course.
I shall be in the next room should you require anything.
Oh, no!
No!
Gwyneth!
Get down here now! We've got another one!
Hold that one down!
I'm holding this one down!
Well, hold them both down!
It's not gonna work.
Oi! I promised you a time machine, and that's what you get.
Now, we've seen the future, let's have a look at the past.
1860! How does 1860 sound?
What happened in 1860?
I don't know, let's find out! Hold on, here we go!
Gwyneth!
Where are you, girl?
Gwyneth!
- Where've you been? I was shouting.
Been in the stable, sir, breaking the ice for Samson.
Well, get back in there and harness him up!
Whatever for, sir?
The stiffs are getting lively again.
Mr Redpath's grandmother, she's up and on her feet,
and out there somewhere, on the streets, we've got to find her.
Mr Sneed, for shame, how many more times? It's ungodly!
Don't look at me like it's my fault.
Now, come on. Hurry up! She was 86. She can't have got far.
What about Mr Redpath? Did you deal with him?
No.
She did.
That's awful, sir.
I know it's not my place, and please forgive me for talking out of turn, sir.
But this is getting beyond now.
Something terrible is happening in this house, and we've got to get help.
And we will.
As soon as I get that dead old woman locked up, and safe and sound.
Now, stop prevaricating, girl.
Get the hearse ready. We're going bodysnatching.
- Blimey! - Telling me! You all right?
Yeah, I think so. Nothing broken.
Did we make it? Where are we?
I did it! Give the man a medal.
Earth, Naples, December 24th, 1860.
That's so weird. It's Christmas.
All yours.
But it's like... Think about it, though.
Christmas, 1860, happens once, just once,
and then it's gone, it's finished, it'll never happen again.
Except for you.
You can go back and see days that are dead and gone.
A hundred thousand sunsets ago.
No wonder you never stay still.
Not a bad life.
Better with two.
Come on then!
Oi, oi, oi! Where do you think you're going?
1860.
Go out there dressed like that,
you'll start a riot, Barbarella.
There's a wardrobe through there,
first left, second right, third on the left, go straight ahead,
under the stairs, past the bins, fifth door on your left. Hurry up!
Not a sign.
Where is she?
She's vanished into the ether, sir. Where can she be?
You tell me, girl.
What do you mean?
Gwyneth, you know full well.
No, sir, I can't.
Use the sight.
It's not right, sir.
Find the old lady or you're dismissed.
Now.
Look inside, girl.
Look deep. Where is she?
She's lost, sir.
She's so alone.
Oh, my Lord. So many strange things in her head.
But where?
She is excited.
About tonight.
Before she passed on, she was going to see him.
- Who's him? -The great man.
All the way from London, the great, great man.
--Mr Dickens? Mr Dickens?
Excuse me, sir, Mr Dickens, this is your call.
Are you quite well, sir?
Splendid. Splendid. Sorry!
Time you were on, sir.
Absolutely. I was just brooding...
Christmas Eve. Not the best of times to be alone.
Did no one travel with you, sir?
No lady wife waiting out front?
I'm afraid not.
You can have mine if you want.
Oh, I wouldn't dare.
I've, I've been rather, let's say, clumsy, with family matters.
Thank God I'm too old to cause any more trouble.
You speak as if it's all over, sir.
Oh, it's never over!
On and on I go.
The same old show.
I'm like a ghost, condemned to repeat myself through all eternity.
It's never too late, sir, you could always think up some new turns.
No, I can't.
Even my imagination grows stale.
I'm an old man, perhaps I've thought everything I'll ever think.
Still. The lure of the limelight's as potent as a pipe, eh?
On with the motley.
- Blimey! -Don't laugh.
You look beautiful.
- Considering. -Considering what?
That you're human.
I think that's a compliment. Aren't you gonna change?
I've changed my jumper! Come on.
You stay there, you've done this before.
This is mine.
Ready for this?
Here we go. History.
She's in there, sir, I'm certain of it.
Right.
I got the flight a bit wrong.
- I don't care. -It's not 1860, it's 1869.
- I don't care. -And it's not Naples.
