Title: Time is Fleeting
Author: ML
10/30/05
Rating: MSR, adult situations and conversations
Disclaimer (to the tune of “You Don’t Own Me”): I don’t own them, I’m just borrowing for a while. Please don’t blame me, I just wanted to make you smile.
Synopsis: Things are not always as they seem. But sometimes they are.
=====
Time is Fleeting
by ML
South Lake Tahoe, California
She might have known Mulder would go AWOL as soon as her back was turned.
Fortunately, he’d only stepped into the shop next to the Starbuck’s. She hadn’t seen him go in, but the vintage Bela Lugosi and Boris Karloff posters in the window were Mulder magnets for sure.
Truth to tell, they drew her in, too. She loved old horror films. She pushed at the shop door with her elbow, juggling the two coffees.
Instead of a jingling bell, screams announced her entrance. She shouldered the door shut, weaving her way through the fake spider webs (with fake spiders, she hoped), a light string of little plastic skulls, and a fake coffin filled with a display of horror films.
Halloween was just around the corner, but it didn’t seem like it on this sunny, mild October day. Scully peered out the shop window to the tall pine trees across the road and the lake glinting in the distance. She sighed. It would have been nice to spend some time here when not on a case. Instead of being out in the crisp mountain air, or better yet, cruising across the lake, they’d spent most the week holed up in a “honeymoon cottage,” spying on a would-be film director.
Mulder turned and smiled at her. “Hey Scully, Luke here says that there’s been a lot of ghostly manifestations around the lake.” He stepped closer to her and lowered his voice. “Maybe enough to scare up another case while we’re here, huh?”
Scully handed him his coffee and raised her eyebrows. “I’ll say this for you, Mulder. You’re not a quitter.”
“I wouldn’t let a little thing like getting locked in a basement overnight faze me.”
“Evidently not,” Scully replied. “Even being locked in the basement *naked* hasn’t done it, and I’d say if anything could, that would do the trick.”
“Yeah, and it was *cold* down there. At least he could have left me a blanket.”
“Being duct-taped to a headboard wasn’t any picnic, either,” she pointed out. “Lucky for us our would-be kidnapper wasn’t very good at improvising.”
“At least you could get loose,” he said. “No humiliating rescue for you. And I notice that you didn’t bring me a warm blanket, either.”
Luke looked bemused at this whispered exchange. He could only hear a few words, but the words were “naked” and “duct tape” which made him shudder.
Scully could see Mulder’s enthusiasm waning for a new case as he remembered the circumstances of the one they’d just closed. “Never mind, Mulder. I didn’t mean to bring up a sore subject. I just meant to say that it would be nice to have a reason to stay here without it having to be official business.”
“Well, why not?” he asked. “Do we really need to head back right away? I know for a fact that we both have plenty of personal time available.”
“What are you suggesting, Mulder?”
“What do you think I’m suggesting? Let’s play hooky.”
“No ghost hunting? No investigation of supernatural phenomena? And especially, no cold basements?”
Mulder rolled his eyes and sighed, as if making a huge concession. “If you insist.” He leaned in and whispered in her ear. “But I wouldn’t rule out naked.”
Scully blushed but smiled. Luke looked envious.
x-x-x-x
Scully put Mulder in charge of finding them accommodations while she assembled a picnic lunch. She thought fleetingly that it might have been better the other way around, but she trusted Mulder to do the right thing for them.
It did feel a little like playing hooky. It wasn’t very often that a case took them to a spot like Lake Tahoe and it seemed wrong not to take advantage of it. Away from the prying eyes of the Bureau and what was left of the Consortium, they could finally have some of the privacy that they craved.
Chores done, they walked hand in hand down to the lakeshore. As beautiful as it was, October was the slow season for the area — in between summer and skiing. There were very few people on the beach.
“What’d you get us?” Mulder asked as they chose a picnic table in the sun.
“Wait and see,” she said. She opened the bag from the deli and spread napkins over the weathered surface of the table. Out came several small packages wrapped in white butcher paper and two iced teas. She handed them to Mulder one by one and took out a small cutting board, two apples, and bread.
“‘A loaf of bread, a jug of iced tea, and thou,'” Mulder misquoted happily. He unwrapped the packages of meat and cheese.
