"Naw, Miss Scully, ya don't be wearin' yerself out by pushin' ta 'ard. Ya just got out a da hospital dis aftanoon; don't get yerself tossed back en!"
"I'm fine." Scully mumbled, only half listening.
"'Ere it be. Tis da Wilson Funeral Home. Named afta da great President durin' da War ta End All Wars. A course, I don't 'member much ah him, but my pappy use' ta tale me stories…" He faded off and cleared his throat. "Anyways, dis be da place I seen 'im skulkin' about many a night. Yule 'ave ta wait 'till after tin; dat's when Mr. Sikes closes up and goes 'ome. 'E's a bit deef; 'less ya got some kinda paper wark, 'e ain't a friendly type, and don't nobody betta bodah 'im. Dey call 'im Yikes Sikes." Smithe finished in a stage whisper. Scully nodded in response, looking anxiously down at her wristwatch. Nine twenty. She could afford to wait that long; she hoped.
At exactly ten o'clock, the lights in the basement flickered off. Another five minutes for closing up shop, and Yikes Sikes was gone. "Da back a da place is yer best bet." Smithe whispered. "Dere's a loose winda dat Ebenezer Sikes ne'er bodered ta fiz. I come wit' ya, but I'm afeared I be more a hindrinse den a hep." He said, rubbing his leathery hand across the back off his neck. Scully pursed her lips and nodded tersely, flicking the safety off her gun. Before she set out, Smithe grabbed her arm.
"'Ere." He said, pressing something into the palm of her hand. "Ya might need dis." She looked down and nearly started crying again. Mulder's Holy Water.
"Thanks." She managed to squeak out before her throat knotted up completely. She grasped the small vial tightly in her fist. Time to move. Stuffing the vial into her pocket, Scully flicked on her tiny flashlight and scuttled around the side of the building hidden from the street.