- I don't care. -It's Cardiff.
Right.
Now, it is a fact that there was nothing particular at all
about the knocker on the door of this house.
But let any man explain to me, if he can,
how it happened that Scrooge having his key in the lock of the door,
saw in the knocker,
without it undergoing any intermediate process of change,
not a knocker, but Marley's face!
Marley's face!
It looked at Scrooge
as Marley used to look.
It looked like...
Oh, my Lord...
It looked like that!
What phantasmagoria is this?
That's more like it.
Stay in your seats, I, I beg you!
It is a lantern show, trickery!
There she is, sir!
I can see that!
Whole bloomin' world can see that!
Fantastic!
Did you see where it came from?
The wag reveals himself, does he?
I trust you're satisfied, sir!
Oi! Leave her alone.
- Doctor! I'll get them. -Be careful!
Did it say anything? Can it speak? I'm the Doctor, by the way.
Doctor? You look more like a navvy.
What's wrong with this jumper?
- What are you doing? -Oh! It's a tragedy, miss.
Don't worry yourself, me and the master will deal with it.
Fact is, this poor lady has been taken with a brain fever.
We have to get her to the infirmary.
She's cold. She's dead.
Oh, my God, what did you do to her?
- What did you do that for? -She's seen too much!
Get her in the hearse! Legs!
Gas.
It's made of gas.
Rose! You're not escaping me, sir!
What do you know about that hob-goblin? Hmm?
Projection on glass, I suppose. Who put you up to it?
Yeah, mate, not now, thanks.
Oi! You! Follow that hearse!
- Can't do that, sir. -Why not?
I'll tell you why not. I'll give you a very good reason why not.
Because this is my coach.
Well, get in, then!
Move!
- Come on! You're losing them! -Everything in order, Mr Dickens?
- No, it is not! -What did he say?
Let me say this first. I am not without a sense of humour...
- Dickens? Charles Dickens? -Yes.
- Yes! -The Charles Dickens?
Should I remove the gentleman, sir?
Charles Dickens! You're brilliant, you are!
Completely 100% brilliant. I've read them all.
Great Expectations. Oliver Twist...
- What's the other one, the one with the ghost? -Christmas Carol?
No, the one with the trains. The Signal-Man, that's it. Terrifying!
The best short story ever written!
- You're a genius. -Do you want me to get rid of him, sir?
Uh, no, I think he can stay.
Honestly, Charles... Can I call you Charles? I'm such a big fan.
Uh, you're a what? A big what?
Fan. Number one fan, that's me!
How exactly are you a "fan"?
In what way do you resemble a means of keeping oneself cool?
No, it means fanatic. Devoted to. Mind you, I've gotta say,
that American bit in Martin Chuzzlewit, what's that about?
Was that just padding or what? I mean it's rubbish, that bit.
I thought you said you were my fan.
Oh, well, if you can't take criticism...
Do the death of Little Nell. It cracks me up. No! Sorry!
Forget about that. Come on! Faster!
Who exactly is in that hearse?
My friend. She's only 19. It's my fault.
She's in my care, and now she's in danger.
Why are we wasting my time talking about dry old books?
This is much more important. Driver!
- Be swift! The chase is on! -Yes, sir!
- Attaboy, Charlie. -Nobody calls me Charlie.
- The ladies do. -How do you know that?
I told you! I'm your number one...
Number one fan. I know.
The poor girl's still alive, sir,
what are we going to do with her?
I don't know!
I didn't plan any of this, did I?
Is it my fault if the dead won't stay dead?
Then whose fault is it, sir?
Why is this happening to us?
I did the Bishop a favour once.
Made his nephew look like a cherub
even though he'd been a fortnight in the weir.
Hey, perhaps he'll do us an exorcism on the cheap!
Say I'm not in. Tell 'em we're closed.
Just, just, get rid of 'em.
I'm sorry, sir. We're closed.
Nonsense. Since when did an Undertaker keep office hours?
The dead don't die on schedule, I demand to see your master.
He's not in, sir.
Don't lie to me, child, summon the master!