They ate, enjoying the mild sunshine and the smell of warm pine needles.
“I hear there’s been some early snow back East,” Mulder commented. “Hard to believe, isn’t it? Right now I’d say the temperature here is in the mid-70s. It’s great, isn’t it?”
“As long as you keep your back to the casinos,” Scully remarked.
“Can’t have everything, I guess.” He sipped his iced tea. “But much better than being locked in a basement.”
“I’ll say. Even if, on the surface of it, it seemed like the perfect case for you: investigating a would-be porn director, and almost getting to star in one of his movies –”
“Without any of the porn-star type benefits,” he pointed out.
“Can’t have everything, I guess,” she replied.
“I’m not complaining. Not at all,” he said, and put his hand over hers. “If I knew we’d have a day like this at the end of the case, I’d do it again.”
“Even the naked in the basement part?”
Mulder narrowed his eyes at her. “Agent Scully, you seem a trifle obsessed with one particular aspect of the case. May I ask why?”
“Maybe I just like to tease you,” she said.
He shook his head. “We’ve come a long way, haven’t we? You were so different when I first met you.”
“Different how?”
“You were, uh, sort of uptight,” he said, and raised his hands as if to ward off a blow, grinning.
Scully grinned back. “Maybe I wasn’t. Maybe I just wanted you to think that,” she said.
“Are you saying you haven’t changed over the years?”
“Not fundamentally. But how you see me has changed. First impressions are tricky things. When I first saw you, I’d never have pegged you as someone who liked headbanger music.”
“Who says I do?” Mulder asked.
“Remember Ellens Air Force Base? The tape that those two stoners gave you? First impressions, Mulder.”
“Maybe I was just yanking your chain.”
“It works both ways, you know,” she said. “I had to prove myself to you, and I had to get past your defenses. You weren’t easy.”
“Neither were you,” Mulder replied. “Not that that’s a bad thing. I can never resist a challenge.”
“That makes two of us. You could have pretended to cooperate and still have gone your own way. Instead, you threw down the gauntlet. What could I do but pick it up?”
“And the rest, as they say, is history,” Mulder drained his iced tea and tossed the empty into a nearby recycling can. “Two points!”
Scully smiled. “How about dessert?”
“Are you thinking the same thing for dessert as I’m thinking?” Mulder leered at her.
“Speaking of obsessed…” she teased. “Probably not.” She rummaged around in the deli bag and brought out a tub of caramel dip. “For the apples,” she said. “Much less dangerous to the teeth than regular caramel apples.”
Much less dangerous to public decency than what he’d had in mind, too. Scully knew him too well. Mulder put those thoughts away temporarily and said with an almost-straight face, “You’ll have to show me how to do it.” He knew he was asking for it, but he knew just as certainly that Scully wanted to show him.
“Poor deprived man,” said Scully. She took a slice of apple and dipped it into the tub of caramel, twirling it around before pulling it out, still dripping the sticky sweet. Then she slowly brought it up to her lips, gently sucking the caramel off the fruit before taking a bite.
“Ooh Scully,” he breathed. This was almost as good as what he had in mind.
“Want some?” she picked up another piece of fruit and dipped it into the caramel. He took her hand and guided it to his mouth, catching one of her fingers between his lips as she withdrew. Now he wasn’t the only one having trouble breathing. Must be the elevation, he thought. Of something. He grinned and chewed his apple, licking the last of the caramel sauce off his lips, watching Scully watch him.
“Shall I save some for later?” she asked huskily.
He could only nod.
They took their time driving around the lake, stopping to enjoy the vistas afforded by the setting sun. The aspen trees looked like they’d been dipped in gold, contrasting against the dark evergreens. Scarlet oak peeked out here and there, blood-red, amber, and orange. The lake played hide-and-seek through the trees, sometimes silvered by the sun, sometimes gilded. They stopped at a scenic overlook and watched as the last of the sun was hidden by the mountains at their back and the lake turned pewter.
