By mountainphile
mountainphile@yahoo.com

RATING:  R for language and adult themes
EMAIL:  mountainphile@yahoo.com
URL:  http://www.geocities.com/mountainphile

DESCRIPTION: A story with a dash of M&S and very
different flavor 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

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 jaunt and put them right back.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS:  Thanks to Mish and Diana Battis
for their always trusty beta and wisdom, and to
Sybil for providing the challenge and inspirational
picture of the house.

******

We're trespassin' here.

Ain't much harm in it, because nobody sees us and
nobody cares about this old house anymore.  It's a
wreck, and that's no joke, but it's close to town.
Rickety as hell, busted windows.  Gotta be careful
where you put your foot, or you go clear through the
floor.  Happened to my big brother Zack the first
night we got here after bein' evicted from our
double-wide last week.  He kicked up such a ruckus I
made him shush before somebody came by and heard him
cussin' and thrashin'.  So we moved down into the
cellar where nobody knows we're here.  Where it's
dark and quiet.

If he doesn't do something soon, though, I'm the
one'll be thrashin' and cussin' and makin' all the
noise.  Won't be able to stop it.

It scares me some.

Zack says we're more like squatters than
trespassers.  That we got as much right to this
place as anybody.  The Claussens left it after the
old lady died and Lyle, the oldest boy, went
missing.  Pickle-Pusses everybody called 'em at
school, 'cause of the brand name and all the bread-
and-butters, garlics, and dills the missus put up
every summer.  Rumor was, she went crazy and they
hid her in this cellar 'til she starved or some
such, all shriveled up like one of her gherkins.

We heard the whispers about the place bein' haunted,
which is why nobody comes around here no more.  But
Zack says that's gossip and foolish talk.  Mrs.
Claussen was a wrinkly old bitch with a mean temper
who up and caught the flu.  I don't know which is
the truth, but I sure hate bein' in this cellar
knowin' some old lady could've died down here.
Except it's the safest place if you don't want to be
seen upstairs or go crashin' through the kitchen or
bedroom floors and bustin' yourself up underneath.

Spiders give me the willies, same as those little
round crawly bugs that hide under everything.  Hard
to keep 'em out of the food, our blankets, and my
hair when I sleep.  I hate rats, but Zack, bein'
Zack, says we could eat 'em if we had to, as well as
squirrels and rabbits.  I tell him I'll pass on the
rats and give the others a maybe.  Truth is, I'd
rather he keep on pinchin' stuff for us at night
when he goes out to scrounge and have a look-see
around.  Restaurant in town is the best for throwin'
out good food.  Looks hardly touched and goes down
real easy.  Makes us feel fine, like we're rich
folks in this part of Kanawha County.

The smell is bad down here and gettin' worse.  We
try to keep all our business in one corner on the
other side of the cellar, if we can't make it
outside.  Of course Zack, like a lazy-ass boy, has
gone to takin' a piss in other spots, too.  The very
first one he took was upstairs in what he hoped was
Lyle Claussen's old bedroom.  Now, when it rains,
everything stinks to high heaven like garbage and
rot and old house and outhouse.  I can't take much
more.  Maybe I won't have to.

I ask more than once why we can't sneak into town to
a regular doctor and skip the Claussen place.  But
each time Zack puts on his mad-dog face and says
it's better all around if we lay low for awhile.  I
ask if he's in trouble or just a chickenshit, and he
shuts me up real fast.  We got to stick together, he
hisses at me.  You want me to drop you off on
somebody's back stoop like an old cat or sack of
spuds?  My only sister and kin?

He's side-steppin' again.  But he has a point
somewhere in there and he's older'n me.  So each
time I say no and here we stay.  Except now I can't
help messin' it up for the both of us.

There's trespassers outside.  Out-of-towners, two
city people walkin' around.

We been peekin' at 'em.

My belly hurts again and Zack looks over at me.
He's worryin'.  We both raised enough livestock to
know what's bound to happen and needs to be done,
but we don't speak of it outright.  There's no
reason to, except that I hope a doctor shows up real
soon.

