From: DKFox1013@netscape.net
Date: Fri, 30 Mar 2001 18:01:46 -0500
Subject: xfc: "Runaway"
Source: xfc

Author: Cathy aka DKFox1013@netscape.net
Title: Runaway
Classification: MOTW
Rating: For anyone who has a brain and isn't afraid of the dark.
Summary: The Batman and Robin of Paranormal VS. a bogeyman!
Spoilers: Nope.
Keywords: Mulder. Scully. Scary Guy.
Disclaimer: Sadly, even though I wish I cuold say I did, but I don't own 'em.
Author's Comments: For those who wish to archive it at their web site(s),
please ask first. Feedback would DEFINITELY be appreciated at
DKFox1013@netscape.net

-----X-----X-----X-----

  A little girl's anxious voice cuts through the darkness. "Mommy!
Mommy! MOMMY!" She clutched a ragged teddy bear, tugged at her loose,
strawberry blond braid, and waited impatiently for the arrival of her
mother.
  The door almost immediately swung open, flooding the frilly, pink and
white bedroom with blinding light. The little girl's mother walked in,
exasperated. "Yes, sweetie?"
  The girl blinked and sniffled. "There's . . ." She paused, eyes
filled with panic, but she hesitantly continued. "There's something under
my bed," she whispered hoarsely.
  The mother's frown creased along her forehead. "Again? Honey, there's
nothing under your bed. Now go back to sleep," she said roughly, her
patience wearing thin.
  "C-c-can you check anyway?"
  "Oh . . . Jesus . . . fine."
  The mother, irritated, dropped to her hands and knees beside the
pristine, white canopy bed. She lifted the ruffled valance and peered
underneath, letting her mousy brown hair hang and sweep across the floor.
  A throaty voice rasped, "Come."
  The mother's eyes widened in fear. She was pulled under the bed and
screams filled the thick, evening air.

X     X     X

  Fox Mulder leaned back in his desk chair in a reclined position,
flipping through a file folder. Light footsteps graced the floor outside
his basement office at the FBI Headquarters in Washington D.C. The
jiggling of a doorknob followed, and Mulder looked up.
  Dana Scully drifted in, dusting off the left sleeve of her standard
black power suit and smoothening her short, fiery red hair. "Mulder. The
door was locked. You usually leave it open when you're here."
  Mulder stood up from his seated position. "Well, you know me.
Paranoid." He grinned wryly and threw the file folder down onto his desk.
"Hey, Scully. Take a look at these."
  Scully picked up the folder and carefully opened it. "Another
X-File?"
  Mulder nodded. He watched Scully pick up a small photo of an older
woman and a young girl. "That's Alice and Sarah Walker. Lived in Sea
Dive, Maine until they were nowhere to be found Thursday morning. Sarah's
ride to school came around, backdoor was unlocked, and no one was home. A
wandering neighbor heard screams coming from the house on Wednesday night
at about 10:13 P.M. Oh, and did I mention that there was no evidence
found?"
  Scully's icy blue eyes broke away from the picture. "Is there a
father?"
  Mulder shook his head, letting a piece of his soft, deep brown hair
fall above his hazel eyes. It tickled a little and he brushed it away.
"Couldn't find one. A classmate of Sarah's claims that Sarah was afraid
to go to sleep at night because of something under her bed."
  Scully raised her perfectly plucked eyebrows. "Um, could it be the
bogeyman?"
  "Don't mock me, Scully." Mulder cracked a wide, knowing smile, and
continued, unruffled by Scully's teasing sarcasm. "But . . . yeah. It
actually could be the bogeyman."
  "Oh, no . . ." Scully's face immediately fell.
  "Now, hear me out. There are several other X-Files in which people
disappeared from their homes with little or no evidence. All of these
cases contained young children."
  "And?"
  "Most young children have incredibly powerful imaginations. Maybe a
child's imagination is stronger than we think. Maybe it's strong enough
to actually will such a force, like the bogeyman, into our existence. Our
bogeyman can be derived from nightmares. In fact, several bogeymen can
exist in the same time frame, in different parts of the world, all
looking different-according to the child's mind. Me or you could even be
a bogeyman. This lack of evidence is due to the fact that the boogie man
is only a stronger, three-dimensional representation of the mind that has
been brought to life. Nothing else. The child's imagination and fear of
being taken away supports, or fortifies, that existence. The bogeyman's
likely 'prime directive,' if you will, is to take the child away. And
once it has completed its 'mission,' it no longer needs to exist."
  "Mulder, that's just ridiculous. They're just dreams. There has to be
a more rational explanation that doesn't involve bedtime monsters. The
very idea of a bogeyman who comes to take children away, during their
peaceful slumber, is too incredible itself, let alone to have it 'willed
into our existence' And even if there is such a creature, for the sake of
argument, what happened to the parents and siblings in all these cases?
Where do they go?"
  "Have you ever had a bogeyman, Scully?"
  "Well, yes, but-"
  "And did he scare the hell out of you?"
  "Yes, but-"
  "But, Scully, you did believe once. The child imagination could be
expanding beyond the original situation, and overlap into the lives of
the household members. Look, I already booked us a flight to Maine, and-"
  "But-"
  Mulder made a puppy face, sniffled, and the natural, childish pout in
his lips jutted out even more.
  "But it's August. And Maine is getting cold this time of year . . ."
  Mulder sniffled loudly, childishly again. His eyes grew large,
forming glassy whirlpools.
  "Stop that!" Scully surrendered in a defeated voice. "All right, I'll
go. But just for you."
  Mulder's face lit up.

