Spooky

AUTHOR: bcfan

CONTACT: bcfan@shaw.ca

THANKS to MaybeAmanda and Redwyne for the quick betas

NOTE at the end

SUMMARY: A Hallowe'en trick and treat.

"Hello. Anybody here?"

Mulder brushed a cloud of cobwebs from his face after stepping through the narrow door - an entryway into topsy-turvy land, circus geekland, a looking glass of confusion.

Blinking dust motes from his eyes, Mulder tried to bring the room into focus. Nope. Couldn't do it. There was no focus - only a rabbit warren of jumbled pre-war tchotchkes and dust-sheeted bundles. The faintly acidic smell of rotting paper made him want to sneeze, and the unnatural silence made him want to reach for his gun.

Mulder's shoulders relaxed when he heard Scully's footfall behind him. "I'm here, Mulder. I gave my candy bucket to Mrs. Thatcher."

"Becky?"

"You know that's really her name. Are you sure this is the right place?"

He shrugged and looked at his watch. "Right place, right time."

Mulder handed the note to Scully. The elegant copperplate script looked more at home here among early century chaos than in his basement office, where it had been delivered at the end of his work day. 'Come at seven and bring your partner', it read. 'I have something to show you both. Please'. I was the 'please' that pulled him to the antique store like a kid to Hallowe'en candy, never mind the fact that miniature spooks were roaming the area looking for the real thing.

Scully sighed and tried to brush an icing of dust from her sleeve. She only managed to smear it around in a vaguely symmetrical pattern. "This place gives the word cluttered a bad name."

Mulder poked around the cavernous room, stopped - and pointed to a small sepia-toned photograph lying on an end table. "Look."

Scully looked and shrugged.

"Look closer."

She lifted the photo and gasped. Mulder put a steadying hand on her back. It was a faded picture of a couple. The man wore an old-fashioned uniform with puttees and a stiff peaked hat. The woman looked very much like Scully.

She turned the photo over. A shaky hand had written a missive in faint pencil. Siobhan and Mahon - October 31, 1917.

A crypt-door creak - and a small, bespectacled senior appeared from behind a side door, holding a tea tray in one hand and a scrawny cat in the other.

He blinked. "You made it. Come and sit down, I've brought refreshments." He set the tray down on a small table and pulled an old sheet off a settee.

Mulder nodded. "Mr. Peachtree?"

"Yes, yes. Now sit. Please."

Mulder saw that Scully still clutched the photo as she sat. He perched next to her, while Peachtree uncovered a wingback chair and sat down.

"Mr. Peachtree-" Scully began.

"Please, some tea and a snack first, then business. You are here for business aren't you?"

"Yes, sir. I'm Agent Scully and this is my partner, Agent Mulder."

Peachtree gave her a sharp look. "Oh, I know who you are, miss."

Three cups of tea poured from a Brown Betty pot. One chipped ceramic bowl filled with goldfish crackers looking the worse for wear.

Mulder and Scully sipped the tepid liquid after Peachtree took a generous swallow.

"Crackers?" Peachtree offered.

Scully politely refused. Mulder popped a handful into his mouth, then watched as the thin black cat jumped up and swiped the gold off a fish with his rough tongue. The crackers wanted to leap out of Mulder's throat and he hastily swallowed them down.

Peachtree patted his middle. "That's just fine. Sharing a respite with others. Would you like some more tea?"

"No thanks," Mulder croaked. Scully gave him a pitying look.

"Well then, let's start. I came into some information recently because, as you can see, I'm a collector. Don't have any real pattern to it, just collect things that call to me."

Scully murmured, "Call to you?"

"I'm surprised I have to explain since you both work for the X-Files." He seemed to measure Mulder and Scully with his eyes. "Do you believe in the numinous power of everyday objects?"

"Are you referring," Scully spoke carefully, "to the Surrealist belief that an object can absorb the essence of its owner? If so, I don't believe it."

"Scully."

"I'm sorry, Mulder, the theory doesn't make sense to me."

Mulder hunched forward. "Mr. Peachtree, where are you going with this?"

"I apologize. I'm not a Surrealist, I suppose, because I don't mean that objects are always imbued with a spirit or spirits. But I can hear some things speaking strongly of their own time and place, their own era if you will." He uncovered a statue next to his chair. "This is such an object."

The figure was three feet high, molded with formal red robes and a gilded crown. Fine cracks ran through the edges of small plaster hands, one raised solemnly in blessing while the other clutched a golden orb.

"The Infantata of Prague," Scully murmured. "Did you find this in a church?"

"No. In the back of an abandoned building that was scheduled to be razed. It was strange. This statue was a beacon of cleanliness surrounded by a circle of grime and trash."

Scully held up the picture in her hand. "And this photo?"

"Found in an envelope taped under the base of the statue. When I saw your pictures in the paper the other day regarding the Ruskin Dam case, I knew I had to contact you."

Mulder sat back, memory flashing to a red-haired corpse being zipped into a body bag, and swallowed bile in an effort to keep his voice steady. "Why go to all this trouble, Mr. Peachtree?"

