From: YRLD43A@prodigy.com ( PATTY   HAYES)
Date: Wed,  4 Nov 1998 22:53:37, -0500
Subject: Eye of Evil 1/2


Thanks to everyone who has responded to my stories, it is appreciated 
and very encouraging.  You can e-mail me at  YRLD43A@PRODIGY.COM  .  
I hope you enjoy this.

Title - Eye of Evil
Author - Patty Hayes
E-Mail address - yrld43a@prodigy.com
Rating - R for violence 
Category - SXTA
Spoilers - light Demons and Grotesque
Keywords - Case story - ghosts
Summary - Mulder gets involved in a house where several murders have 
taken place over more than a hundred years.  Is the original owner 
still 'hanging' around?

Disclaimer:  The characters and situations of the television program 
"The X-Files" are the creations and property of Chris Carter,  Fox 
Broadcasting, and Ten Thirteen Productions, and have been used 
without permission.  No copyright infringements are intended.  This 
work is not to be forwarded or distributed to any newsgroup, FTP, or 
WWW site without the permission of the author.   

*******************
EYE OF EVIL 1/2
By Patty Hayes
yrld43a@prodigy.com
November 4, 1998
*******************

     "Do you remember the movie about Amityville house, Scully?"  
Mulder asked as she walked into a darkened office.  Mulder slipped in 
the last slide and picked up the remote to the projector.
     "Which one, the original or the sequel?"
     Mulder smiled as he watched Scully cross her arms in front of 
her.  A defense mechanism he recognized so well.  Whenever he was 
about to encroach upon her a tale of the fantastic, a wall sprung up 
between them.  "The first one, the true one."
     "I think so, what about it?"  She asked wryly.
     "Well, it seems we have our own little Amityville house right 
here in DC."  He flipped on the projector.  A two story gabled house, 
painted a soft yellow.  A wide porch surrounded the front of the 
house with steps leading down the front yard.  It could've been the 
perfect home.  "This house was built in 1909 by the Nowak family.  In 
1922, Nowak killed his family, all of them.  A wife and two small 
sons.  He said he didn't remember doing it, yet the bodies, beaten 
and stabbed repeatedly remained in the house for several weeks before 
they were discovered.  He was sent to the gas chamber in 1924.  The 
house stood empty for a little more than ten years."
     "Mulder, I don't care about the long history of the house.  
What's the current story on it?"  Scully was becoming impatient.
     "You have to hear it all, Scully or it won't mean anything."  
Mulder pressed the remote.  "In 1935, the Danner family bought it, 
refurbished it, lived there without any problems until 1952 when the 
teenage son killed the family.  All of them.  Took a baseball bat to 
the parents in their sleep.  Again, beaten and stabbed repeatedly.  
He was sentenced to death four years later, but appealed and spent 
the rest of his life in jail."
     "Don't tell me, he didn't remember doing it either."
     Mulder nodded, fumbling for a witty riposte.  Finding nothing 
off hand, he pressed the remote again.  "Another ten years and the 
house was bought again.  The family knew nothing of the reputation 
that followed the house and when they found out, they sued the 
realtor, leaving the house only ten days after moving in.  Since 
their belongings were in shipping still, they left everything else in 
the house.  Never came back for any of it.  And they won their case.  
The house was torn down a few years later."
     Scully looked over in surprise.  "Then what was this all about?  
The house is gone.  You're wasting my time here."
     "Not necessarily.  In 1970, a man named Anderson bought the 
property and rebuilt the house in it's original design.  He was the 
one who had it torn down.  He used some of the original windows and 
woodwork when he rebuilt."
     "The point, Mulder?  Can you please get to the point?"  Scully 
sighed heavily.
     Mulder grinned, there was a certain amount of fun stringing her 
along.  "He rebuilt for his new bride, Margaret Newman."
     "Margaret Anderson?  The head of the medical board at Georgetown?
"  Scully's voice was full of surprise.
     "That's the one.  She was murdered last week.  Beaten and 
stabbed repeatedly by her husband, Garrett Anderson, head of 
pediatrics at Georgetown."  Mulder silently pressed the remote 
through the next four slides.  Frames of the dead body, blood 
splattering the walls and floors surrounding it.  "He claims he 
didn't do it.  Yet he was found sitting in a chair near the body, 
covered with her blood, holding the knife."
     "Who does he say committed the murders?"
     Mulder turned off the projector and walked to the door to flip 
on the light.  Clearing his throat and avoiding Scully's glare, he 
answered.  "He's not sure.  But he says there's something in the 
house that's been invading his thoughts."
     "Something?"
     "Someone."
     Scully took a deep breath and looked away.  How many times had 
this scenario popped up.  She thought of Mostow and the demons that 
supposedly controlled his behavior, Patterson who claimed the same.  
How could people continue to believe these outrageous claims?  And 
she remembered Mulder's behavior.  How deeply he immersed himself 
into the case.  "I don't think this is an x-file, Mulder.  Let the 
locals handle this."
     "I didn't ask for this case, Scully."
     She looked up in surprise again.  "Where'd it come from?"
     "Skinner was given the case from somewhere higher up and asked 
that we specifically investigate."
     "No other explanation?"
     "No."  He shook his head and leaned back against his desk, this 
time it was he who crossed his arms against his chest.  Mulder's body 
language wasn't any different from Scully's.  They both had their 
mechanisms, their safety valves.  It kept them from getting too close 
to anyone.