X     X     X

  A uniformed man surveyed the small vicinity with slight disinterest,
barking orders into the dim, morning glow.
  It was a quaint, little ranch house with a broken, dirty white picket
fence. Just about all the houses were like this, spaced about 500 paces
apart along dusty roads. The tall grass was slick with morning dew
rolling down each blade, and birds chirped daybreak hymns.
  About a dozen of policemen milled around, taking notes, and still
trying to collecting what little evidence they could possibly find. The
uniformed man whipped around at the sound of his name. A tall man and a
petite woman in the distance edged closer from the dirt road, donning
swishing, black trench coats in mysterious sophistication. The uniformed
man straightened his heavily starched tie and grinned crookedly,
revealing two silver teeth.
  "Sheriff George Dunlop?"
  The man nodded, removing his cowboy-styled hat in respective
acknowledgment. He ran his age-spotted hands through his thinning, gray
hairs, making sure that every hair was in its rightful place.
  "Special Agent Fox Mulder with the FBI. This is my partner, Dana
Scully." Mulder and Scully simultaneously flashed their badges, and
stepped under the stretching, yellow police line.
  Sheriff Dunlop cleared his throat. "Thanks for coming. Normally, we
don't bring y'all city folks out here. We usually deal with our own
things, but we need help. We just didn't know what to do this time.
Evidence is scarce, and they just . . . disappeared. But, this is a quiet
town, and I'd like to keep it that way. For all the years that I've lived
in this little rut that our elders dug, I don't think I've ever actually
seen anything like this. Sure, I've heard my share of gossip, but I was
young then. I think we've always felt safe up until now. People are
shaken up and we gotta do something about it."
  Scully nodded. "Well, that's what we're here for. To help. So . . .
give us the grand tour."
  The sheriff tipped his hat, and turned around. The agents followed,
and Scully said under her breath, "Mulder. They don't need us here. Let's
just go."
  Mulder, obviously amused, replied, "Now, now. We can't be rude and
just take off. Let's just see what happens. Humor me a little, Scully."
  Sheriff Dunlop led them into a relatively small bedroom. "This was
Sarah's. I doubt you'll find much. I know you city folks have your FBI
business to do, so I'll just go." The sheriff left them alone
immediately.
  The bedroom was pink and white with ruffles as far as the eye could
see. Teddy bears dancing in pink tutus adorned the pink and white
wallpaper. The canopy bed was pushed up against the left wall. It was
unmade. The comforter dipped over one side, touching the cold, hardwood
floor. A coordinating dresser sat opposite of the bed. A little white
desk stood against the far wall, and sunlight slowly filtered in through
the sheer white curtain of the closed window beside it.
  "Come on, Scully. Join me." Mulder knelt down and crawled towards the
bed. He carefully slid himself under it, pulled out his flashlight, and
shined it across the floor. The beam of light paused. "Hey, Scully. Take
a look at this."
  Scully, who had been looking out the window, strode over to the other
side of the bed opposite of Mulder. Kneeling, she poked her head beneath
the valance. "What?"
  Mulder pointed. "A scratch. About eight inches long. It's about a
half inch deep at most. Look. There. Blood."
  "Oh, my God . . ." Stunned, Scully inquired, "What do you think made
it? It looks like it was from a reasonably large animal."
  "If it was made by a animal, where are the other three claw marks?
Most animals in this area have four digits. The arrangement of their
digits restricts it from making just one scratch. There's not even any
indications of faint abrasions."
  "Then, what do you think happened?"
  "The bogeyman."
  A voice suddenly interrupted them. "Y'all finished up here yet?"
  Mulder and Scully immediately got out from underneath the bed,
straightening their clothes. They turned to face the sheriff.
  Mulder asked, "Does there happen to be another kid around here who's
scared of monsters?"
  Sheriff Dunlop was taken aback by the question. He adjusted his hat.
"Yeah. Mark Mitchell. Poor kid. What'd you want Markie for?"
  "Not him. We want his room."
  Scully frowned. "We do?"
  "Yes, we do," Mulder hissed, elbowing Scully's side. He raised his
voice, looking back at the sheriff. "Where's he live?"
  The sheriff scratched the back of his neck. "The Mitchell residence's
'bout a quarter mile down the road by Smokers Creek. Can't miss it."
  "Thanks." Mulder tilted his head towards the door. "Come on, Scully."
  Scully followed him downstairs. "Mulder, where are we going?"
  "To the Mitchells'," Mulder answered bluntly.
  "And may I ask why?"
  "Stakeout."
  "For what?"
  "Mark Mitchell's bogeyman." Mulder swung the front door open. He
stepped out into the soft sunshine filtering through the old oak tree
hanging over the porch.
  Scully protested. "But, we don't know if it's going to be there, if
there really is such a thing. It's certainly not guaranteed, so why
bother staying?"
  "Maybe the evil is concentrated in this area. Maybe this is ground
zero."
  Scully's ice blue eyes squinted in the sun. "What?"
  "Uh, I didn't tell you?"
  "Noooo . . ." Scully shook her head.
  "This county has a quiet history for . . . things like this. It's all
been kept very hush-hush. There's been cases of Satanic cults,
witchcraft, apparitions, phantasm, necromancy . . . The list goes on."
Mulder popped open the door of the driver's seat and pulled out the keys
to the rented Ford Taurus from the Lariat. Scully had already eased into
the passenger seat. Mulder inserted the key into the ignition and the car
roared to life. He backed the car out of the driveway and skidded onto
the road, leaving a cloud of dirt.

