From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org Date: 15 Aug 2006 02:51:32 -0000 Subject: The Barn by Discordia Source: direct Reply To: DiscordantWords@hotmail.com TITLE: The Barn AUTHOR: Discordia E-MAIL: DiscordantWords@hotmail.com ARCHIVE: Sure. Just drop me an email to let me know. RATING: R CATEGORIES: X KEYWORDS: None SPOILERS: Set in the 6th Season. SUMMARY: The light stung her eyes and Scully shut them tightly, feeling her skin prickle uncomfortably in the heat as she tried to remember what, how, why--why she was lying on her stomach on the dusty ground, fingers scrabbling in the dirt. Disclaimer: The characters of the X Files do not belong to me in any way, shape or form. This is purely an intellectual exercise-- no profit is being made. Author's Note: This is a stand-alone piece, although possibly the first in a loosely connected collection of short horror stories set in the X Files universe. * The sun was bright--a white hot presence in a scorched, cloudless sky. The light stung her eyes and Scully shut them tightly, feeling her skin prickle uncomfortably in the heat as she tried to remember what, how, why--why she was lying on her stomach on the dusty ground, fingers scrabbling in the dirt. And Mulder--where was he? If she was lying on her stomach in the dirt on a hot day, it was likely his fault. Somehow, with her eyes shut, she could still see him, striding in front of her, looking cool and collected in his dark suit while she sweated miserably in her own. His footsteps echoed hollowly on the cheap wood porch as he reached out one pale hand to rap on the door-- * There was an explosion of clattering feet and the front door was flung open with such enthusiasm that it banged loudly against the frame, rebounding into the shoulder of a small girl. She stared out at them with wide-eyed astonishment, serious, eager little gaze taking in everything. Her eyes dropped to the guns in their holster and then returned to their faces, jaw dropping open to reveal a gap-toothed smile, shiny little baby teeth pushed aside in favor of burgeoning adulthood. She was a cute little girl, with a snub nose and a smattering of freckles on her cheeks. She had a pouty little smile that the boys were bound to take notice of in a few years time. "Holy cow," she said, hands tugging self-consciously at the hem of her dress. "Charlotte," a heavy voice called from inside the house, and she cringed away from the screen. "Hi," Scully said brightly, smiling at the child. "Is your father home?" "He's napping," the girl said, her tiny fingernails scratching against the screen in an idle pattern. "Charlotte!" the voice called again, harsher now. "Is that him?" Mulder crouched down so he was eye to eye with the girl. Faced with such a serious gaze, she nodded solemnly. "He takes his nap around noontime. Sun's too hot to work," she said, glancing over her shoulder. "Well," Mulder said, his tone light. "We wouldn't disturb him unless it was very important. We're with the FBI." The sun beat down over their heads, and Scully felt the first bead of sweat at her hairline let go and trickle uncomfortably down her neck. The girl glanced at their guns again, eyes wide. She looked to be about seven or eight years old. "Charlotte--is your name Charlotte?" Mulder asked, keeping eye contact with her, and for a brief moment Scully envied him his ease with children. She always feared she came across too pandering, too condescending, her tone false and gentle. He seemed to slide right in to conversation without preamble, relating to them on their level without needing to work for it. The girl nodded shyly at her name, chin tucked against her chest. The pretty patterned dress she wore was dusty; her knees skinned. The enduring marks of a tomboy, Scully thought. "CHARLOTTE!" "It doesn't sound like your daddy's sleeping," Mulder said calmly. "Can you go and bring him to the door? We'd like to ask him a few questions." * Scully sat up, tilting her head to one side and then the other, her hands ceasing their frantic struggle for whatever it was they were seeking. Her gun was lying a few feet away, she noted, and she leaned over to pick it up and felt a wave of nausea break over her. Head injury, she realized, even before she felt the wet trickle of blood against her temple. She slipped her fingers around the comforting weight of her gun and stood, slowly, not seeking to upset her center of gravity. The world spun briefly and was still. * "What?" the man's voice was harsh, as though the words were being torn from his throat syllable by painful syllable. He loomed up behind his daughter, a gaunt shadow of a man, one gnarled hand resting on her narrow shoulder. "Mr. Collins," Scully said, smoothly assuming control while Mulder struggled to his feet with a winsome smile. "Yeah," he said, pressing his face against the screen, lip curling in distaste. Scully had to force herself not to recoil. The man looked like a grotesque caricature, with his high cheekbones and pitted skin, long hookish nose, large puffy lips that settled against his face like an entity of their own. "Agents Mulder and Scully, FBI," Mulder said, holding up his badge. "We're here about the recent fertilizer purchase you made." "You came all the way to my farm for a pile of shit?" Collins asked, his enormous lips pulling back into a gruesome parody of a grin. Mulder dipped his head to hide a smile. "You could say that." "So..." He pushed open the screen, stepping out into the light. The little girl remained behind, hands pressed against the door, watching with wide eyes. Scully felt her lip begin to curl at the smell coming off of the man. It was a sickly-sweet, animal odor. She caught Mulder glancing at her out of the corner of her eye and had to look away. She knew all too well what he was thinking. "I reckon you need to see the shit for yourselves," Collins said conversationally, his voice painful to the ear. He brushed past them and headed down the