The Tell-Tale Hearts

Philip Bates is a writer at Kasterborous Doctor Who News and Reviews - All the latest Doctor Who news and reviews with our weekly podKast, features and interviews, and a long-running forum.

Maggie was always very sensitive and that’s why Greg had to die.

It was such a shame because a small part of her still loved him. But one day, she could tell, he would do something terrible: he’d murder someone, or something like that, and because he visited crime scenes every day, he’d know how to cover it up – or else his colleagues would.

So one Thursday, Maggie had let him change out of his uniform after a long day’s work, and then she stabbed him in the neck.

Maggie was always very sensitive – her mother had told her so, and sometimes she would dream of something before it had even happened. Being so sensitive, she had felt Greg’s fear as he slipped away, so she entwined her fingers with his, and felt his heart pulsing through his hand. Even though he went away, his heartbeat never did.

They were having their patio redone, so that was handy.

She phoned Mike and asked if he’d seen Greg in work that day because he hadn’t come home. Maggie didn’t trust this new mobile network, but even she admitted signal had been fantastic. He was filed as a missing person the following morning.

Wherever she went, she could hear it. The garden, the kitchen, the supermarket, the polling station. His heartbeat. And being so sensitive, that heartbeat never faded. If anything, it was exaggerated itself. Dum- dum; dum-dum. Worse than that, other people heard it too. They were tapping it on their laps, their thumbs working overtime to keep up with the beat.

In the middle of the night, she had searched for it. It was everywhere: the walls, the doors, the sky. She had even lifted up a slab in search for the heartbeat. Mike came around the morning after Election Day, just to check how she was doing. He had suggested a walk outside. He knew. He must’ve known. But how?

Then she realised. As they passed through the kitchen, she turned the television on loudly. News reports, naturally. It would cover the beating. No, it wasn’t. It was the best she could do. And followed Mike into the garden.

That slab was loose.

“So how’re you keeping up?” Mike asked, uselessly. Dum-dum.

“Fine. Fine, thanks. Well, not fine, obviously. I mean – “

“It’s alright, Maggie. I understand. It’s tough.” Dum-dum; dum-dum.

Though it was echoing into the backyard, the TV wasn’t covering the noise at all. Dum-dum. At all. It was getting worse.

“I admit – ” she began to say, and she could hear an announcement on the news.

A richly familiar voice: “This country has been sick.” Was it Gregg? No. But it made the noise worse.

“Sorry, Maggie?”

“I admit it,” she shrieked suddenly. Mike didn’t understand, so she kicked the slab away.

That news report again, undercutting her: “This country needs healing. This country needs medicine.”

“Tear up the slabs! Here, here!” She tore at the ground, and Mike got closer. She faintly registered him using his radio, as the heartbeat got louder and louder and louder. Dum-dum-dum-dum. A rhythm of four. A drumming across the world. “It is the beating of his hideous heart!”

“In fact, I’d go so far as to say that what this country really needs, right now, is a Doctor.”

His heart knocked four times.

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