X     X     X

  Mulder lifted his hand and tapped on the screen door of the small,
two-story white house with the rickety picket fence. No one answered.
Scully shifted her weight to the other foot, and knocked even louder. A
dirt-blond woman appeared at the door. She looked weary, slight half
moons beneath her gray eyes and her hair was held back in a sloppy
ponytail. "What can I do for y'all?"
  "G'morning, Mrs. Mitchell. Agents Dana Scully and Fox Mulder with the
Federal Bureau of Investigation," Scully monotoned, flipping open her
badge as Mulder did the same. "Did we wake you?"
  "Uh, no. And it's been Ms. Mitchell for the past year. But, call me
Laura. What's the FBI doing out here? Is there some sort of problem?"
  "We're investigating a, ah, possible murder in this area. We'd just
like to ask you some questions." Scully tucked a piece of her hair behind
her ear. "As of this point."
  "All right. Come in." Laura led them into a small living room with
raggedy brown furniture. "Have a seat. Can I get you two anything to
drink?"
  Mulder shook his head, sitting down with Scully on a musty couch with
a thickly woven, brown and cream-colored plaid design. "No, thanks. We
just have some questions. About your son. Mark."
  "Did Mark do something wrong? He's just a little boy . . ." Laura's
eyes wrinkled a bit in concern. She switched off the blaring, ancient
television set. "But, he has always been a bit troubled for a
four-year-old . . . Always havin' these nightmares of his. Hold on."
  Laura disappeared into the adjoining kitchen.
  Scully glanced at Mulder with an "I told you so" look. She turned
back to Laura when she returned with a steaming cup of coffee.
  "Sorry, but I need my coffee in the morning." Laura sipped from the
old Christmas mug.
She set it down on the worn coffee table and took a seat.
  "Did you say nightmares?" Scully asked, eyeing the coffee that she
didn't get this morning.
  "Yeah. Somethin' about somebody takin' him away." Laura rubbed her
eyes. "He's always wakin' me and Robbie and Cornell up in the middle of
the night."
  "Robbie and Cornell?" Scully echoed.
  "Yeah . . . Robbie and Cornell are our two dogs my husband left us
before, um, his passing." Laura turned away, bringing a hand to her lips,
and sniffled.
  Scully reached out and took her hand. "Oh, I'm sorry."
  As if on cue, two border collies skipped into the room, tails were
wagging. Their mouths were wide open, panting, and letting the tongue
hang loose.
  Mulder grinned at the sight of the scruffy dogs. One of them came to
him cautiously, sniffing him about as its own security check. The other
held back. Mulder scratched behind its ears and rubbed down the shaggy,
brown and white-patched coat. The dog twitched and nuzzled him
appreciatively as though he had never had this sort of treatment before.
It jumped into Mulder's lap and settled down into it, curled up, ready to
sleep. Mulder proceeded to give it a belly rub.
  Laura smiled. "Robbie seems to like you."
  "Well, who doesn't?" Mulder smiled and patted Robbie's head. "Looks
like this little doggie needs a little bath."
  At the sound of "bath," Robbie and Cornell sniffed in disdain and
skillfully darted away.
  Scully smirked.
  "Robbie hates baths," Laura chuckled.
  Scully cleared her throat, interrupting the distraction. "So how long
have you lived here?"
  "Not all that long, but long enough to a bit of Sea Dive's history,"
nodded Laura.
  "History?" Mulder reiterated. "What kind of history?"
  "Oh, nothing. Just silly things," replied Laura, nervously touching
her hair. "You wouldn't believe any of it anyways."
  Mulder looked her straight in the eye. He said, very seriously, "Yes,
I would."
  Laura turned to Scully. "Would he?"
  Scully rubbed the nape of her neck, looking away as though she was
not there.
  "Well," started Laura, staring down at her empty hands. "Folks here
say that, um, somethin' comes around every now and then, and uh, grabs
children out of there beds in their sleep."
  "Why?" Mulder asked curiously.
  "Well, they say that it's . . . The walls have ears, Agent Mulder,"