     "I know how crazy it sounds."  Anderson sat nervously picking at 
his fingernails.  Occasionally, he ran his hand through his hair.  He 
was a man of average height and build, his hair was brown with a 
slight hint of graying at the temples.  Even at almost sixty, he was 
a formidable man.  Kept himself in good condition.  He was physically 
capable of the kind of violence of which he was being accused.
     "Mr. Anderson, you've been living in that house for almost 
thirty years.  You want us to believe that something has suddenly 
emerged to just take over your control?"  Mulder was standing against 
the wall while Scully sat opposite Anderson.
     "It started several months ago.  I thought I was losing my mind. 
 I ... I even visited a psychiatrist, a friend of mine.  He told me I 
was under a lot of stress, that I needed a vacation."  He replied 
with an incredulous tone, as if he didn't believe this was happening 
to him.  "I loved my wife, I would've never hurt her."  He pleaded 
with them.
     Scully made notes as Anderson spoke.  The name of the doctor 
he'd seen, the prescriptions he was given.  When the interview was 
over, she discussed these with Mulder.  "Clozapine is an 
antipsychotic, Mulder.  His doctor obviously thought him to be  
delusional.  Paranoid, even.  And used with the mixture of other 
drugs not prescribed would have increased the vulnerability."
     "He's a doctor, Scully, surely he knows ..."
     "Doctors make the worst patients, Mulder, haven't you ever heard 
that?  They think they know it all, immune to the side effects.  Who 
knows what he may have given himself?"  She sighed.  "At best, he's a 
sick man, Mulder.  He needs ... "
     Mulder raised his brow, waiting for her conclusion.
     Scully hesitated then lowered her tone.  "He needs help.   
Medical help, not an exorcist."
     Mulder smiled and nodded.  "I'm going to the house.  You want to 
come?"
     Scully looked up at him from the corner of her eyes.  "I don't 
think so."
     "Well, do me a favor, then.  Contact his psychiatrist, get a 
little back ground there."
     Scully nodded.  "I will.  I know my job, Mulder."  A bit 
insulted that he had to *give* her an assignment.
     Mulder's brow furrowed as she walked off.  That's not what he 
meant.  They'd been at odds for the past couple of months and he 
didn't know why.  She fought everything he did.  They couldn't agree 
on anything lately.

     Mulder felt the overwhelming darkness the minute he entered the 
house.  The decorations themselves were light and airy.  It was 
obvious that the occupants tried to open the atmosphere.  The colors 
were bright and vibrant, the drapes were light and sheer and the 
furnishings were sparse.  It was a very livable home as well, very 
comfortable.  Yet, Mulder felt the air around him become tight and 
constricted.  Almost like something was pressing down on him.  
     The electricity had been turned off and as it neared dusk, the 
house grew warmer instead of cold.  Mulder felt a shudder run down 
his spine and turned suddenly, expecting to see someone standing 
behind him.  But no one was there.  He walked from one room to 
another, looking at the rooms in detail as only his mind could, 
absorbing everything, storing it to use later.  But he was having 
trouble concentrating on things.  His mind kept wandering to the 
murders.  The small children greeting their father after coming home 
from school.  Seeing their mother on the floor in a pool of her own 
blood.  Two parents asleep in their bed.  The father turns over and 
opens his eyes in time to see his only son standing over him with a 
bat.  Mulder could hear the crush of bone, he could smell the stench 
of blood.  Some images flashed suddenly through his mind, some slower.
  Always violent images.  A knife wielding hand swinging down, 
striking something soft, then hard, blood spurting upward.  Mulder 
involuntarily blinked and reared back, avoiding the imaginary fluid.
     And then everything lifted.  He could breath easily again.  It 
was like someone turned on a light where he'd been in total darkness 
before.  Mulder was sitting on his knees in the middle of the 
livingroom.  The stained carpet, covered with plastic, was beneath 
him.  He didn't remember getting there.

     Something was strong with this one.  Something he'd never felt 
before.  A passion, an urgency, a sense of excitement he hadn't felt 
in a long time.  Maybe he'd moved too fast, but this one picked up 
the vibrations so quickly.  He watched from the window as the man 
left the house in a rush.  He'd be back, he knew it.

     Sweat was pouring from Mulder's brow as he stepped off the porch.
  Something was in there, he knew it, he'd felt it.  Something that 
had been there for hundreds of years, maybe longer.  Mulder stared at 
the house from the street for a long moment before getting into his 
car.   Shivers crept over his body as the cool DC breeze washed over 
him.  Only it wasn't the breeze that caused the shivers.  It was the 
feeling of someone watching him.