I'm awfully sorry, Mr Dickens, but the master is indisposed.
Having trouble with your gas?
What the Shakespeare is going on?
Are you all right?
You're kidding me, yeah? You're just kidding.
You are kidding me, aren't you?
Okay, not kidding.
You're not allowed inside, sir.
There's something inside the walls.
The gas pipes.
Something's living inside the gas.
Let me out! Open the door!
- That's her! -Please, let me out!
How dare you, sir! This is my house.
I told you...
Let me out, somebody open the door!
Open the door!
I think this is my dance.
It's a prank. Must be. We're under some mesmeric influence.
No we're not, the dead are walking.
- Hi. -Hi. Who's your friend?
Charles Dickens.
- Okay. -My name's the Doctor.
Who are you, then? What do you want?
Failing! Open the rift. We're dying.
Trapped in this form.
Cannot sustain. Help us.
First of all you drug me, then you kidnap me,
and don't think I didn't feel your hands
having a quick wander, you dirty old man.
I won't be spoken to like this.
Then you sent me in a room full of zombies!
And if that ain't enough, you swan off and leave me to die!
So come on, talk!
It's not my fault, it's this house!
It always had a reputation.
Haunted.
But I never had much bother until about three months back, and then the stiffs...
...the, um,
the dear departed started getting restless.
Tommyrot!
You witnessed it!
Can't keep the beggars down, sir.
They walk.
And it's the queerest thing, but they hang onto scraps...
Two sugars, sir, just how you like it.
One old fellow who used to be a sexton
almost walked into his own memorial service.
Just like the old lady going to your performance, sir,
just as she planned.
Morbid fancy.
Oh, Charles, you were there.
I saw nothing but an illusion.
If you're going to deny it, don't waste my time, just shut up.
What about the gas?
That's new, sir. I never seen anything like that.
Means it's getting stronger, the rift's getting wider
and something's sneaking through.
- What's the rift? -A weak point in time and space.
A connection between this place and another.
That's the cause of ghost stories, most of the time.
That's howl got the house so cheap,
stories going back generations.
Echoes in the dark. Queer songs in the air.
And this feeling, like a shadow
passing over your soul.
Mind you, truth be told, it's been good for business,
just what people expect from a gloomy old trade like mine.
Impossible!
Checking for strings?
Wires... perhaps.
There must be some mechanism behind this fraud.
Oh, come on, Charles.
All right, I shouldn't have told you to shut up. I'm sorry.
But you've got one of the best minds in the world.
You saw those gas creatures.
I cannot accept that.
And what does the human body do when it decomposes?
It breaks down and produces gas.
Perfect home for these gas things.
They can slip inside and use it as a vehicle,
-just like your driver and his coach. -Stop it!
Can it be that I have the world entirely wrong?
Not wrong. There's just more to learn.
I've always railed against the fantasists!
Oh, I loved an illusion as much as the next man,
revelled in them, but that's exactly what they were, illusions.
The real world is something else.
I dedicated myself to that. Injustices,
the great social causes.
I hoped that I was a force for good.
Now, you tell me that the real world
is a realm of spectres and jack-o'lanterns.
In which case...
Have I wasted my brief span here, Doctor?
Has it all been for nothing?
Please, miss, you shouldn't be helping, it's not right.
Don't be daft. Sneed works you to death.
How much do you get paid?
Eight pound a year, miss.
- How much? -I know!
I would've been happy with six.
So did you even go to school, or what?
Of course I did, what do you think I am, an urchin?
I went every Sunday, nice and proper.
What, once a week?
We did sums and everything.
To be honest, I hated every second.
Me, too!
Don't tell anyone...
But one week I didn't go and I ran down the heath, all on my own.
I did plenty of that. I used to go down the shops with my mate Shareen.
And we used to go and look at boys.
Well, I don't know much about that, miss.
Oh, come on, times haven't changed that much.
- I bet you've done the same. -I don't think so, miss.
Gwyneth, you can tell me.
I bet you've got your eye on someone.
I suppose, there is one lad.
The butcher's boy, he comes by every Tuesday.
Such a lovely smile on him.