sighed Laura.
  "Well, it depends on who's behind those walls," said Mulder. "Go on.
Please."
  "I guess." Laura continued to concentrate on her hands. "They say
that it's evil here."
  Scully looked at Mulder inquisitively, and returned her attention to
Laura. "Evil, Laura?"
  "Yes. Evil." Laura stared off into space, rocking back and forth in
her seat. "Lots of strange things go on around here. Like Stoner
Cemetery. The old folks gossip and say there's been some witchcraft and
raisin' of the dead. Ghosts have been seen wanderin' Mulberry Street.
Marla Greene says that her stepsister made a deal with the devil right
before Marla herself disappeared . . ." Laura blinked. "Lots of things."
  "Momma?" A bleary-eyed little boy stood at the bottom of the
dilapidated staircase with an old, yellow fleece blanket. He was of short
stature, and his unruly straw blond hair matted his forehead.
  "Yes, dear?" Laura winced as though she didn't like his presence. She
walked over to the boy.
  Scully frowned.
  "Momma, when's breakfast? I'm hungry." The little boy looked up at
Laura timidly. He rubbed his tummy, still with his little fingers tightly
wrapped around a corner of the blanket.
  "Soon, honey. Mark, this is Agents Mulder and Scully." Laura gestured
to Mulder and Scully. "They're FBI agents. Don't be rude. Say hi." She
prodded him with a push from behind.
  Scully gave a little wave. "Hi, there. My name's Dana."
  Mark jerked forward, stumbling. He whispered loudly, dark eyes wide
now, "Are you here to take away the monster?"
  Mulder laughed. "Yes. Yes, we are." He swiftly grabbed the boy and
gave him a tickle treatment, causing Mark to giggle wildly. He released
Mark and looked up at Laura. "That brings us to another area of
uncertainty."
  "The man and the pretty lady wants to have a sleep over in my room!"
announced Mark importantly.
  "Mark!" Laura hissed sharply.
  Scully turned a little pink. "Why would we want a sleep over, Mark?"
  "So you can protect me from the monster," said Mark in a grown up,
matter-of-fact manner.
  "Actually, Scully, we do need a sleep over," whispered Mulder to his
partner with a nudge and a wink. He said a little louder, "Mark's got the
right idea. He just can't be there."
  "You mean you two are planning to sleep in Mark's room and wait for
this monster of his? But there can't be a monster. It's not possible,"
insisted Laura.
  "You seem to believe in the town gossip," Mulder countered. "Why not
the boogie man?"
  "I guess you're right . . ." Laura became bashful and unwilling
again. "Well, then, how's this monster going to come if Mark's not
there?"
  "Well, how long has he been afraid?" Mulder shoved his hand inside
his trench coat pocket and felt around it. He pulled out his cell phone,
placed it inside the other pocket, and put his hand back in. He pulled
out some sunflower seeds, and offered some to Laura.
  Laura shook her head. "As long as he can remember . . ."
  "Good. That's long enough." Mulder gnawed on a seed and dumped the
casings back into the pocket. "Mark's fear is already strong enough to
stay lingering in the house's atmosphere. Now, if I'm right, the boogie
man's natural instinct would be to stop by for a visit whether Mark is
here or not."
  "I'm not scared!" Mark yelled in defiance. "I'm brave." He thumped
his chest like Tarzan and ran out of the room, screaming like a warrior.
  Scully chuckled. "He's so cute . . ."
  "Yes." Laura's eyes immediately clouded over. "Yes, he is."
  "Well, I think it's about time we go. We'll be back tonight, around
eight. Be sure to pack some things and be ready to leave the house,
okay?" Mulder dumped the remaining seeds into the pocket with his cell
phone.
  Laura simply nodded.
  "Come on, Scully." Mulder headed for the door.
  "Sleep over, huh?" Scully was now in step with him, a wry smile
pasted on her face. "I'm sure we'll just have a ball . . ."
  "You bet." Mulder smiled slyly. "You bring the popcorn and I'll bring
my tapes."
  "Mulder?"
  "Hmm?"
  "How exactly are we going to catch this bogeyman?"
  "I'm working on that."