     She found him asleep at his desk.  The room was in darkness, 
except for a lone desk lamp and it looked as if he'd been there all 
night.  A number of large open books surrounded him and his pad 
rested under his hand, still holding the pen.
     Scully flipped on the overhead light and moved to the chair 
across the desk.  Gently she touched his hand.  "Mulder?"
     He bolted awake, sitting upright quickly, eyes wide. 
     She first saw fear in them, a panic she'd never seen before.  
"Mulder?"
     His breathing calmed as he relaxed and rubbed his eyes.  "Scully.
  What time is it?"
     "It's after nine, Mulder.  Have you been here all night?"
     "Yeah, I guess I have."  He sighed deeply and started to roll 
down the cuffs of his shirt, which was by now wrinkled beyond any 
temporary repair.
     "What are you doing?"  She gestured toward the books.
     "A little DC history."
     "Anything interesting?"
     "Nothing our forefathers did, that's for sure."  He said dryly.  
Mulder wanted to discuss his theory with her, he needed to.  But the 
air between them lately made him hesitate.  "Did you talk to 
Anderson's doctor?"
     "Yes.  I had to get consent from Anderson before he would talk 
to me, but he finally saw me."
     "Well?"  He asked after she remained quiet a bit too long.
     "It's basically what I said before, Mulder.  He's diagnosed as 
having a paranoid disorder.  He reported hearing voices, 
hallucinating and having ... certain ... thoughts."  She stopped 
again.
     "Such as?"  He knew, he didn't want to hear her say it, but he 
knew.
     "Thoughts of killing his wife."  She pursed her lips.  "Mulder, 
I know what you're thinking, but this fits the profile.  Somewhere 
along the line, the man lost it.  It could've been the stress.  The 
pressure of being a doctor is a heavy one.  Maybe something happened 
that caused him to just snap."
     Mulder slowly nodded, taking in everything she had to say.  A 
bit angry that she wasn't more open minded, that after all they'd 
seen and done, she still couldn't believe in the extreme.  "I think 
there's more to it."
     "Did you find anything at the house?"  Scully ignored the 
statement.
     Again Mulder slowly nodded but this time as if in thought.  
"There's something there, Scully.  I felt it."  He saw her start to 
falter.  "I know it, Scully.  It had me, for a brief moment, it had 
me."
     A frown crossed her face.  "Mulder, what do you mean by that?"  
She began to seriously worry about him.  It was Mostow all over again.
  "I don't think there's anything for us to do in this case."
     "Well, I'm going back to the house.  I've got some information 
about where it came from." Mulder thumped the books with his fingers.

     "Tell me.  What do you have?"
     "When Nowak built it, he used a few pieces from an old house in 
Hungary.  Specifically, a few window panes that were designed there.  
Among other things, part of the banister, some other woodwork."  
Mulder hesitated, letting the information soak in.  "The house it 
came from had a history that dated back to the late seventeenth 
century.  A curse was attached to it."  He watched her close her eyes 
and sigh.  
     "Mulder, I think you're grasping for straws here.  If there was 
a curse attached to it, why would the deaths come so far inbetween.  
Why would it wait two hundred years?  I just don't buy it."
     Mulder stood and grabbed his coat.  He didn't say anything at 
first.  Then he reached down and picked up one of the books.  "I know.
"  Then he headed for the door.  "I'm going back to the house."
     "Mulder, wait.  Wait!"  She called after him, but he continued 
walking.
     
     It was cloudy that morning.  The storm clouds rolled in quickly 
and the rain pelted Mulder as he ran for the house.  With cover from 
the porch, he hesitated before entering.  He remembered the night 
before and while he never ran from anything and didn't fear easily, 
he feared this.  The feeling from before was that he'd lost control 
of his senses and it scared the hell out of him.  But he entered 
anyway.  The sensation he'd experienced the night before wasn't there 
now.  
     He went from room to room trying to locate the original glass 
and woodwork.  All of the glass was new, that he could tell anyway, 
but he did locate some of the wood.  A portion of the banister for 
starters.  It was beautiful work, hand carved with detail that 
would've taken years in those days.  Another section was similar but 
obviously machine made recently.  Something Anderson would've had 
done.
     Mulder spent hours there, looking through Anderson's belonging.  
Trying to find another reason for his madness.  He should've moved 
when he felt the first stirrings, but he dismissed them.  

     He began slowly.  Watching at first as the man moved from room 
to room.  For over an hour, he'd entered and exited, testing the 
waters so to speak.  When the man remained, he took over.  It felt 
good, he took a deep breath.  Yes.  Strong, in more ways than one.  
The first thing he did was to take off the jacket.  It felt much more 
comfortable, then he took off the tie and loosened his cuffs.  
     He stared at himself in the bathroom mirror.  Not a bad looking 
man.  Not bad at all.  But the hair, it wasn't him, it was too long.  
Taking a pair of scissors from the draw next to the sink, he began 
cutting Mulder's wavy locks.  When he finished, his hair was closely 
cropped, sticking out in a long crew cut.  Better, he thought.  The 
corner of his mouth rose as his head lowered.  He was beginning to 
look like his old self.
     Closing his eyes, he took another deep breath.  A pang of hunger 
rumbled deep inside and he headed for the kitchen.  It had been a 
long time since he'd eaten with such fervor.  As a separate entity, 
there were many things he longed for.  The last tenants had only 
satisfied a few.  This man ... this man might just well satisfy many 
more.

     Mulder snapped to briefly, looking down at his hands.  Glancing 
toward the windows, he noted darkness had fallen.  How long had he 
been here?  He was disoriented, almost irrational in his thinking.  
What was going on?  His breathing became rapid and his eyes fixed on 
a point across the room.  Suddenly, it was being pulled away, 
slipping further and further beyond his grasp, until he blacked out 
again.

     This one was strong, he had to stay alert to fight for control.  
 Maybe he shouldn't maintain control so quickly.  But if he let him 
go now, he may never get another chance.  And he wanted another 
chance with this one.
 
