By mountainphile
mountainphile@yahoo.com
 

RATING: R for language and adult themes
EMAIL: mountainphile@yahoo.com
URL: http://www.geocities.com/mountainphile
 
DESCRIPTION: A conclusion to Trespassin',
http://www.geocities.com/mountainphile/trespassin.txt
with a bigger dose of MSR than the previous story.
The reader will benefit by taking them in sequence.
Written for Haven's October "Our House" challenge.
Click on the following link to view the house picture
integral to this little tale:
http://xf-extensions.com/hhouse3.jpg

For a better understanding of Zack's regional dialect
and vocabulary, visit this entertaining site:
http://www.hillbonics.com
 
DISTRIBUTION: It's always an honor to be archived.
Please tell me where, so I can visit.
DISCLAIMER: Mulder, Scully, and the X-Files remain
the property of Carter, 1013, and other entities. I
borrowed them for a little Halloween jaunt.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS:  Many thanks to fellow Museans Diana
Battis and Mish for ever-enthusiastic beta.  Kudos to
Diana for rocking my boat at the eleventh hour and
suggesting this title.

******

We ain't trespassin'.

Like I told Sis, we're squatters here because it
ain't permanent.  Just settin' for a spell 'til
things quiet down, leastways that was the plan when
we first moved into the old Claussen place.  It's a
far piece from town and broke down enough for folks
to forget about it bein' here.  I need some breathin'
room, so here we stay.
 
Now it looks like my sister's set on messin' that up
for us.  Not that she can help it any.  She's ready
to pop that youngun out, but it sure is aggravatin'
the situation.

It started when me and Sis got evicted last week and
somebody else moved right into that rat-trap trailer.
Weren't nothin' I could do about it, since rent was
owed and pert near all we have in the world is the
clothes on our backs.  Everything else we sold to get
by since Pa and Ma passed on.  Like folks say around
these parts, we don't have a pot to piss in or a
window to throw it out of.

Two things happened then.

One, I recollected the old broke-down Claussen place.
It made perfect sense.  Rent free and with my sister
in her condition, so to speak, we needed a good
hidey-hole closer to town and food.  Don't matter to
me who it belonged to first.  I ain't particular.

Second, the Law was afoot and up to no earthly good.
I seen officers all over town and weren't too
concerned 'til the blame FBI showed up sudden-like.
Two of 'em, a lady and a man, nosin' around and
stirrin' up trouble.  Like I said before, a feller
like me needs breathin' room.  So here we stay, holed
up at Claussen's.

Sis was scared of this old cellar at first.  She
believes all them damn stories about Missus Claussen
bein' stuffed somewhere down here after she up and
died.  Ain't none of it the truth.  Just the flu and
folks spreadin' lies after drinkin' too much hooch, I
tell her.  Still, she ain't convinced.

The bugs and stink don't help neither.  Sis weren't
able to get outside much, even for a breather of
fresh air.  Now, not at all.  Just stays down here in
this piss-pot from hell, peekin' out the cellar
windows and holdin' her belly.  She's bein' a real
good sport about it, yet I'm sorry for it all the
same.

Either way, we're just bidin' our time and doin'
what's needful, on account of what I done.  I think
Sis knows.  She ain't sayin' much, except to ask if
I'm plannin' on killin' every dang person we run
into.  Zack, don't hurt 'em too much, she keeps
beggin'.

That ain't the plan by a long shot.

No, it warn't supposed to happen this way, all half-
assed and backwards.  If that baby'd taken its sweet
old time we wouldn't need help so fast.  But then,
there'd be no reason to be here if it weren't for
that bastard Lyle Claussen.

Pa taught me since I was a youngun that family's got
to stick together.  Nothin' goes over the Devil's
back that don't come out from underneath his belly,
he said.  An eye for an eye.  Well, I ain't told Sis
exactly what happened that night last winter, but
nobody's doin' her that way and gettin' off scot
free.  Nobody.

Ma always swore that dreams about death meant
somebody in the family'd end up havin' a baby.  Said
she'd seen it time and again.  I can't lay claim to
any death-dreamin', though I reckon I done my part in
sharin' the guilt by not bein' there the night Lyle
showed.  And for doin' what came after.

Truth is, I took Pa's rifle, tracked that polecat
Lyle to the swamp, and waited for my chance.  Then I
plugged him in the head right through his toboggan
and pushed his carcass down under the ice.  What's
left of him has been feedin' fish, snappers, snakes,
and bugs all spring and summer long.