"Something happened with this statue. I can feel it. Something that involves one of your relatives, Miss Scully. When I discovered the connection I knew I had to contact you."

Peachtree abruptly stood. "Feel free to take it all with you. In fact, I insist. This statue has begun to disturb me somehow."

Mulder looked down, puzzled over the statue's expression - an innocent smile combined with a knowing look.

"Mr.-" But Peachtree was gone.

"Scully?"

"I didn't see him leave." She went over to the side door and turned the knob. It was frozen shut. "Should we force the lock?"

Mulder caught his bottom lip between his teeth. "Not yet." He carefully placed his card in the centre of the table and hefted the statue. "Heavy," he grunted.

Scully tucked the photo in her pocket and stepped quickly to the front, holding the door open.

Mulder shivered as he passed a cold spot. Must be a draft.

Hands full of unwieldy icon, he didn't notice an amorphous cloud hanging in the corner of the room.

The apartment building doors were wide open, decorated with day-glo plastic skeletons and paper jack-o-lanterns. Mulder used his size 12 shoe to hold open Scully's front door before staggering, statue in his arms, to the coffee table.

"Thanks, Mulder. Now I remember why I keep you around - heavy lifting."

Mulder slanted Scully a smile and brushed his knuckles against her arm. She leaned against him for a moment before stepping to a hall closet and pulling down a tattered catalogue and a cardboard accordion folder bulging with papers.

"My great aunt was the genealogist of the family. I'll look through her papers for a Siobhan - if she was a Scully, the records should be here." She handed him the catalogue. "My great-great grandfather Roderick Scully owned a dry goods store. Knock yourself out, Mulder - it's full of esoteric trivia."

"You know what I like."

Scully's doorbell rang and she looked up absently from her papers. "Mulder, could you get my candy bucket from Becky Thatcher and be on trick or treat patrol while I look through this?"

"No problem - as long as we can have our own trick or treat when this is over."

Scully tried to hide a smile. "You know what I like."

Mulder smirked as he sauntered to the door.

A ghost and five karate kids later, Mulder sat in companionable silence next to Scully on the sofa, absently chewing miniature Snickers bars and paging through the old catalogue in between doorbell rings. The black and white prints touted products such as sewing machines and patent medicines to cure all ills. Thirty pages were devoted a Civil War inspired flood of ads for guns, artificial legs, bullet-proof vests, heroes' portraits and trinkets to send to the front. A smaller section on women's corsets focused a brief fantasy of Scully in Victorian undergarments, suddenly interrupted by yet-another pounding on the door.

Mulder opened to a shout of "trick or treat!" as first Freddy Kruger, then a ninja held out their hands for a treat. A scrawny boy in a black garbage bag cape stood at the back, carrying a large rubber knife painted in garish blood.

"Who are you?"

"Jack the Ripper."

Mulder gave the miniature assassin a sharp look, then tossed a candy bar into his plastic bag. He shook his head as Scully held up a small paper. "These kids today, Scully."

"I know. They seem to get more bloodthirsty every year. I remember dressing as a fairy princess."

"My sister was a fairy princess." Mulder saw a shadow of concern cloud Scully's face, immediately reassured her. "It's a good memory, Scully."

"I'm glad. What was your favourite costume?"

He knew the laugh would come and welcomed it. "Mr. Spock. I had a great set of ears."

Scully grinned. "Did Spock appeal to your logical side, Mulder?"

"As a matter of fact, I chose Spock for two reasons. His way cool hand greeting," Mulder flashed a four- finger vee at Scully, "and Spock's amazing nerve paralysing pinch." Mulder grabbed Scully's arm, wrestling her deeper into the sofa and avoiding her pokes and tickles as he secured a neck lock.

He was inches from her face. Scully's eyes were dancing and her hair was mussed. She was impossible to resist.

Mulder moved his hand around to cradle Scully in his arms and pressed against her with a kiss that left him dizzy. The pleasure of touching Scully - of kissing Scully - was hoarded all the more for being newly minted.

"Wanna treat, little girl?" Mulder growled. He breathed in essence of Scully as his hips jerked involuntarily against her slacks.

She moaned. "Wait. Wait, Mulder. It's too early, we'll be interrupted."

Mulder reluctantly loosened his arms. "All right, but at nine o'clock we're turning off all the lights and hiding in the bedroom. With the candy."

Scully smiled as she smoothed the yellowed paper crushed from their embrace. Mulder peered over her shoulder. "What did you find?"

"This looks like a letter written from Siobhan to her sister Kathleen. She must be a Scully." She began to read -

_October 1919

My sweet Kathleen,

I treasure your prayers. Don't worry, dearest; in the time since Mahon's death, I've found peace. I burned his letters when I first came here (at Mother Superior's insistence) but Mahon will always be in my heart.

And as I daily kneel and pray, I take comfort in the fact that my most precious possessions - Mahon's photo and our wedding rings - are together, close by and safe from the prying eyes of this weary world.