Scully turned to say something to Mulder and met his lips more than halfway to hers. He still tasted like caramel and now she would always associate that flavor with him. Mulder was thinking the same thing about Scully as his tongue teased hers. Sweet, soft caramel and a slight tartness, that was his Scully. Once he’d been lucky enough to get past the latter, he’d found how sweet it was to touch her, to kiss her, to surround himself in her. He was pretty sure that he got the best part of the bargain.
If he could have read Scully’s thoughts at that moment, he would have teased her about how in synch they were. It had always been there; it had just taken them both a long time to give into it.
Scully broke the kiss first but stayed close, stroking his face with her soft hand. His arms went around her, holding her as close as he could, nuzzling his nose against her neck.
They kissed some more, and touched a little, as the moon rose over the lake and created a new vista that was wasted on the two lovers. Clouds began to drift across the moon as time passed and they stayed where they were. All their usual cares, their everyday lives, fell away as they kissed and murmured endearments and silliness, punctuated by more kisses. They’d denied themselves simple pleasures for so long. Just having the time to be together like this was precious.
Eventually Mulder’s hands began to get a little bolder, pulling Scully’s blouse from the waistband of her skirt and placing his palm against her stomach. He felt her trembling.
“Are you cold?” he asked hoarsely, placing kisses wherever he could reach.
“Y-yeah,” she said. “A little. I’m dreaming of a fireplace and a big, soft bed. Are we very far from where we’re staying?”
“It’s — down — the road — a little further,” he said, punctuating his words with more kisses. “I think,” Scully said breathlessly, “that it’s time to go there.”
“Yeah,” Mulder agreed, and turned the key in the ignition. The engine turned, coughed, and died.
He’d left the engine running for the heater once the sun had gone down, but neither had noticed when it quit running a bit ago.
Scully groaned and her head dropped back against the headrest.
“Don’t panic,” Mulder said, though he was doing a good imitation of his panic face. “I’ll look under the hood.”
“Mulder, have you been holding out on me? Do you know anything about cars?”
“Um, not really.”
Scully already had her cell phone out. “No service,” said the helpful little display. “Damn it.”
Mulder got back into the car and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Just for show, he tried his phone too, and got the same helpful message. “Now what?”
“I’m thinking it’s the gas, or maybe the battery,” Scully said.
“Do *you* know anything about cars?” Mulder asked.
“No,” Scully had to admit. “But you could get the engine to turn over, so I’m guessing it’s not mechanical.” A thought struck her. “Did you get gas before we left South Lake Tahoe?”
“I thought you were getting gas,” Mulder said. “When you went to the deli.”
“I thought we agreed a long time ago that it’s the driver who gets the gas, Mulder.”
“Well, technically, you were the driver at that point,” he said.
Scully just looked at him. Mulder could see their getaway crumbling into dust.
He opened his door. “Wait here, Scully. There’s got to be a house around here somewhere. I’ll go get help.”
“You’re not going without me,” Scully said.
“You have a gun, and you might be better off in the car,” Mulder said, looking at her high heels. “If we go together, we both have guns,” Scully pointed out. “I’ll manage.”
They got their coats out of the trunk and put them on. Scully took a couple of bottles of water and slipped them into her coat pockets. “Just in case,” she said as she noticed Mulder watching her. “You can survive a long time without food, but not without water.”
“We’re not exactly in the middle of the desert here,” Mulder said.
“Humor me,” she said tightly.
They trudged down the road, watching for headlights to come along. Mulder looked up at the moon peeking through the clouds. It was enough light, barely, and he didn’t want to use his flashlight until he had to.
“Vampire moon,” he said to Scully, trying to lighten things up.
“Whatever, Mulder,” Scully muttered. She stumbled a little on the gravel of the verge.
He turned his flashlight on.
They came upon a paved but otherwise unmarked road about a quarter of a mile from their car. Mulder thought he could see lights twinkling in the distance. “Shall we give it a try?” he asked Scully.
Scully followed him without a word. He felt like hell. All he’d wanted was a couple of days alone with Scully. Was it too much to ask? Was it fate or his own negligence? He chewed over fate, randomness, and chance in silence as they wound down the road. It seemed to be heading toward the lake, but it doubled back on itself. except for the moon through the trees, they’d have no sense of direction at all.
At last the road began to level out. Without warning, a very large cloud obscured the moon, Mulder’s flashlight went out at almost the same instant, and the paved road once again became gravel.