The city folks outside keep walkin' around, talkin'
low to each other, lookin' in windows on the ground
floor.  Get too close and we duck fast.  Pretty soon
we hear the man's foot go plumb through the front
porch, so the lady calls him back to where we can
watch 'em again.  Also calls him by some name that
sounds like "Molter."  He's cussin' up a storm
brushin' off his pants leg and checkin' out his
fancy shoe, which of course makes Zack snort.  The
woman leans in and touches shoulders to the man's,
real familiar-like, and laughs too.  Her name must
be "Scully" 'cause that's what he keeps callin' her.

Weird-ass name for a woman, my brother mumbles to
me, and I agree.

Zack swears these folks are the exact ones we need,
the ones who can help me.  Well, the woman is,
anyway.  He calls it providential.  Says he
overheard this morning when he was sneakin' around
town that she's a real doctor, except she looks more
like a model or beauty queen to me.  I ask him not
to hurt 'em none and he snorts again in his sleeve.

I know Zack pretty well.  Only person I'm certain he
harmed directly on purpose was that dillhole Lyle
Claussen who was trespassin' behind our trailer one
night, right around the time his mama lay dyin'.
Ol' Lyle caught me outside and hurt me somethin'
awful.  It shamed me to tell Zack about it, but I
did, since it was just him and me, and he went after
him like a shot.  Later I asked whether Lyle was
beat up enough to learn him a good lesson and Zack
wouldn't say.

Nobody saw Lyle after that, nor has ever.  So, maybe
my brother up and killed him after all.

Killin's a wicked sin, but what Lyle Claussen done
to me ain't nothin' to sneeze at neither.  It's sin
and just as bad.  Funny how they call 'em trespasses
and sins up at the church.  As we forgive those who
trespass against us, the Good Book says, but I say
hogwash when it comes to Lyle.  A family's got to
stick together no matter what.  That would explain
some things, the least of which is why I'm stuck
hidin' out here with Zack in Claussen's cellar
instead of at some doc's office.

All this trespassin' goin' on every which way, and
it seems like I'm the one has got the worst end of
the deal.

Why're they here? I ask, still peekin'.  D'you
reckon Claussens want their old place back?  Maybe
they're figurin' to find the old lady's dried up
carcass down here.

Zack starts soundin' all uppity and educated, but I
know better and roll my eyes.  Routine police work
stuff, Sis, he says.  They're checkin' out the
homestead to prove there's no foul play and it's
empty or some such thing.

Well, it ain't close to bein' empty, I remind him,
goosebumps poppin' big as buckshot on my arms.

Don't you fret none, he says, lookin' out the cellar
window real steady.  Help's here, 'cause now we got
'em where we want 'em.

I hope he's not set to kill this new feller, the
nice-lookin' one with the long black coat walkin'
around outside with the lady doctor.  Not even on
accident.  Do that and she'd make trouble and
wouldn't help me anyways.  The Law'd be all over us
for trespassin', I'd bust wide as a milkweed pod,
and they'd put Zack in county jail -- or worse.

Zack says nobody knows nothin'.  Lyle Claussen's kin
in Charleston is who called 'em here in the first
place.  Complained to the sheriff when no one seen
hide nor hair of that skunk for over eight months
after the rest of 'em moved off.  All except for the
old lady, of course, who died of flu and pure
cussedness.

I surely don't believe it, I say.  These two people
snoopin' outside are the Law?  How do you figure?
Then I start hurtin' again at my middle and in my
back, real bad this time, and it shuts me up.

Dumb-ass, Zack tells me.  Keep quiet and let me
handle this!  Those folks out there are fuckin' FBI.
They got guns and radios.  See their badges?  They
been trained how to fight.  That seems to bother my
brother a little, but not me.  Zack is big for
almost seventeen, and he could shoot the pecker off
a hummingbird at fifty yards like it's nothin'.  A
real pro with the old rifle Pa left him when he and
Ma died over a year ago, so I got no worries there.

But hearin' that gets me to peekin' again.

I can't hardly believe that pretty lady can fight or
is packin' a gun under her coat.  Or is a honest-to-
God doctor.  She's got nice red hair, I whisper to
Zack, and wears lipstick and high heels!  Just then
she raises her arm, the coat moves, and there it is:
a gun in a leather holster.  Well, I'm floored and
gasp, but Zack nods his head like everything's clear
and he knows exactly what he'll do.

What's the plan? I ask.