I like a nice smile.
Good smile, nice bum.
Well, I have never heard the like!
Ask him out. Give him a cup of tea or something, that's a start.
I swear, it's the strangest thing, miss.
You've got all the clothes and the breeding,
but you talk like some sort of wild thing.
Maybe I am.
Maybe that's a good thing.
You need a bit more in your life than Mr Sneed.
Oh, now, that's not fair.
He's not so bad, old Sneed.
He was very kind to me to take me in
because I lost my mum and dad to the flu when I was 12.
Oh, I'm sorry.
Thank you, miss. But I'll be with them again, one day.
Sitting with them in paradise.
I shall be so blessed.
They're waiting for me.
Maybe your dad's up there waiting for you too, miss.
Maybe.
Urn, who told you he was dead?
I don't know, must've been the Doctor.
My father died years back.
You've been thinking about him lately. More than ever.
Suppose so.
How do you know all this?
Mr Sneed says I think too much,
I'm all alone down here.
I bet you've got dozens of servants, haven't you, miss?
No, no servants where I'm from.
And you've come such a long way.
What makes you think so?
You're from London.
I've seen London in drawings, but never like that,
all those people rushing about.
Half-naked, for shame.
And the noise...
And the metal boxes racing past...
And the birds in the sky... No...
No, they're metal as well.
Metal birds with people in them.
People are flying.
And you. You've flown so far. Further than anyone.
The things you've seen.
The darkness.
The big bad wolf.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry, miss.
- It's all right. -I can't help it.
Ever since I was a little girl, my mam said I had the sight.
- She told me to hide it. -But it's getting stronger,
more powerful. Is that right?
All the time, sir.
Every night,
voices in my head.
You grew up on top of the rift. You're part of it.
You're the key.
I've tried to make sense of it, sir.
Consulted with spiritualists,
table-rappers, all sorts.
Well, that should help. You can show us what to do.
What to do where, sir?
We're going to have a seance.
This is how Madam Mortlock
summons those from the Land of Mists, down in big town.
- Come. We must all join hands. -I can't take part in this.
Humbug? Come on. Open mind.
This is precisely the sort of cheap mummery I strive to unmask.
Seances?
Nothing but luminous tambourines and a squeeze box
concealed between the knees. This girl knows nothing.
Now, don't antagonise her. I love a happy medium.
I can't believe you just said that.
Come on. We might need you.
Good man.
Now, Gwyneth. Reach out.
Speak to us.
Are you there?
Spirits, come.
Speak to us that we may relieve your burden.
Can you hear that?
Nothing can happen, this is sheer folly.
Look at her.
I see them!
I feel them!
What's it saying?
It can't get through the rift.
Gwyneth, it's not controlling you, you're controlling it.
- Now look deep. Allow them through. -I can't.
Yes, you can. just believe it. I have faith in you, Gwyneth.
Make the link.
Yes!
Great God!
Spirits from the other side!
The other side of the universe.
Pity us!
Pity the Gelth!
There is so little time. Help us!
- What do you want us to do? -The rift.
Take the girl to the rift. Make the bridge.
What for?
We are so very few. The last of our kind.
- We face extinction! -Why, what happened?
Once we had a physical form, like you.
But then the War came.
- War? What war? -The Time War.
The whole universe convulsed.
The Time War raged.
Invisible to smaller species but devastating to higher forms.
Our bodies wasted away.
We're trapped in this gaseous state.
So that's why you need the corpses.
We want to stand tall.
To feel the sunlight. To live again.
We need a physical farm and your dead are abandoned.
They go to waste. Give them to us.
- But we can't. -Why not?
It's not... I mean, it's not...
Not decent? Not polite? It could save their lives.
Open the rift. Let the Gelth through.
We're dying. Help us. Pity the Gelth!
Gwyneth!
All true.
Are you okay?
It's all true.
It's all right. You just sleep.
But my angels, miss!
They came, didn't they? They need me.
They do need you, Gwyneth. You're their only chance of survival.
I've told you, leave her alone.
She's exhausted and she's not fighting your battles.
Now, drink this.