     Scully unlocked the door with the key he'd given her long ago 
and stepped over the pile of newspapers on the front mat.  "Mulder?"  
She called out to him.  The apartment was dark as she'd suspected.  
He hadn't been there in days if the pile of papers told her anything. 
 He didn't answer his cell phone, he hadn't shown up to work.  She'd 
even asked a car to drive by the house on Maple, but he reported that 
no one was there.  The last time she'd spoken to him, he was heading 
there.  Where else could he be?  Skinner was on her back for a report 
and she'd covered for Mulder as far as she could.  
     She sighed heavily and turned back for the door.  Suddenly a 
figure moved in the shadows.  Scully gasped and stepped back, her 
right hand reaching for her weapon in an instinctive motion.  "Mulder?
"  She didn't recognize him at first.  His hair was ... different.  
Short, choppy, not the well groomed cut of a Bureau man.  But it was 
more than that.  It was the look on his face.  His head was lowered 
and his eyes were looking up at her, a wry, mischievous grin on his 
face as just the corner of his mouth rose.  The small amount of light 
coming through the window gave him a *spooky* appearance.
     Still, she relaxed instantly, at least he was here and alive.  
"Mulder, where the hell have you been?  I've been trying to reach you 
for days now.  Skinner's going to have you doing white collar 
transcripts if you don't check in."  She waited for an answer and 
grew slightly uncomfortable by the way he was looking at her.
     Mulder moved and hesitated as Scully took another step away.  
"I've been doing research.  I'll call in tomorrow."  He moved further 
into the apartment.
     Scully stood at the door and watched him walk away.  "What 
research?"  No response.  "Mulder?  What kind of research?"  She had 
a better look at him as he moved away.  "What did you do to your hair?
"  It was not a professional job, it was as if he'd hacked away at it 
himself.
     "I'll call in tomorrow."  He said again, turning sideways and 
glancing at her.
     "What's wrong, Mulder?"  Scully wasn't about to be swayed.
     "Nothing, I ... I haven't felt well.  I need a little time."  He 
was confused.  Mulder awoke on the sofa a few hours earlier and 
hadn't had much memory over where he'd been that morning.  Or the 
past couple of days for that matter.  He felt sick, he had a headache 
and felt like maybe he was coming down with something.  And he didn't 
like what he was thinking at the moment.

End of Part 1 of 2

*******************
EYE OF EVIL 2/2
By Patty Hayes
yrld43a@prodigy.com
November 4, 1998
*******************

     Scully started toward him, but Mulder suddenly held out his arm 
to stop her.
     "I said ... I need a little time."  He didn't know why exactly, 
but she shouldn't be there right then.  Something was wrong and he 
needed to figure it out.  But he felt if she stayed, something bad 
would happen.
     His voice was harsh.  Scully didn't like what was going on, it 
was the Mostow case all over again.  "Mulder, you've been researching 
that house, haven't you?"
     He sighed heavily, the pit of his stomach ached and he felt an 
anger rising.  Something he'd never felt before.  Not this, this was 
different.  New.  He couldn't understand it.  He and Scully had 
argued before over a case, but never had he felt like striking out in 
any form.  Yet, now he was finding himself fighting to keep the urge 
within.  "I want you to leave now."  He said, as calmly as he 
possibly could, his fists balled up at his sides.
     A flush ran up Scully's face, the color closely matching her 
hair.  Mulder hadn't sounded so disturbed since he'd had the hole 
drilled in his head.  Was this related somehow?  Was he doing 
something destructive again?  She was so surprised that she just 
stood there for a moment.
     He realized just what had happened and that it only made the 
situation worse.  Mulder managed a bit of a smile and made the 
slightest gesture with his hand.  "I ... I just need the rest, Scully.
  That's all, really.  Please."  His tone much quieter now.
     Scully found herself relaxing somewhat.  He almost sounded 
normal for a moment.  Maybe he was just tired, or maybe he was coming 
down with something.  "Okay, Mulder.  If you need something, you know 
where to find me."
     He nodded and gestured again, not trusting himself to speak.  
Mulder waited till the door was closed before he put his fist through 
the wall.  Why was he having these feelings?  His breath grew rapid.  
Flashes of scenes flickered through his mind, pictures of Scully's 
face full of fear and shock.  Her clothes being ripped from her body 
as she thrashed about and when it was over, his hands wrapped tightly 
around her throat.
     Scully sat in her car, staring at Mulder's building.  He acted 
so strangely.  More so than normal.  Making the decision, she put the 
car in gear and took off for the office.  At first, she didn't want 
anything to do with this case.  She'd told Mulder that there was 
nothing here for them.  Anderson was making up a story to keep from 
getting the death penalty.  There was no evil connected to that house.
  No ghosts.  Nothing was there that would make normal innocent 
people kill.  She decided to do a little research on her own.  

     Mulder sat in his car for a long time.  The urge inside him was 
strong and it pulled on him.  Like a gravitational yank of a object 
in space passing too near a planet.  Darkness fell as he waited and 
his eye lids drooped as he laid his head back.  He was so tired, it 
felt as if he hadn't slept in days.

     He knew the man would be back.  The urge was so strong.  The man 
was too curious for his own good.  He'd known that something had 
happened, but was afraid to really find out.  That's why he's still 
sitting out there, he told himself.  