The Law's on my tail now, I reckon.  Guilty before
God and my fellow man, as Ma would say.  These here
outsiders pokin' around the house is proof of that.
Sis keeps on asking me not to hurt 'em or kill that
FBI feller, so I reckon she figgers what I done to
Lyle weren't just fun and games.  She got that one
right.

I was dead serious then and Lyle's serious dead now.
Don't know how I get in these pickles, but there's
Claussen writ all over it everywhere.

So the Law's outside the house sniffin' for me.  Then
Sis lets go with a gullywasher under her skirt,
soakin' everything good.  With this dad-burn baby
bustin' out, too many things are happenin' all at
once, too fast for me to handle.  I feel busy as a
one-armed barber with the hives and that's no joke.

Maybe the Good Lord's got a mite extra slack for a
trespasser like me.  I believe deep down it's
providential that the woman doctor come around to
this particular old house right when we need her to
help Sis.

As for those two FBI folks, it weren't more than a
ping on each of their heads.  First her, then him
after.  Expected her to wake up and take care of my
little sister right away.  Him, I don't give shit
about except for keepin' him shut up in a corner and
pinchin' his gun.  I got it right in my pockets with
his little-bitty phone, same as hers, and my rifle
aimed directly at the both of 'em.

But, dang it to hell -- here he is, all waked up and
pressin' at his head and the lady doctor's still out
cold.  I let him crawl over on his elbow and crouch
over that red-haired Scully woman, but no further.
Meanwhile, my sister keeps moanin' and cryin' like a
stuck pig, beggin' for help.

I'm all in a sweat.

You a doctor, too? I ask him.  Might as well, with
things gettin' plumb desperate around here.

He's busy checkin' over the woman, touchin' her cheek
first real gentle-like, whisperin' to her.  I see him
give Sis a long careful look, then he's back at the
woman again.  After he feels her hair and finds a
smear of blood on his fingers, he twists himself
towards me, quilled like a copperhead waitin' to
strike.

Easy does it, I order, lookin' from them to my sis
and back again.

Way to go, wise-guy, he says, all disgusted.  We're
Federal Agents.  Try thinkin' with your brain next
time, instead of with your ass.  He talks a heap
more, except he uses biggity words that go way beyond
my schoolin'.

I put on my mad-dog face and remind him of the
question.

No, he answers, lookin' mean right back.  Also tells
me if I had any smarts in that punkin I call a head
that I'd get Sis to a hospital right away.  He moves
too fast for me, like he's set on grabbin' at my gun,
so I take aim again.

Right then the Scully woman awakes.  She's tryin' to
sit up with one hand and holdin' her head with the
other.  Callin' his name distracts him.  It's
different now that I'm hearin' it close and clear.
Mulder, she says again, lookin' like she's about to
cry, which reminds me of my own ailin' little sister.
Just meant to ding this pretty lady, not hurt her too
much.  It shames me.

She the wife? I ask him.  Which would explain all
their shoulder-touchin' on the front lawn before and
why he's so protective and pullin' her into a snuggle
now.  Well, they both quit what they're doin' and
stare at me.  Hell, even if she ain't the wife,
reckon I can see what's between this FBI feller and
the Scully woman.

Right then Sis lets loose a blood-curdlin' yell that
makes us all jump like farts on a griddle.

My voice shakes.  Ma'am, I say, I'm powerful sorry
for whackin' you before, but I didn't know what else
to do.  My sister needs help this exact minute if
you're truly a doctor.  There's towels and plastic
jugs of water over yonder for the birthin'.
 
She tells the Mulder feller it'll be all right and
she's fine, so he backs down.  Then she nods her head
at me and scoots over next to Sis.  She checks out
the linens and I can see she ain't too cheerful 'bout
how clean they look.  She begs me to use their cell
phone to call a hospital.

With a lump like coal in my throat I gotta say no.
Then Sis commences to thrashin' like the dickens.

Well, the Scully woman don't have time to argue with
me after that.  Just turns to Sis and 'tends to work,
whisperin' to her nonstop and callin' her sweetie and
such.  Real comfortin'.  She sounds so much like Ma
used to when we was little and took sick, that my
eyes start to water.

Where's the father? The Mulder feller asks.

It ain't none of his business.  Truth is, it don't
matter no more, but I don't say so.  This is Sis's
baby, her flesh and blood.  It's one of ours now, or
will be when it's borned.  I tell him nevermind and
to plug his piehole.

