Stone Cross

The lichen-split stone cross stands midway along the empty Devesham High Street, its arms weathered to stubs by centuries of wind and rain. Its pedestal is set just above ground level, offering a narrow platform tall enough to be seen over the rooftops of the shuttered shops fronting the narrow road. From this height the Doctor can scan the length of the street—the empty doors of shops, the sagging blackboard of the newsagent still advertising papers three days old, the greenish glint of broken glass catching what little sunlight filters through the low cloud. The silence isn’t just absence of voices; it’s the press of something older and heavier, a hush that feels as solid as the stone beneath his boots.