     Mulder walked through the door and everywhere he looked, it was 
like looking at a movie screen.  His eyes swept over the living room 
and the back wall seemed to grow and pull further back, making the 
room look ten times as long.  He flipped the light switch and a lamp 
flickered on, casting shadows over everything in the room.  He stared 
at the blood stained carpet and a scene flashed through his mind.  
Before he killed her, Anderson sexually assaulted his wife.  Beating 
her, forcing himself upon her.  Mulder shook his head to get rid of 
the image.  But the essence of it stayed with him as he walked out of 
the room.  The feeling in the pit of his stomach was growing again.  
Suddenly a cold breeze blew past him and the pathway in front him 
stretched and narrowed until all he saw was blackness.

     Imre Lorant entered quickly and immediately took a deep breath 
that he released slowly.  It felt good to feel the oxygen flow 
through the body.  He looked down at himself and was displeased with 
the style of dress again.  What was it with this man and suits?  He 
much preferred the casual style from a few years ago.  He took the 
stairs two at a time to the bedroom where he set about changing the 
man's appearance.
     A comfortable pair of black jeans, a black mock turtleneck 
sweater and a pair of black short boots and he was ready for anything.
  In fact, Imre thought himself quite dashing and it saddened him for 
he knew he couldn't leave the boundaries of the house.  He wanted to 
see more of the world here.  Anderson had been a wealth of knowledge, 
but he was a bit of a bore, as was the family before him.  He had to 
wait for the boy to reach age before anything exciting had begun to 
happen.  But now, now he had someone who might be strong enough to 
break through the boundaries.  The images of the woman on his mind 
was quite tempting as well.  If he could get her here, then maybe he 
could have a little fun.   
     He went through the contents of Mulder's wallet and was 
impressed that he was a law enforcement officer.  Normally, they 
didn't go in for the strange, but this one was different.  He found a 
notebook, Imre remembered the kid having something similar.  A little 
black book, he believed they called it.  A wide grin spread over his 
face as he eyed the tiny pages.

     Mulder awoke to a sharp banging on the door.  He sat up, rubbing 
his face and eyes, noting that he was back in his apartment, on his 
sofa.  He was halfway to the door when it burst open.  Mulder reached 
for his gun, but he wasn't wearing his holster, then he saw two 
policemen standing before him, their guns aimed steadily.  A 
detective followed them in.  "Agent Fox Mulder?"  he asked, unfolding 
his own identification.  "I'm placing you under arrest.  You have the 
right ... "
     "What for, what's going on?"  Mulder stood face against the wall 
as one of the policemen patted him down and cuffed him.
     "We have reason to believe you were involved in a murder that 
took place last night.  Can you tell me where you were last night?"
     Mulder slowly looked around.  Where had he been last night?  The 
last thing he remembered was being at the house.  "No, I can't.  What 
murder?"
     "We'll discuss it downtown, Agent Mulder.  Let's go."  He 
finished reading Mulder's rights as he was put in a car.
     He was still groggy as they walked into the questioning room.  
His mood lifted when he saw Scully.  "What's going on, Scully?  Who 
was killed?"  They took off the cuffs and Mulder rubbed his wrists as 
he sat down.
     She swallowed and lowered her head momentarily.  "Can I have a 
moment alone with him, please?"  The detective agreed and she sat 
across from Mulder.  "Do you know Lori Delaney?"
     Mulder closed his eyes and nodded.  A slight blush rose from his 
neck.  "Yeah, not well, but I know her."  He didn't want to elaborate.