porch. "Unfortunately," Mulder muttered. "We'll only be a minute, Mr. Collins," Scully said politely, not eager to smell the outcome of Collins's scent mingling with manure. Behind them, she heard the screen door slam, saw a brief whirlwind of color as the little girl tore past them and bolted for the barn, messy pigtails flying behind her. * Certain that she wasn't about to lose her balance, Scully moved towards the barn. The light stung her eyes and she squinted, wanting to curl up and fall asleep but knowing that was just the concussion talking. The heavy red doors beckoned to her, and she placed her hand on the rough wood. The smell hit her hard as she pushed through, her pupils dilating rapidly to compensate for the sudden darkness. She struggled through another wave of dizziness, raising her gun and peering cautiously into the dim room. Something caught her eye, a strange crumpled form that seemed out of place amongst the hay and manure. She began to run before her brain even registered what it was. * "More than a hundred unexplained disappearances, over the course of the past twenty years. All along this lonely stretch of highway." Mulder was wearing sunglasses, the road flashing by as he cracked a sunflower seed between his teeth. "Mulder," she sighed, knowing there had to be a reason he was willing to go along with Kersh's assignment and yet dreading the moment he came clean all the same. "This is the desert. People disappear all the time." "They're calling this the Southwestern Triangle," he said, a strange smile quirking at his lips. "Ah, the ubiquitous 'They.' What else do they have to say, Mulder?" She settled against the car window, regarding him with an arched brow. "All I'm saying is that we should keep our eyes peeled while we're interviewing Mr. Collins about his big piles of manure. You never know what you might stumble into." * She followed Mulder and Collins towards the barn, watching the door swing shut behind the girl. "Charlotte!" he barked. "Knock it off. It's lunch time soon." The girl did not reappear, and he turned to shrug at them as they reached the barn doors. "Her momma died years ago," he said, one dirty finger scratching at his sun-browned face. "She don't always listen." "She's charming," Scully said, because she couldn't think of anything else. * There was too much red. She felt as though she were running in slow motion, towards the loose pile of dark-sheathed limbs, the red splashed on the hay in a terrible-beautiful pattern. She didn't say his name as she drew near. Saying his name would make it real and she wasn't yet sure she wanted to accept this particular situation as reality. * Collins pushed the doors open, stepping comfortably into the dark, rank interior of the barn. Scully followed, the heat making her complacent, not even aware of danger until it was upon her. There was a hiss from her left and she turned to see Charlotte crouched atop a bale of hay, lips curled into a snarl to reveal a row of tiny, wickedly sharp teeth. Her cheery, gap-toothed smile had vanished. "Mulder," Scully said, stepping back with a start. Did he see the girl? What kind of prank-- There was a deeper growl from her right, and she saw Collins drop down into a fighter's stance, his grotesque lips pulling back in a dangerous smile. She had her gun out and felt Mulder's hand close on her forearm, yanking her roughly back into the sunlight. The door swung shut behind her and she turned to gape at him. Then the doors blew open and something small and furious ran at her. Her gun tumbled from useless fingers as she felt talons tangle in her hair. She heard Mulder shout something and then her knees gave out and she hit the ground with ferocious impact, her head striking the heard dirt. White spots danced briefly in her eyes and she heard snarling and gasping and then she heard nothing-- * "Mulder," she said hoarsely as she knelt down on the filthy floor next to him, trembling fingers tugging at his shoulders. There was a deep gouge running down the side of his neck; the collar of his white shirt was stained red. "Mulder," she said again, turning him over as gently as she could, wincing at the pallor of his face. But he was breathing, and as she fumbled for a pulse his eyes flickered open. "We just can't seem to stay out of trouble," he said. "Collins?" she asked him, nerves on high alert but her body feeling sluggish and dizzy. "Dead," Mulder said, and he rolled to the side to reveal the crumpled body of the other man, bright blood blossoming from a gunshot wound in his chest. Scully touched a tentative finger to the man's lips, pushing them away from the teeth. Normal. Tobacco stained and looking as though they'd seen better days, but nothing like the needle sharp appendages she'd glimpsed in those few fleeting instants-- "The girl," Mulder said, sitting up. She let her hands linger on him longer than necessary, thrilling in the feel of him alive and whole and moving beneath her. "Mulder, what--" "I don't know," he said. "But I think we have our answer about the disappearances." She helped him to his feet, stumbling a little as he leaned his weight on her. He reached out one clumsy hand to touch her face gently. "I think I have a concussion," she said. Mulder nodded and glanced over his shoulder as they headed towards the sunlight, towards the car, towards safety. "We'll need to get a search party together," Scully said as she settled into the passenger seat, closing her eyes briefly. "She can't have gone far." "I want to have Collins's body shipped back to Quantico." "Yes," she said. * Night had fallen when the cavalry returned, blue and red lights dancing off the faded paint of the house and barn. Scully led the way as they pushed through the great red doors and into the fetid interior of the barn. There was red, splashed haphazardly against the hay, but no man. And no little girl. * END * Feedback, both positive and negative, is appreciated. DiscordantWords@hotmail.com