But what did you say, Doctor? Explain it again.
- What are they? -Aliens.
Like, foreigners, you mean?
Pretty foreign, yeah. From up there.
- Brecon? -Close.
And they've been trying to get through from Brecon to Cardiff,
but the road's blocked.
Only a few can get through and even then they're weak.
They can only test drive the bodies for so long.
Then they have to revert to gas and hide in the pipes.
Which is why they need the girl?
- They're not having her. -But she can help.
Living on the rift, she's become part of it.
She can open it up, make a bridge and let them through.
Incredible. Ghosts that are not ghosts
but beings from another world,
who can only exist in our realm by inhabiting cadavers.
Good system. It might work.
You can't let them run around inside of dead people!
Why not? It's like recycling.
- Seriously though, you can't. -Seriously though, I can.
But it's just wrong!
Those bodies were living people.
We should respect them, even in death.
Do you carry a donor card?
- It's different, that's... -It is different, yeah.
It's a different morality. Get used to it. Or go home.
You heard what they said, time's short.
I can't worry about a few corpses
when the last of the Gelth could be dying.
I don't care, they're not using her.
Don't I get a say, miss?
Well, yes... Look...
You don't understand what's going on.
You would say that, miss, because that's very clear inside your head,
that you think I'm stupid.
- That's not fair. -It's true though.
Things might be very different where you're from,
but here and now,
I know my own mind,
and the angels need me.
Doctor? What do I have to do?
You don't have to do anything.
They've been singing to me since I was a child.
Sent by my mam on a holy mission, so tell me.
We need to find the rift.
This house is on a weak spot, so there must be a spot that's weaker than any other.
Mr Sneed, what's the weakest part of this house?
The place where most of the ghosts have been seen?
That would be the morgue.
No chance you were going to say gazebo, is there?
Huh! Talk about Bleak House.
The thing is, Doctor, the Gelth don't succeed,
'cause I know they don't.
I know for a fact that corpses weren't walking around in 1869.
Time's in ﬂux, changing every second.
Your cosy little world can be rewritten like that.
Nothing is safe. Remember that. Nothing.
Doctor, I think the room is getting colder.
Here they come.
You've come to help!
Praise the Doctor! Praise him.
Promise you won't hurt her.
Hurry! Please! So little time. Pity the Gelth!
I'll take you somewhere else after the transfer.
Somewhere you can build proper bodies.
This isn't a permanent solution, all right?
My angels! I can help them live.
Okay, where's the weak point?
Here, beneath the arch!
Beneath the arch.
You don't have to do this.
My angels.
Establish the bridge. Reach out to the void. Let us through!
Yes!
I can see you.
I can see you! Come!
- Bridgehead establishing. -Come to me.
Come to this world. Poor lost souls.
It has begun! The bridge is made.
She has given herself to the Gelth!
Rather a lot of them, eh?
The bridge is open. We descend.
The Gelth will come through in force.
You said that you were few in number!
A few bill/on! And all of us in need of corpses!
Now, Gwyneth, stop this.
Listen to your master!
This has gone far enough. Stop dabbling, child,
and leave these things alone, I beg of you.
Mr Sneed, get back!
I think it's going a little bit wrong.
I have joined the legions of the Gelth.
Come, march with us.
Oh, Glory!
We need bodies. All of you, dead.
The human race, dead.
Gwyneth, stop them! Send them back, now!
Three more bodies! Convert them!
Make them vessels for the Gelth!
Doctor, I can't! I'm sorry.
This new world of yours, it's too much for me.
I'm so...
Give yourself to glory.
Sacrifice your lives to the Gelth.
I trusted you. I pitied you!
We don't want your pity! We want this world and all its ﬂesh.
Not while I'm alive.
Then live no more.
But I can't die. Tell me I can't.
I haven't even been born yet, it's impossible for me to die.
Isn't it?
I'm sorry.
Failing! Atmosphere hostile!
Gas!
The gas!
But it's 1869, how can I die now?
Time isn't a straight line, it can twist into any shape.
You can be born in the 20th century and die in the 19th.
And it's all my fault.
I brought you here.