     "How do you know her, Mulder?"
     He shrugged his shoulders and shook his head slightly.  The last 
thing he wanted was to have to explain this to Scully.  She was just 
a one night stand, Scully.  Someone I picked up in a bar.  One of 
many one night stands.  "She was someone I met a while back.  We had 
a date, that's all."  It would have to suffice for now.
     "Do you remember the last time you saw her?"
     Mulder shook his head.  "Not really."  He searched his memory.  
"I guess a couple of months ago.  Why?  Damn it, Scully, no one's 
telling me anything.  What's happened?"
     "She was found dead this morning.  Beaten and stabbed to death." 
 Scully swallowed, hesitating.
     "What are you not telling me?  Why have I been arrested?"  His 
voice calmed but adamant.
     "She was found at the house on Maple.  Your car is there, some 
of your things are there.  Your jacket has her blood on it.  Your gun 
and identification were at the house.  What do you remember about 
last night?"
     Mulder closed his eyes again and leaned back, slowly shaking his 
head.  When he looked at her, he could see the trouble he was in.  "I 
was at the house.  I remember walking in and looking around the front 
couple of rooms.  The next thing I know, the police are breaking in 
my door.  That's it, Scully.  I don't remember a damned thing."
     "Well, they're checking your prints on the murder weapon.  If 
they don't match ... "
     " *If* , Scully?"  His brow raised as he looked at her.
     She didn't reply as she looked into his eyes.  But she didn't 
have to continue as the detective entered the room.
     "Anything come to mind, yet, Agent Mulder?"  He stood against 
the wall, looking down at the two.
     "No."  Mulder shook his head.
     "Well, we lifted prints and yours are all over the house.  Do 
you have a specific reason for being there?"
     "We're investigating the Anderson murder, you should've been 
aware of that."
     "Yes, we are, but your actions are far from normal here."
     Scully was silent as long as she could be.  It was time to 
interject.  "Agent Mulder is a top profiler.  His methods may not 
seem ordinary, but I assure you, he knows how to get results."
     The detective slowly nodded as he eyed the pair.  "The prints we 
took off the knife don't belong to you, Agent Mulder, as we first 
suspected, so I'm letting you go.  For now.  But I'm not satisfied 
that you know nothing of this, so make yourself available to answer 
questions."
     "Do you have any idea who they do belong to?"
     "Yeah.  A Danny Landsing.  He runs a house down town, we've 
picked him up already.  He doesn't seem to remember last night either.
"
     "A house?  What does that mean?"  Scully asked.
     The detective looked to Mulder who was turning a bit more 
feverish.  "Delaney was a prostitute, she worked for Landsing.  My 
guess is that he either dropped her off or picked her up.  Or maybe 
he was there the whole time."  He looked from Scully back to Mulder.  
"You don't remember that either, do you, Agent Mulder."     
     Mulder shook his head slowly, looking from the detective to 
Scully.  He released a heavy sigh of relief as they walked out.  He 
had to find out what had happened the night before.  A woman was dead 
and he was sure it was because of him.
     "Mulder, I'm taking you home, you need to clean up and get some 
sleep, you look awful."  Scully walked with him to the parking lot.
     "I have to go back, Scully.  Something's going on and it's 
drawing me into it."
     "What's drawing you in, Mulder?  The house?  Is that what you 
think?"
     "I know it sounds incredulous, Scully, but something's there.  
Look at me!"  He raised his voice and patted his chest.  "I don't 
remember changing clothes.  I don't remember cutting my hair.  I 
don't remember how I got home last night!"  Mulder stood quiet for a 
moment, letting it sink in.  "The answer's in that house and I have 
to find out what it is."
     "Then I'm coming with you."
     "No, no you can't."
     "Mulder, if what you say is true, then you need back up.  It's 
by the book or not at all."  She held her ground.
     Mulder stared at her.  She was right, but he couldn't let her go 
and he had to go.  He sighed deeply and kicked lightly at the ground. 
 "Take me home."  He'd lie to her for now.  He had to, the visions 
that ran through his head frightened him terribly and if she went 
with him, she wouldn't be coming out.  He knew it.

     Scully flipped on the light at Mulder's desk.  He had several 
research books still there on haunted houses.  She went through them 
till she found the story she was looking for.  The Lorant house.  
Built in Hungary in the late 1850's, it was one of the largest homes 
in the small town of Andor.  Imre Lorant, it reported, had been a 
ladies man and died shortly after a brief affair with a woman who 
didn't like his other affairs.  It was said that she cursed the home. 
 Imre was doomed to live within the home, his own 'window' to the 
world, to watch others enjoy his wealth and fortune, in which he 
could never again partake.
     She shook her head and chuckled.  Mulder.  How could he believe 
such drivel?  There was no such thing as ghosts and goblins, magic 
and curses.  The tragedy was in the believing.  People went crazy 
waiting for it, or turning a matter of coincidence into the magic.  
'His own window to the world'.  The phrase stayed with her.  Window.  
It showed a particular window, a small pane that was sort of a mosaic 
in the design of an eye.  An eye to the world.  Didn't Mulder say 
that some of the glass was from the original house?  Hell, now he had 
her believing it.  Scully slammed the book closed and flipped off the 
light.  It was late and she was tired.  Tomorrow she'd talk to Mulder 
again.  Maybe they could figure it out then.

     Mulder waited till Scully drove off, then he called a cab.  This 
wasn't over and if it could get someone else to kill, it could kill 
again.  Mulder had to stop it.  He was the only one who knew.
     The house was dark, Mulder thought it almost called to him from 
the street.  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then walked 
up the front drive.  How did it get someone else?  Why couldn't he 
remember?  He felt the chill, the minute he closed the door and 
forced himself to stay alert.  When a breeze washed over him, he knew 
the entity was trying to gain control.  He could feel the laughter 
reverberate through his soul and knew it was pure evil.  Suddenly he 
was frightened.  This thing was stronger than he thought, what the 
hell could he do to stop it?  Before he could answer, he lost control.


