Personal Literary Archaeology, Part III

For more explanation see Part I.

Trish was positively thrumming with excitement. In honor of the first World Who Con the science museum was setting up a Dr. Who exhibit. They were going to have all kinds of props and memorabilia from the series. It wouldn't open for another week, but that was okay. Trish had a friend who worked in the ticket department. Eddie had called her that morning and told her that they were going to be unloading the stuff for the exhibit all day. In honor of the occasion Trish had called in sick to her job at the book store. She was going to spend the whole afternoon out behind the museum hoping to get a glimpse of the Tardis or something equally important. It had been cold and lonely but she was about to get her reward. A crane was lifting the familiar shape of a police box from the back of the big truck. She edged closer to the rail that kept people out of the loading zone. Just then she felt a hand planted firmly against the base of her spine. It propelled her forward with surprising force. Before she could make any attempt to save herself the rail caught her in the thighs and she went over onto her face. There on the ground in front of her was a sticker. It said, "There can be only one!" She had just a second to ponder that before the chain holding the police box overhead let loose and she was smashed to pulp against the unyielding concrete.

This is the last one that got written though there were ultimately supposed to be five. If anyone really cares, I might write the other two. Does anyone really care? Don't worry, I won't be bothered if the answer on this one is no.