Mallik ran as he'd never run before. He was young and strong, and though he had been running for hours already he knew that he could keep going for a while yet. This didn't mean that he wasn't aching all over, that his throat wasn't raw with gasping and panting. The air was foul in this place. It tasted bad, it smelled bad - it was filled with pollutants. But still Mallik ran, sucking it in in great lungfuls. He was staggering along a corrugated steel conduit.

The TARDIS was crashing. The big clue was that the floor lurched at a sixty-degree angle. I knew this because the Doctor pointed it out. 'Sixty degrees!' he called, like he was greeting an old friend. 'Amy, this is serious.' I grinned, and then saw the expression on my husband's face. Rory was clinging to a chair, and making a noise. Making an 'oh my god, you didn't say this was a seafood restaurant' noise. My husband has one of those faces that looks best when it is worried.

Between the housing estate and the motorway lies an ancient wood. Birds live there, and foxes, and the many small beasts that snuffle round the undergrowth busy on their own quiet errands. The woods teem with life: sharp, clever robins and blackbirds with bright and restless eyes; owls that sleep by day and quest by night; vivid darting butterflies; and all the wild and thrilling creatures - badgers, and hares, and maybe even a glimpse of a soft-eyed, soft-footed deer with her small fawn. Yes, the woods are filled with life.

Once upon a time, a long way away, the TARDIS whooshed and zoomed and spiralled through the space-time vortex. To one of the occupants, this was the most exciting, thrilling and fantastic thing she had ever experienced. And basically, she guessed, it would stay that way for the rest of her life. And she had met the man who flew this amazing, extraordinary and fantabulous ship only a couple of days before.

They came only at night. They crept around the dark places, the hidden places, the poor and lonely places. It was said in the city that you could tell when they approached. First your skin began to prickle and then a sickening cold fear lodged itself in your belly which rose and rose, up and up - until you could not speak and you could not breathe, and the lamp that you were carrying couldn't bear it any longer and went out - phoomph!

The radio hissed static for a second, squealing as the dial searched for the right frequency. The garbled voice of an announcer suddenly faded to silence on the word 'Brothers', and Doctor Albert Gilroy spun the volume up to maximum. In the dark lighting of the computer lab, silhouetted against the warm orange glow of the overhead projector, he thrust the sleeves of his lab coat up his arms and prepared his best air-guitar stance as the soft opening riff built in intensity and the high- hat skittered away underneath.

Sam Horwitz had never felt so excited. The Grand Hall of the New York Natural History Museum was packed with hundreds of people, all clutching invitations to 'See the New Wonder of the World'. In exactly two minutes, Sam was going to step out and show them his amazing discovery. Sam fidgeted with his new white blazer. He'd never worn anything so bold before, but for this, the biggest day of his life, he wanted to impress.

'OK. What is that?' asked Amy, shouting over the shrill bleeping noise that screamed out of the console. 'It's a signal! the Doctor replied, never once taking his eyes away from the screen before him. 'A beacon. An alarm. No... It's stranger than that.' All at once the TARDIS shook violently, nearly knocking them both off their feet. 'And what was that?' said Amy, bracing herself and struggling to keep balance. 'Well, I'm not sure what that was,' said the Doctor. 'I think we may have hit some sort of gravitational speed bump.' 'A gravitational speed bump? They have speed bumps in space? How fast were we going?'

Twenty minutes before he died, Donald Babinger was feeding bits of his cheese sandwich to a pigeon. It was a cold, grey day, and the pigeon seemed grateful for the attention as well as the" crumbs. It pecked eagerly at the bread, ignoring the cheese and the pickle. Babinger was sitting on the steps up to the bandstand, huddled in his coat. The bandstand was where the teenagers hung out in the evening, in the park near the library.

Brother Neame lay still where he'd fallen, conscious that any hint of movement might reveal his hiding place. He fought to stifle the desperate urge to suck in lungful of air, each breath roaring in his ears as if screaming, 'Over here.' With the passing of each agonizing moment, he could feel the dampness of the sodden grass, soaking through his robes until it met his trembling body, the icy chill flooding over his skin with such ferocity that his pounding heart could do little to fight it.