     Scully waited all day for Mulder.  Once again, he didn't answer 
his phone, he wasn't home.  She sent a car to Maple, but the detail 
called back and said no one was there.  She even checked out the 
nearby libraries thinking he was still doing research.  Finally, she 
had to find out for herself.
     Scully pulled up in front of the house.   Mulder's car was not 
parked in front, she half expected it to be there.  The whole look of 
the house spooked her though.  The weather didn't help, neither was 
the fact that Halloween was just around the corner.  The skies were 
gray and overcast, dead leaves covered the ground around her feet and 
an unnatural cold breeze flurried about her.  Scully laughed.  A 
typical haunted house.
     The house was dark and unusually quiet.  Scully had expected 
noise of some sort.  The foundation settling, wind blowing the 
shutters against the windows, the wood floors creaking, something.  
Hell, if nothing else, at least an unnatural howling.  But there was 
nothing.  When she sighed, she heard her own breath expel.  It was 
the first time she'd been in the house and was quite taken with the 
size of it.  From the outside, it looked rather typical, but the 
Andersons had done an outstanding job of decorating.  
     Scully turned on a light when she entered the room and flipped 
it off as she left.  So far, nothing of interest showed itself.  She 
climbed the stairs and suddenly a cold wind almost knocked her over.  
It startled her and she froze in her steps.  Her eyes were wide with 
anticipation and she slowly turned her head.  Nothing.  Scully 
released the breath she was holding.  "Get a grip."  She said aloud 
and headed down the hallway.  
     The door creaked as it opened into the master bedroom.  It was 
the first noise she'd encountered and she smiled at the timing of it. 
 The room was large and densely furnished.  Beside the huge 
fourposter bed, the bedroom held a large dresser, an armoire made of 
a heavy dark wood that matched the bedposts and a small sofa and desk 
off to one side.  It was really a nice room.
     She turned to leave and gasped.  A figure moved in the shadow 
behind the door.  Scully felt her heart stop and she reached 
instinctively for her gun.  But as she withdrew the weapon, she saw 
the figure was Mulder.  "Damn it, Mulder!"  She had to catch her 
breath to continue.  "What the hell are you doing?  You scared the 
shit out of me."
     He stood with his hands behind him, leaning against the wall.  
His head was tilted down and he looked up at her through half open 
eyes.  This time, he was not smiling.  He'd seen her coming up the 
walk and knew instantly that no one knew she was here.  It was like 
he could read Mulder's mind.  Oh, he tried to shut down, Lorant could 
feel it, but Mulder wasn't successful.  Lorant could pull information 
from Mulder's mind as if they were his own memories.
     His breathing seemed heavier than normal and Scully suddenly 
felt very uncomfortable.  "Mulder?  What are you doing here?  Where's 
your cell phone, I've been trying to call you."  He didn't answer, he 
didn't move.  Scully left the gun in her hand resting at her side, 
something told her that things were not right.  "Mulder, answer me."  
She said softly, but firm.
     He shifted and she jumped back a step and raised the gun.  The 
corner of his mouth raised in a wry, evil grin and he held both hands 
out to her, empty.  "What's the matter, Scully?  I didn't think you 
spooked so easily."
     His voice was deep, too deep.  And too rough, it wasn't normal.  
She lowered her weapon, but didn't holster it.  "What are you doing 
here, Mulder?"  She asked for a third time. 
     He walked toward her, brushing against her shoulder as he passed.
  "Just looking around.  We do have a crime to solve, don't we?"
     "I thought you were going to get a decent haircut today?"  She 
asked after a long moment of silence.
     "What's the matter with my hair?  Don't you like this?  I think 
it gives me a ... mysterious look, don't you?"  The grin widened.  
     Within the blink of an eye, he was behind her.  Scully could 
feel his breath against her hair, the heat from his body.  Her body 
stiffened as she felt his hand gently brush her hair from her neck.  
He placed one hand on her waist, the other on her arm as he leaned in 
and kissed the back of her neck.   Scully quickly pulled away and 
turned.  "What are you doing?"
     He spread his hands and smiled again, slowly walking toward her. 
 "I'm just glad to see you, that's all.  Didn't you like that?  It 
seemed to me that you did."  He continued slowly.
     Scully stepped back and quickly lifted her gun.  "Stop where you 
are."  She knew this was Mulder, yet it wasn't and suddenly 
everything Mulder had said made sense.
     "Scully?"  He said in a low surprising tone.  "What are you 
going to do?  Shoot me?"  Then an enlightened look came across his 
face, as if he'd just learned something new.  "Oh, yes, why not.  
You've done it before, haven't you."  That grin slowly appeared again.

     She hated that grin, it sent chills up her spine.  "I said stay 
where you are!"  She said again, this time with far more urgency.  He 
stopped, his hands still spread in an open gesture.  What to do now?  
Scully was at a loss as to what to do.  "Okay, this is how it goes 
down."  She gestured toward the door.  "We're going to walk out the 
front door.  Let's go."  The trouble was *in* the house.  If she 
could get him outside, Lorant couldn't follow.  Not according to the 
book.  He had to remain inside.
     He smiled and walked toward the door.  There was no way she was 
going to get him to leave Mulder.  He liked this freedom, he liked 
this body and what this body could get him.  Lorant had already 
learned the curse that had been placed on him.  With a little more 
research, he'd learn what could release him from that curse.  Mulder 
was the man to do it so there was no way Lorant would give him up.  
As they neared the stairs, Lorant saw his way out.    Part of the 
banister was loose and if he could get her close enough ...
     Scully was caught off guard by Lorant's sudden stop and reached 
out for the railing.  It gave way and she started to go over the side.
  Lorant caught her around the waist and pulled her back, but took 
her gun in the brief second that passed.  She cursed under her breath 
as he held her tightly around her waist with her own gun pressed to 
her temple.
     "I'm not going anywhere yet and you won't be leaving at all."  
He whispered roughly in her ear.

     Flashes of horror flickered in Mulder's mind.  Somewhere in 
there, he was watching, helpless to intercede.  Yet, he knew.  If 
only he was stronger, if only he could break through the control 
Lorant had on him.