It's not your fault.
- I wanted to come. -What about me?
I saw the fall of Troy. World War Five.
I pushed boxes at the Boston Tea Party.
Now I'm gonna die in a dungeon,
in Cardiff!
And it's not just dying.
We're gonna become one of them.
We'll go down fighting, yeah?
- Yeah. Yeah. -Together?
I'm so glad I met you.
Me, too.
Doctor! Doctor! Turn off the flame, turn up the gas.
Now fill the room! All of it, now!
- What are you doing? -Turn it all on!
Flood the place!
Brilliant, gas!
What, so we choke to death instead?
Am I correct, Doctor?
These creatures are gaseous.
Fill the room with gas, it'll draw them out of the host.
Suck them into the air like poison from a wound!
I hope... Oh, Lord!
I hope that this theory will be validated soon.
If not immediately.
Plenty more.
It's working!
Gwyneth, send them back. They lied, they're not angels!
- Liars?
- Look at me.
If your mother and father could look down and see this, they'd tell you the same.
They'd give you the strength. Now send them back!
- Can't breathe. -Charles, get her out.
I'm not leaving her. They're too strong.
Remember that world you saw?
Rose's world? All those people.
None of it will exist unless you send them back through the rift!
I can't send them back.
But I can hold them.
Hold them in this place. Hold them here.
Get out.
- You can't! -Leave this place.
Rose, get out, go now.
I won't leave her while she's still in danger. Now go!
Come on. Leave that to me.
This way!
I'm sorry.
Thank you.
She didn't make it.
I'm sorry. She closed the rift.
At such a cost. The poor child.
I did try, Rose, but Gwyneth was already dead.
She had been for at least five minutes.
What do you mean?
I think she was dead from the minute she stood in that arch.
But she can't have, she spoke to us,
she helped us, she saved us.
How could she have done that?
There are more things in Heaven and Earth
than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
Even for you, Doctor.
She saved the world.
A servant girl. No one will ever know.
Right then, Charlie boy, I've just got to go into my, um, shed.
Won't be long.
What are you going to do now?
I shall take the mail-coach back to London, quite literally post-haste.
This is no time for me to be on my own.
I shall spend Christmas with my family and make amends to them.
After all I've learnt tonight, there can be nothing more vital.
- You've cheered up. -Exceedingly!
This morning, I thought I knew everything in the world.
Now I know I've just started.
All these huge and wonderful notions, Doctor!
I am inspired, I must write about them!
Do you think that's wise?
I shall be subtle, at first.
The Mystery Of Edwin Drood still lacks an ending.
Perhaps the killer was not the boy's uncle.
Perhaps he was not of this earth!
"The Mystery of Edwin Drood And The Blue Elementals!"
I can spread the word, tell the truth!
Good luck with it.
Nice to meet you, fantastic.
Bye, then. And thanks.
Oh, my dear!
How modern.
Thank you. But I don't understand,
in what way is this goodbye?
- Where are you going? -You'll see. In the shed.
Upon my soul, Doctor, it's one riddle after another with you.
But after all these revelations,
there's one mystery you still haven't explained.
Answer me this...
Who are you?
Just a friend. Passing through.
But you have such knowledge of future times.
I don't wish to impose on you but I must ask you...
My books, Doctor, do they last?
Oh, yes.
For how long?
Forever.
Right.
Shed. Come on, Rose.
What? In the box? Both of you?
Down, boy. See ya.
Doesn't that change history, if he writes about blue ghosts?
In a week's time, it's 1870.
And that's the year he dies. Sorry.
He'll never get to tell his story.
Oh, no. He was so nice.
But in your time, he was already dead.
We've brought him back to life
and he's more alive now than he's ever been. Old Charlie Boy.
Let's give him one last surprise.
- Merry Christmas, sir. -Merry Christmas to you!
God bless us. Every one.
Big Ben destroyed as a UFO crash lands in Central London.
What is it, then? Are they invading?
Funny way to invade, putting the world on red alert.
By God, I'll put this country under marshal law if I have to.
Defence plan delta! Come on. Move! Move!
Clear!