Give my love to Jimmy and kiss the twins for me,

Yours in God's name,
Your loving sister,
Siobhan_

Scully sighed, and Mulder circled her shoulders with his arm. "I wonder if Mahon died in the war."

"The timing is right." Scully spoke thoughtfully. "And it wouldn't be so uncommon for a widow - a Catholic widow - to join a convent. This is a sad story, Mulder."

Mulder nodded, and pressed his lips against her hair in a brief kiss. "It is. But it's also family mystery solved. We know where the photo was hidden - in plain sight, no doubt in the chapel of the convent Siobhan visited every day."

Scully straightened and stared hard at the statue. "Siobhan's letter says the photo and their wedding rings were hidden in the same place."

Mulder stood. "I'm on it." The muscle in his jaw strained in effort as he carefully grabbed the Infantata around the middle and twisted it upside down.

"See anything?"

Scully examined the base. Except for old remnants of tape, it was unmarked and solid. "Let me get a knife."

"Hurry," Mulder gasped. The statue started to slip out of his arms, and he banged his knee sharply against a small hand.

"Shit." Mulder jumped back so the statue wouldn't land on his foot as it crashed to the ground.

Pieces flew. The orb fell free and bounced across the room and onto kitchen linoleum.

"Are you hurt?" "I'm sorry, Scully." They spoke simultaneously. Mulder ruefully rubbed his knee as she asked again, "Are you hurt, Mulder?"

"Nah, I won the wrestling match. Sorry I broke your family icon, though."

"Never mind, Mulder. It was damned ugly."

Mulder's mouth curved as Scully looked at the knife in her hand and shrugged. She grinned. "Guess I won't be needing this. Let's see what we have here."

Scully knelt on the ground, sorting through and carefully stacking pieces of broken plaster. Mulder stepped into the kitchen to grab her garbage can when he spied the orb, sitting cracked against the edge of a wall. He lifted it - and the orb broke open in two clean halves in his hands. He swallowed.

"Scully, come here."

"What is it?"

"Come and look."

Scully stepped into the room and stopped, staring at Mulder's hands - each palm holding a half-sphere with a plain gold band inside.

"Mulder." Scully carefully lifted the rings. "You found them."

Two heads bent to examine their find. Mulder picked up the smaller one, and squinted at the fine engraving on the inside. " 'Forever, M'," he breathed.

"Mine reads 'Forever, S'."

They looked at each other solemnly.

"Siobhan, Scully."

"Yes, and Mahon."

Without a word, they took turns placing the rings on the other's hand. The rings were a perfect fit.

"Stop here, Scully."

Mulder opened the car door against Scully's indulgent smile, a smile that had not dimmed since yesterday evening's discovery. "I'll be back in a sec, I want to get something to thank Mr. Peachtree."

Mulder hesitated inside the corner store. What do you get for someone who's given you magic?

His eyes scanned the aisles and lit on a half-price display for Whitman's chocolates. The motto, "Be curious, not judgemental," was embossed in printed cross-stitch across the box.

A good choice. Peachtree was an all-round curiosity, and Mulder was determined to find out more about him.

Mulder was humming as he stepped back into the vehicle. He held up the chocolate sampler box to show Scully.

"Mulder, those are horrible chocolates."

"What do you mean? I liked them when I was a kid."

Scully rolled her eyes. "They taste like wax. Insipidly sweet wax." She held her hand up against Mulder's protest. "Maybe Mr. Peachtree will like them though."

"We'll see who's right, Scully." He tapped the box against his palm as they rounded the corner, spied the grimy, narrow building in the middle of the block.

Mulder opened the car door, covering a wince against his sore knee as he waited for Scully. They stepped together to Peachtree's doorway.

He knocked. Heard a hollow echo.

Knocked again.

"He's not here, Mulder." Scully sounded disappointed, turned the knob - and the door creaked open.

The room was empty.

Everything had disappeared.

Mulder leaned down and started to step inside when Scully grabbed his arm. "What?"

"I think - I think we should shut the door and leave your chocolates on the doorstep, Mulder."

"Scully?"

"I just have a funny feeling. It's November first, the Day of the Dead. If Mr. Peachtree wanted us to find him again, he'd be here. If not-" Scully shrugged.

"My little soothsayer." Mulder slung an affectionate arm around her shoulders. "Okay, but only if we can go back to your place to celebrate life - and enjoy the remains of the Hallowe'en candy."

Scully's smile sparkled at him. "I'll hold you to that."

"You can count on it."

END Spooky by bcfan

Written for the X-OK Hallowe'en Challenge. There were many elements. Many, many elements. The ones I included are:

- The story must take place on Halloween (Oct. 31) or The Day of the Dead (Nov. 1)
- Cold spots (as in hauntings)
- Goldfish
- A war such as the Civil War, WW I, etc.
- Jack the Ripper
- An injury to Mulder
- A quote by Walt Whitman
- "Orbs" - (kinda)
- A Scully family mystery