Trick 'em good, he says.  Tell 'em somebody's hurt
and it'll bring her on down here like a coon after
sweet corn.  You know how ladies and doctors are
when somebody's in trouble, and lucky for you she's
both.  Then we'll knock 'em out one by one.  When
she comes to, I'll have both their guns and she'll
have no choice but to help you.  Him... hell, him
I'll just gag and tie up in a corner.

Not in my pee corner, I warn him, or he *will* be
gaggin'.  And I'm not tryin' to joke about it.
Lately I've had to go around the clock, especially
now that the pains have started up.  They're gettin'
worse again, so I sit back and breathe deep.  When I
let out a tiny groan, Zack steps away and heads over
to the cellar door.

Where might you be headin'? I ask, goosebumps all
over even though I'm sweatin' worse'n a hog.

Zack slings the gun to his shoulder and looks
crafty, like when he's goin' out to track deer.  He
tells me it's time.  The man just went to the car
for somethin', he whispers furtive-like, and the
lady's wanderin' around the house to the back at
this exact minute.  Got her right where we need her
to be.  Help's on the way, Sis.  Don't you fret.

I watch my brother.  Dang it, but my eyes start to
water.  He's tryin' the only way he knows right now
to help me.  Maybe he feels bad that he wasn't
around to protect me the night Lyle Claussen showed
up to jab me with his big pickle.  I reckon Zack's
plan is needful, but it makes me want to cry anyway.

Just don't hurt 'em bad, I say, sniffin'.  Okay?

He nods and slips the gun behind his back, steppin'
up into the daylight outside.  I hear his boots
scuff the dry leaves by the door.  He clears his
throat.  Ma'am? he says, real respectful.  Could you
please come this way a minute?  My little sister
needs help.

What's the matter with her? I hear the red-haired
lady ask, all concerned.  Even her voice sounds
pretty, like a songbird, not flat the way most folks
around here talk.

She needs a doctor, says my brother.  She's right
down here in the cellar, Ma'am.  Can you help her?

It seems to me like she hesitates, thinkin' about it
just a hair too long.  Probably wonderin' whether
she should go back first and get the FBI man to come
in with her.  I know for a fact that Zack won't have
the time or patience for her to make up her mind
about foolishness like that.  My brother's no slouch
when it comes to pullin' off a plan, let me tell
you.

I hear a thunk, a little bleat, and the sound of
Zack catchin' somethin.

She okay? I ask when he carries her in.  She
bleedin' any?  Tiny lady, no bigger than me, with
shiny fingernails, hair spread like a fan, and out
stone cold.  Laid down on the floor close up, she
looks younger, too.

Naw, not much, he says, takin' her gun and jammin'
it in his own pocket.  Just a ding on the head, same
as he'll get when he shows up.  Be wide awake in no
time.  Then he pretends to check her all over for
more weapons, real careful.  He swears under his
breath that he ain't never seen a doctor like this
one before.

Right, I say, narrowin' my eye at him, in a huff.  I
seen that look on a man before, so don't lie to me
or be messin' with her.

Under the dirt Zack's face gets as red as the
woman's hair.  He leaves off.  When he stands up I
know he's shamed by what I saw, which is why I'm
gettin' away with such backtalk.  Listen, I ain't
like that, he says, starin' me right in the face.
You hear?  I ain't no goddamn Claussen, just a
regular, decent man.

I tell him it's all right.  I know and always did.
He's my brother, my only family left 'til this new
little trespasser shows up.  He's tryin' to help me
the only way he can.  Standin' there, Zack looks
like little boy and grown-up all rolled into one.  I
swear we're both ready to blubber when we hear a
deep voice outside call "Scully!" real close.

Just like that, we wipe our faces and Zack shushes
me.  He gets ready for the man to come down into the
cellar, lookin' for his Scully woman.

Yeah, I think everything'll be okay.

I think even God would agree on it this time.  Now
that the lady doctor and the FBI man have come by
just when I need 'em to, maybe God's plannin' to
forgive Zack his whopper of a trespass, and has sent
'em my way on purpose.

It makes pure sense to me.  Here they are, right
when my belly's startin' to hurt me wicked-awful
again.  Like somebody's desperate in there.  Like
somebody's finally goin' crazy in the dark and
thrashin' for all he's worth to get out.

******
The End
 

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