X     X     X

  Mulder leaned back onto the rack of clothes in the closet, tightly
clutching a baseball bat with sweaty palms. He exhaled slowly, tugging at
his tie. The creaky door was left ajar, letting in a rectangle of weak,
yellow luminescence from the night-light in the otherwise pitch black
room. 
  "God," Mulder murmured to himself. "We should've opened a window
before we decided to ambush this stupid thing."
  Scully acted as the bait. She lay in a fetal position on the bed with
a gun in her shaking hands. The comforter was pulled above her head. Her
eyes grew weary. Scully yawned. Her eyelids slowly slid shut. "A little
nap wouldn't hurt . . ."
  Hours passed before anything happened. Mulder peeked out from behind
the closet door, a tiny bead of warm perspiration rolling off his nose.
He watched a furry, meaty paw emerge from beneath the bed and he held his
breath.
  Scritch. Scritch. Scritch.
  Scully instantaneously awoke from her gentle doze at the sound of the
scritching under the bed. She waited for a few seconds, licking her dry
lips. Then, she quickly rolled off the bed, stepping on the monster's paw
with her black pumps. Scully let out a little "Aaaah!" in alarm and
jumped to the side just as Mulder popped out of the closet.
  The thing under the bed came out in one swift motion. Mulder swung
the bat, having absolutely no effect on the creature. It stepped forward,
heaving its bristly chest, ready to fight back. Scully instinctively
lifted her gun, aimed, and shot three rounds somewhere at its chest.
The towering monster staggered and fell to its knees, gurgling. Mulder
smacked it again in the back of its head. Its large, black, beady eyes
rolled to the back of its head, revealing the white side. It collapsed
with a heavy thud, face forward.
  Scully, hair in disarray, bent down beside it, carefully feeling for
a pulse at the neck. She inhaled sharply when she felt warm blood.
"Mulder . . . it's dead."
  "Now, let's see what this thing looks like," Mulder gasped, gulping
for air. His sweaty hair stuck out in every possible direction. He
stumbled to the light switch on the far end of the wall. With a single
swipe of the hand, Mulder flicked the light on, turned around, expecting
to see what he had been hoping for. Disappointment slowly shadowed his
face.
  "Oh, my God!" Scully slowly closed her eyes in disbelief. "How did .
. . ? Is that . . . ?"
  Mulder knelt down beside the body that lay motionless on the floor.
He slowly rolled it over, eyes squeezed shut. His eyes fluttered, aching
from the loss of several hours worth of sleep and the sudden, bright
intensity of the light. He slowly opened his eyes. They adjusted and
focused. "I knew it! It's her!"
  "But I thought . . . But it was right there!" Scully pointed to the
body. "How did it change?"
  Laura Mitchell stared lifelessly back at them. Her open eyes were
glazed over with death. Even so, she managed to move her lips.
  Mulder leaned over, struggling to hear what she was trying to say.
  "I failed."
  Scully backed away. "But I could have sworn! She- it- whatever that
thing is, it was dead!"
  "Was, Scully? Was?" Mulder swallowed. "She is dead."

