~ Chapter One ~
At the Academy, they train you to deal with violent
crime scenes. You are taught to cope with the
psychological aspects of a case and focus on the
investigation with a rational, detached mind.
There are, however, certain cases that are so
appalling they remain in your memory forever.
Donnie Pfaster would never leave her, nor would the
faces -- or hands -- of his victims. The Peacock
family, their mother with her filthy rolling cart
beneath the bed, existing solely to propagate.
Scully was sure this would be no different from any
of those.
They took care walking into the kitchen, a brick
affair original to the structure. Marks drawn on
the floor indicated where the bodies had lain,
unusual, organic shapes necessary to encase the
large pools of blood surrounding the victims. These
same pools lay dried and brown on the floor.
"Why hasn't the cleaning crew been out here?"
Scully asked.
"They were here two days ago."
She cocked her head at him and gestured at the
blood-splattered cabinets, table and chairs. It
looked like a slasher film was in progress. "Why
hasn't this all been cleaned then?"
"They, uh, didn't stay. It seems that whatever
presence is in this house didn't make them feel
exactly welcome."
She rolled her eyes. "Whatever you say, Mulder. I
still think there's nothing supernatural about this
crime. People do murder other people every day,
you know, and there's nothing paranormal about
that."
He grimaced at the scene. "I don't think a person
could be capable of this, Scully. Not alone and not
without leaving some trace of themselves behind.
The family didn't just sit and wait their turn
while they watched the others die."
"Well," she said after a moment, "There's not much
we can do in here since the bodies and evidence
have already been removed. I say we just shut the
door on this room and get on with
our...investigation."
The investigation, as it were, was unconventional
to say the least. The special circumstances of the
case, namely the lack of evidence and the brutal
manner in which the family was dispatched, not to
mention the anomalies found within the bodies
themselves, had caught Mulder's attention as soon
as he heard about it.
Mulder unloaded several black cases of video and
audio equipment, along with machines that measured
temperature changes, infrared heat and
electromagnetic fields. All were on loan from an
acquaintance of Mulder's, a professor of
parapsychology who followed their work and offered
assistance any time it was needed. The Gunmen
supplemented the video and audio equipment.
Mulder set the seven camcorders up in seven
different places: the kitchen, the living room,
dining room, poolroom, upstairs hallway, sitting
room and at the mouth of the corridor leading to
the kitchen. In the meantime, Scully chose the
spare bedroom at the end of the hall upstairs and
settled herself into the bureau and adjoining
bathroom. With any luck, Mulder would figure out
they were wasting their time there and decide to
leave before the weekend.
She wasn't holding her breath.
The bedroom had a very cottage-y feel to it, with
Waverley-esque wallpaper and sage bedding with
throw pillows. An antique nightstand sat to the
left of the bed with a pitcher and basin that
looked older than she was. The curtains were light
and airy, with tones of rose and sage intermingling
in the tasteful print. Rugs on the polished wood
floor lent the room even more comfort. It was as
perfect as the rest of the house.
She was inspecting a wardrobe standing in the
corner when she heard it -- the whispering. She
couldn't make out any words, but it sounded like
two people in a heated argument. Don't be
ridiculous, she told herself. No one's in the house
but Mulder and me. She checked the hallway to see
if Mulder was messing around. It was empty, so she
went to the window to see of a tree branch was
scraping against the side of the house. The nearest
tree branch was several feet away. Finally, she
decided it had to be the pipes. Of course it was
the pipes. In a house that old, one was bound to
hear strange noises.
She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering from
the cold draft coming through the room and stepped
out to find her partner.
~*~
Mulder, as it happened, just reached the top of the
stairs when she left her bedroom. She tried not to
laugh at the ridiculously large camera around his
neck (Compensating for something, Mulder? her mind
supplied. She fought back a grin) and the new toy
attached to his hand.
"Staked out a room already?" he called out to her,
barely taking his eyes off the apparatus.
"What on Earth is that?"
"This one is called a Gaussmeter. It measures
electromagnetic fields. And this one," he pulled
another instrument out of his pocket, "is an IR
thermometer. It measures infrared heat and locates
cool spots."
She raised an eyebrow. "Mulder, you do realize
there are electromagnetic fields everywhere, right?
Not to mention the fact that there are going to be
cool spots all over the house, since it's October
and the place is almost 200 years old."
"Killjoy."
"Sucker."
"So, which one is my room?"
"I guess it's up to you. I took the only guest
room, but that still leaves the two girl's bedrooms
and the master suite."
He pulled a face. "Never was one for lavender. Or
unicorns, for that matter. Looks like I'm taking
the master."
She followed him around for a few minutes while he
did a walk-through of the house with the two
monitors, commenting on the slightest changes and
writing them all down in a tiny notebook in his
other pocket. It didn't take long before she lost
interest and went to explore the rest of the house
on her own.
It truly was an amazing house, and it couldn't have
been more 'her' than if she'd chosen and decorated
it herself. Sabrina Talbot and I could've been
kindred spirits, she mused. On the other hand, she
could see where one's imagination could get away
from them in this place. They hadn't been there for
more than two hours before the creaks and groans of
house settling began to sound more like voices and
whispers. Couple this with the age of the house,
the murders and the fact that the nearest neighbor
was hundreds of yards away, and it was easy to see
where stories of a haunting could run rampant.
Scully herself wondered if she could stand to live
here alone, knowing what had happened here. Could
she cook, entertain, make tea in the same space
three-fourths of a family was brutally murdered?
Shivering at the thought, she admonished herself
for her irrational, yet all too human uneasiness.