     Lorant released her, pushing her roughly to the floor in the 
living room.  Scully landed with a thud and knew a few bruises would 
appear shortly.  Lorant stood above, looming large and ominous over 
her.  His eyes glaring at her, burning holes through her, moving 
slowly over her form.  His breathing quickened and a shudder ran 
visibly through his body.  "Take off your coat."  It was a demand.
     Scully slowly moved away, sitting up.  "No."
     A wave of sudden anger ran through him and he swiftly reached 
out and back handed her, then aimed the gun at her in an outstretched 
hand.  "Do it!"  He yelled.
     Scully saw his hand shake, she didn't know whether it was anger 
or the possible loss of control.  "Mulder, don't do this."
     Lorant laughed.  Something she'd never heard from Mulder before. 
 "You think you can reach him, but you can't.  He's too weak.  It was 
easy actually, he's so willing, so eager, so curious.  He couldn't 
save the blonde the other night, he can't save you either."
     She watched him smile and a look of content shone in his eyes.
     "It was a great night."  An evil grin broke for only a brief 
moment.  Then he moved in closer, getting nose to nose with her.  
"You'll see him in a whole new light."  As he spoke, he grabbed the 
collar of her coat and yanked.  "Now take it off."  The smile was 
gone.
     Scully slipped out of her coat and pushed back further away from 
Lorant.  Where was Mulder's gun?  The thought appeared in her mind 
almost instantly but looking around, she saw nothing.  Suddenly 
Lorant reached down and grabbed her by the back of her jacket and 
lifted her off the ground.  Scully cried out at the sudden movement 
and by the fact that he had a hand full of hair with it.  When he let 
go, she was being shoved against the wall, his body pressing against 
hers.  He had hold of her wrist with one hand and was pushing the gun 
under her chin with the other.  Scully's free hand curled into a fist 
as his breath came in gasps against her face.
     He laughed again.  Then he let go of her wrist and slowly 
brought his hand to the front of her jacket.  With one swift pull, he 
jerked it open, the buttons falling to the floor around them.  
     "I'm not letting you do this to me.  He won't let you."  Scully 
said, firmly.
     Lorant grinned and pushed the gun up just the slightest, tilting 
her head back further.  "You still think you can reach him, don't you.
  He's gone and if I have anything to say about it, he won't be back. 
 Not for a while anyway.  See, he's going to get me out of here."
     "No, he's not."  With all her strength, she shoved him back.  He 
was caught by surprise but the shuffle didn't last long.  He grabbed 
her around her neck and pushed her back against the wall again.  She 
struggled for air, her hands trying release his.
     Lorant was breathing hard, his face distorted from anger and the 
internal struggle.  Mulder was fighting hard to get out.  He'd 
watched his own hand strike Scully.  He watched her face as fear 
shone in her eyes.  And now, as she fought for air.  He had to stop 
this, it wouldn't take much, a little tighter and she'd be dead.
     Suddenly he let go and stepped back, a look of regret and fear 
on his face.  Mulder!  She knew he'd gotten through.  But then he 
raised the gun again.  "Mulder, you can stop him."
     "No!"  Lorant shouted, his hand shook.
     The look on his face kept changing and Scully saw the inner 
turmoil unfold in front of her.  Mulder fought, but she didn't know 
how much longer he could stay close to the surface before Lorant 
pushed him deeper inside, deeper into the recesses of existence.  
Then she saw it.  The eye.  The book said that Lorant was the window 
to the world.  Above the front door, a window pane.  A mosaic window 
of an eye!  Would it work?  Would the entity shatter with the glass?  
Was that even the original piece?  Scully had to move while she had 
the chance.  She picked up a metal ashtray from the end table and 
slung it at the glass.  It would be close, the pane was one foot by 
three, if it wasn't hit just right, it wasn't going to break.
     "No!"  Lorant screamed as he saw the object fly past him, 
knowing the target.  Everything seemed to move in slow motion as 
Scully ducked and Lorant fired.
     Scully heard the glass shatter as it hit the ground, both inside 
and outside the house.  When she lifted her head, Mulder was on his 
knees, his head in his hands.  "Mulder?"  She moved slowly toward him,
 cautiously.  But he didn't respond right away.  When she placed her 
hand on his shoulder, he looked up.  Such pain in his face, pain and 
shame.  He always seemed to be on the losing end of things.  But he 
covered it quickly as he stood.
     Mulder placed his hand on her shoulder as he walked around her.  
"Are you okay?"
     "Yeah, I'm fine, Mulder."  She walked over to the door and knelt 
down, retrieving a small piece of the colored glass.    "How, Mulder? 
 I'm surprised the glass lasted this long.  I mean, they tore the 
house down once already."
     "You forget he had control over it.  He made sure this piece 
stayed intact."
     "Is it over?"  She asked quietly.
     "I hope so."  He stood by and watched her gather her things.  
God, the things that he might have done to her.  Mulder shook his 
head and released a heavy sigh.  As she neared he saw a slight smile. 
 He reached out and touched her arm.  "I'm sorry, Scully."  He 
whispered as she turned and looked up into his eyes.
     Scully searched his eyes, then smiled slightly as she nodded.  
"Let's go home, Mulder."
     They sidestepped the broken glass and went through the door.  As 
they stepped off the porch, a cold breeze washed over them and both 
turned toward the door.  A hint of light shone off the remaining 
pieces at the top of the door.  Nothing moved, everything was quiet.  
But Mulder had the eerie feeling that someone was watching them.  
"Let's get out of here."  He pressed his hand in the small of her 
back and urged her forward.

     The car pulled away from the curb and he moved away from the 
window.  Lorant sighed, it would be a long wait for the next one.

The End