X     X     X

  Scully rubbed her eyes. "It's nice to be back in D.C."
  "Home, sweet, home." Mulder swiveled around idly in his desk chair.
  "What do you think happened to Laura, Mulder?"
  "I'm not exactly sure . . . but I know she's dead . . . It's such a
shame. Mark missed his father. He hated his mother. Did you know his
mother beat him? I looked it up afterwards. I don't know if she beat him
out of spite or whatever, but . . . I don't know . . . Scully?"
  "Yeah?"
  "What did your bogeyman look like, Scully?"
  Scully laughed. "She was-"
  "She?"
  "Yeah, she. She was a little fairy princess, Mulder . . . All decked
out in pastel purple fluff and lace. Glowing halo, golden hair, magic
wand . . ." Scully smiled dreamily at the memory.
  "Fairy princess? You were frightened by a fairy princess? Are my ears
working properly?"
  "I was a tomboy, Mulder. My idea of fun was making little action
figures beat the crap out of each other with my brothers in the backyard.
It was that, or go roll around in mud on a rainy day. I wanted to be a
boy. My sister was the one who wanted to be a fairy princess. So, I was
scared of the fairy princess."
  "I suppose this harmed your relationship with the Tooth Fairy."
Mulder laughed. "What happened then? How did you get rid of her?"
  "I didn't. I let her become a part of me."
  "I guess all children should do that . . . Learn to accept their
fears, gain experience, and let it become a part of them for the better."
  "That's hard to teach a child, Mulder."
  "Maybe you can teach them." Mulder smiled. "How did you learn?"
  "I didn't, Mulder." Scully sat back in her chair. "As I grew up, I
allowed my teenage years influence me. I enjoyed it. Don't freak out
about it. You'll enjoy it, too, Mulder."
  "I don't freak out about turning into a girl." Mulder smirked. "And
it's not going to happen any time soon."
  "You've got the right idea . . ." Scully laughed. "I'd love to see
you in heels, Mulder." She snickered. "So, did you ever have a boogie
man?"
  "Me?"
  "Yeah."
  "Umm, flesh-eating potatoes."
  "Really?"
  "No," Mulder confessed. "I've never had a bogeyman." 
  "Never?"
  "Noooo . . ."
  "Well, I'm surprised."
  "Really? Why?"
  "Mulder, of all people! You tell me the craziest things, drag me to
the strangest places, and you've never had a bogeyman?"
  "I guess I'm a bit more mentally stable than other people . . ."
  Scully laughed and chucked a pencil at him. "Thanks."
  The pencil bounced off Mulder's chest. "Ow! Now how mentally stable
was that? I think you're just a little insecure abou-Hey! No-OW!"


THE END.