Damned if he won't take a hint.  Explains to me in a
low voice that I'm doin' Sis more harm than good.
Endangerin' her life.  All kinds of shit like that.
That I'm also in big trouble now for strikin' federal
agents of the government and holdin' 'em at gunpoint.

I take out both their guns and phones from my pockets
and lay 'em nearby, where I can get to 'em easy.
He's got me feelin' powerful uncomfortable, though,
with Sis wailin' and thrashin' over there in the
shadows.

A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do, I say.

So, where's the man? he asks, sneerin'.

That'd be me, I hiss back, since Pa and Ma died and
there's just my little sis and me left.  The feller
that used to live here caught her out alone and give
her this baby by force.

He butts in, What's his name?  Where's he now?

It don't matter, I answer, takin' a spit near his
fancy shoe.  I took care of it like a man should,
doin' what had to be done afterward.

If I could kick my own ass I would.

Tryin' to talk myself up big, I end up tippin' too
much of my hand, but it's water under the bridge now.
The Mulder feller rubs his chin and narrows his eyes
at me before askin', you're tellin' me Lyle Claussen
raped this girl?  Your sister?

Well, Sis's constant moanin' and this feller's
questions are both gettin' me in a bad way.  I'm
blabberin' like a dang fool and cookin' my own goose.
Something wrong with your ears? I shoot back.
Mister, you ever had a little sister to watch after,
you'd understand where I'm comin' from.
 
Well, that gives him somethin' to chew on for a
spell, 'cause his face gets plumb serious.  We eye
each other until the Scully woman starts up sudden-
like.

My God, I hear her blurt out, Mulder! So he asks
what's wrong.  She's completely dilated, she says in
wonderment, and the baby's startin' to crown already.
Which makes me proud as punch of Sis for gettin' this
far into the birthin' on her own.  First baby and
all, and without any old doctor's help.

Atta girl, Sis, I call over to encourage.  That earns
me a dirty look from the woman and a snort from the
Mulder feller.

Yeah, that'll help, Big Man, he tells me.  Whyn't you
let me call the hospital and end this foolishness?  I
shake my head no, nervous as a long-tailed cat in a
roomful of rockin' chairs.  Then he wants to know
again where they can find Lyle.  FBI's been lookin'
hard for him and come to his old house to check it
out for foul play.

You'll be lookin' 'til kingdom come, I reckon, I
answer.  There she goes again, mouth runnin' off
before my brain's in gear, like always.

Obstructin' justice and puttin' your own sister at
risk are considered crimes, even in these parts, he
zings back.

I can tell he's workin' me, gettin' me all het up on
purpose.  Tryin' to pull my guard down with big-ass
words and actin' like he's my Pa or somebody official
I oughta be skeered of.

Listen, Mister, I say, swallerin' a lump, that dog
don't hunt around here.  You don't know nothin' about
us or how the folks in these parts survive.  We got
our own brand of justice for punishin' the guilty and
them that deserve it.  Right proud of it, too.  Put
that in your fuckin' FBI pipe and smoke it.

Easy now, take it slow, whispers the Scully woman.

We both look over.  I figure she's coolin' us menfolk
down some, but it's just Sis she's tendin'.  Without
meanin' to, I see my sister's skinny white legs and a
bloody towel all bunched up between 'em.  She's
breathin' awful hard, big gulps, like she did the
night she ran out cryin' to tell me what Lyle done to
her.

Comin' full circle, from then to now.

I turn away when Sis starts up that holy screamin'
again, and the Scully woman kneels over her and
blocks my view.

Well, it don't seem fair.  Nothin's fair in this
world right now, for her or me.

The Mulder feller shakes his head.  Likely pities me
for bein' nothin' more than a poor, mixed-up grit on
the run.  Or maybe he thinks I'm just dumber than
dirt and can't handle shit.  Son, this isn't the
answer, he says.

And I'm like to blow up at him.  I'm so flustered I'm
like Sis, breathin' hard and fast.

So who asked you anyways?  I holler, steppin' closer.
Suppose some polecat sonuvabitch came sniffin' around
*your* little sister and she was too weak and skeered
to fight 'em off and he got her when you weren't
there?  What would *you* do after?

I know I sound like a crazy man foamin' at the mouth
and spittin' out my words.  Like Pa made me do when
he wore me out for somethin' I done wrong.  I feel
like a no-account little kid again, ready to cry
buckets.

Here I am explainin' and blubberin' before God and
these FBI folks so I can't hardly see worth a plug
nickel.  Just that quick it happens: a kick at my
foot, whack upside my head, and I'm flipped over on
the floorboards like a turtle on its back.  Fallin'
ass over tin cup.

