Doctor Who's Gonna Protect Me in My Sleep???

I almost didn't sleep last night because I was afraid a child in a gas mask was going to appear in my doorway asking if I was his mummy. Allow me to explain.

I have two friends who are big into TV shows. In high school, I had to start watching some of the shows they watched just to understand what they talked about half the time. In the process, I discovered some truly wonderful shows. They have never steered me wrong, and I have them to thank for my devotion to Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert. And Joss Whedon. And "The Office." And "Parks and Recreation." The list goes on.

So when they asked me yet again at a recent dinner if I had started watching "Doctor Who," I felt the time had come to reorganize my priorities and settle in for the long haul--David Tennant is pretty cute, after all. But I couldn't just jump into season 2, oh no. According to Meaghan, I would at least have to watch two episodes from season 1 first: The Empty Child, and The Doctor Dances.

I should have known right then that this was going to end badly. Any cinematic exposure to an "empty child" is best avoided because, let's face it, it's probably one of those freaky children in horror movies that are covered in blood because they've just murdered your dog and are moving toward you slowly and mechanically, holding the knife that they are also going to fillet you with and unable to understand why this disturbs you. If exposure to said child cannot be avoided (or is carelessly pursued by a naive viewer), at least do not let it occur when you are all alone in your room at midnight.

That said, I opted to watch this episode in the most frightening conditions possible. I waited till midnight, turned on my desk lamp, and sat down to watch one 41-minute show on my laptop with headphones. I thought to wait till midnight because by then my parents would be asleep and I wouldn't miss out on talking with them. I turned on my small lamp so I could see the midnight snack I was eating and thereby avoid spilling a bowl of cereal in my lap. And I wore the headphones to be a considerate daughter and keep the noise level down for my sleeping parents. I did all these potentially dangerous things because, hey, it's "Doctor Who" and this show is supposed to be pretty funny and I seriously doubt that "empty child" means what I think it means. Oh no. Oh no no no no no.

As it turned out, the "empty child" was this little horror:

Here's how it went down: I settle into my room at 12:05 AM, giddy with anticipation of British humor and Mini-Wheats. Lamp on, headphones in, door closed (for which I would be very grateful later), and I hit play. The episode is set in London in 1941, complete with German air raids and lounge singers and OMG is that a child on the roof? Is it...is it wearing a gas mask? Good God, this can't end well. At least I thought to close my door. 

The episode progresses. It turns out this little thing can tap into any speaker system, whether it is functional or not, and project his eerie voice to whomever he wishes, never deviating from his incessant and haunting question, "Are you my mummy?" NO, FREAK! GO AWAY!!!

The episode continues. More gas mask zombies are created, and they move in tandem. I begin to regret that I turned on my desk lamp, because there is just enough light to see objects behind me reflected in the screen, and as I move, they move. I think about turning the light off, but that would make the empty child even more likely to appear in my room. I make a compromise with myself--keep the light on, grab the pillow. 

A few more minutes pass by. I begin to over-identify with the motley group of kids on the run from this child, especially the leader, Nancy. I become aware that wearing headphones means I have no auditory cues as to what is going on in my room. For all I know, the empty child could be here, now, certain that I am his mummy and standing right behind me. I think about taking out my headphones, but that would mean that the freaky voice of the empty child would actually permeate my room instead of remaining contained within my computer. I leave the headphones in. 

More minutes tick by. The Doctor goes to a hospital and discovers that OMG they're not wearing gas masks, their faces have BECOME gas masks! As it occurs to me that this is the most torturous 41-minute episode ever, I decide I must tough it out to the end to get some closure. Otherwise, I know I'll have nightmares. But guess what? The episode ends on this cliff-hanger: an entire hospital-full of gas-masked zombies corner The Doctor, Rose, and Jack, a veritable choir echoing the eternal phrase (sing along if you know it), "Are you my mummy?" And scene!

Skip to 7:35. It's a hoot.

Betrayed, lied to, I sit in my chair at 12:46 AM a tense and horrified mess. What do you mean, "To be continued...?!?!?"  There's no going to sleep after this. I know what I must do. "The Doctor Dances" it is.

Yet another 41 minutes later, it is revealed that Nancy actually was the little freak's "mummy" after all! Girl, if your sweet face had just fessed up an hour ago, I wouldn't have had to go through this ordeal! Why, Nancy? WHY?!?!?

Stop looking so innocent! YOU did this to me!

The rest of the episode is important, I suppose, but I remain fixated on Nancy's betrayal and convinced that if I look outside my door, I will find a hoard of these zombies marching steadily up my stairs, hoping to appeal to my maternal instincts. If that happens, Nancy, I'm holding you responsible. 

After checking the stairs, I take a deep breath and turn out the light. I wait. No sounds. I scooch further into my bed. Still no sounds. I open my eyes suddenly to catch the zombies off-guard. But no zombies. I am beyond exhausted by this point, and decide that if going to sleep means spending the rest of my life with a gas mask for a face, I might as well be well-rested for it. I am finally able to ease into a restless sleep full of old schoolmates, hidden doorways, and pregnancy...I don't know.