Doctor Who XXXI.4: The Time of Angels

There are noises in my loft; sudden fleeting scrapes, the gentlest and most abrupt of taps.

I dare not open the door. I dare not enter that darkness. I dare not even let my thoughts dwell on what lives there.

For if I did open that door, I might see a statue looking down at me, its face contorted in hate and hunger, its mouth open, its fangs bared, its wings ready...

...and if I don't see that statue, I'll know that I am very unlucky.

( Song for Eleven? )