Lookin' up at that Mulder feller and smack dab into
the barrel end of Pa's rifle.

Maybe I'd do the same, he says, starin' down at me
hard enough to bore a hole without the bullet.  I
barely realize I'm hearin' Sis carry on like a
banshee, with the Scully woman babblin' away to her a
mile a minute.

I'm that stunned.

How we doin' over there, Scully? he asks.  He don't
move his eye from me, but he's talkin' at her just
the same.

We hear a shuffle, a quick smack, and a youngun
squallin' over and over in the shadows.

It's a girl, she says, soundin' happy and tired, like
she's the one who just done all the pushin' and work.
Mother and child doin' fine under the circumstances,
but we need to get 'em to a hospital.  And she tells
him to make the phone call quick, 'cause Sis needs
stitches and the afterbirth's gonna deliver.

Then the Scully woman sighs and stares up at him.
The light from the window hits her.  Kneelin' like
that on the floor and restin' with her hands folded,
she looks just like an angel.  Eyes blue-glassy with
tears and a red halo around her head.

The Mulder feller must think the same thing as me.
He gives her a wisp of a smile, picks up his tiny
phone, and makes the call.
 
Sniffin', I see Sis layin' there alongside her with
an armful of bloody baby in a bunched-up towel.  It's
twitchin' and cryin' up a storm, and my sister's
blubberin' along with it.  Happy or sad, I can't tell
which thing any of us is truly feelin'.

As for me, I'll prob'ly be settin' in jail awhile for
dingin' the two FBI agents in the head.  Maybe we'll
be charged for trespassin' at the Claussen's and me
for stealin' all over town.  More like, I'm lookin'
at a long spell in prison for takin' the Law into my
own hands and riddin' the world of Lyle's wicked ass.
Maybe worse.

And that's right when the Mulder feller begins actin'
strange-like.

Stay put and keep your mouth shut, he tells me when
the Scully woman goes back to carin' for my sister
and the baby.  He crosses the cellar in the almost-
dark with the rifle, peerin' this way and that.

Shifty, like a fox in a henhouse.  I swear he's
prowlin' around for somethin'.

I don't say a word when he stops in the corner where
we do our piss and business.  Serve him right to find
out the hard way, I tell myself.  He kicks at old
boxes of cannin' jars and other Claussen trash,
breathin' through his mouth from the stink.  Gives me
a squint for a warnin' to stay back.  Then usin' his
fancy shoe, he pries up some rotten old boards from
out the floor, smack dab where Sis's been waterin'
them down.

I hear him whistle low, triumphant-like, so it must
mean some kind of pay dirt.  Before I know what's
what, he's poked down the barrel end of Pa's rifle
under a soft piece of wood and up comes a long bony
turkey claw.

Well, it don't take me but a second to see that it
weren't no bird at all, but old dried-up Missus
Claussen herself.  Switched if she ain't been keepin'
me and Sis company in this cellar for pert near two
weeks.

I gasp, please, Mister, don't let my sister see this
here.  She'll either faint dead away or vomit all
over that new baby, for sure.

The Mulder feller nods.  He explains that it's
evidence they've been huntin' for.  Son, he says to
me, Lyle Claussen's wanted by the police and FBI
because of his mother and other family members
disappearin' under unexplained circumstances.  There
could be other victims, besides the assault he made
on your sister.  Didn't you know that?

I shake my head, not sure if I'm gonna laugh, puke,
or cry.

He crouches down beside me now, touchin' my shoulder,
lookin' real plain-spoken and serious.  Tells me I
flap my mouth too quick for my own good and that
takin' the Law into my own hands is risky and plain
wrong.  That I got a lot of growin' up to do.

Well, that ain't news, I agree, wipin' my nose.

After takin' a quick peek over at the Scully woman,
he says that he's caught my drift, but to keep it
under our hats for the time bein'.  Looks me in the
eye and says it sounds like justice has been served
and the taxpayers should thank me for savin' them a
heap of money this time around.

Still, there's no tellin' where it'll all end up yet.

Looks like our red-haired angel of charity is set on
findin' a safe, clean place for Sis and the new
youngun.  So I reckon there's hope for me, too, if
this Mulder feller has any say at all in it.  Calls
himself a profiler, whatever that is.  I asked him on
a hunch if he has a little sister, but he won't say
nothin' back.  Seems like the memory must smart too
much, so I don't push it.

Everybody needs breathin' room now and again.

And it don't surprise me a lick to find out that Fox
is his given name.

******
The End