Scully stumbled again, but Mulder caught her. “I’m sorry, Scully,” he said. “Really.”
“You couldn’t have known this would happen,” she said. “Let’s just let it drop.”
“Okay,” he said gratefully. He got another glimpse of lights through the trees, much closer than before. The path leveled out and after one more bend, they came upon a wide gravel driveway fronting a very large house. It was hard to make out the house’s features with the moon behind it, but lights blazed from the lower windows. Mulder clutched Scully’s hand and they moved forward to the door.
The door was very large and flanked by diamond-paned windows. Mulder found a bell pull and heard a faint ringing somewhere in the house.
After a few moments, the door creaked open, revealing an elderly man in a formal suit.
“Yes, may I help you?” he asked in a normal voice. Scully let out a small breath of relief; she’d been expecting Boris Karloff.
“Excuse us for disturbing you, but is there a telephone we could use? Our car is broken down, up on the highway.”
“Please come in,” said the man. “I’ll get Madam.” He stalked away before they could say anything more.
x-x-x-x
Mulder looked around the entry to see if he could see a phone. The walls were stone but the overall effect was cozy, with patterned rugs on the floor and comfortable chairs. A very large fireplace warmed the room from one corner.
A door opened down the hall and a woman approached them. She was dressed in an elegant satin gown, a triple strand of pearls at her throat. “I’m Mrs. Knight,” she said. “Lewis told me that your car has broken down?”
“Yes,” Mulder said. “I’m Fox Mulder, and this is Dana Scully.”
Scully noticed that he hadn’t produced his badge and wondered if he’d left it in the car. She was about to say something, but he gave her a look, and she stayed silent. For the moment.
“Are you one of the New England Mulders?” Mrs. Knight asked.
“Yes,” Mulder said, tensing up a little. “Do you know them?”
“Not well,” she said. “I think my late husband may have done business with the Mulder family.”
He could feel Scully tensing beside him.
“And…Miss Scully, is it?” she asked delicately.
“Ag — Miss Scully is my partner. Business partner,” Mulder said. He wasn’t about to reveal anything he didn’t have to, and willed Scully to understand.
Mrs. Knight didn’t bat an eyelash. “Business partner? How interesting.”
Oh, she’s good, Mulder thought. Mrs. Knight reminded him of his grandmother Mulder. So well-behaved, but very good at indicating approval or disapproval with the arch of an eyebrow or a simple word.
“We’re investigators,” he said, half-explaining. “We investigate…we’re like private eyes.”
“So Miss Scully must be your assistant,” Mrs. Knight concluded.
Scully bristled at that, and was ready to set Mrs. Knight straight. No matter if she looked like someone’s grandmother, she was either extremely rude or extremely snobbish. Probably both.
“Actually, she’s a better investigator than I am,” Mulder said. “I’m more like her assistant than the other way around.”
“How charming,” she exclaimed, but clearly she thought it was anything but. She changed the subject.
“You’re very fortunate to find anyone here,” she said. “Usually I’ve shut the house up by this time, but the autumn has been so mild we stayed a few weeks longer. We’re leaving in the morning, in fact.”
“We’re very sorry to have disturbed you,” Mulder said again. “If we might use your phone, we’ll call for road service and go back to the car.”
“I’m afraid the nearest garage that might still be open is in Reno,” Mrs. Knight said. “It could take hours for them to get here. If you can tell me where the car is, I’ll send one of the men to check it for you. Antonio is a very good mechanic.”
“We think it might just be out of gas,” Scully added.
Mrs. Knight turned to her as if seeing her for the first time. “I’ll ask Antonio to take a gas can with him. If it is just that, he can drive the car down here. You shouldn’t have to walk back up that long drive.”
“If you have gas available, I’d be happy to go up myself,” Mulder said. “No need to send your man.”
“Nonsense!” Mrs. Knight said. “You’ve walked all the way down here and no doubt you’re tired. And if it isn’t just gasoline, you’ll have to walk back down again. Just tell Antonio where to find your car and he will see to it.”
Obviously Mrs. Knight was a woman used to having her own way, and Mulder belatedly realized that walking up alone meant leaving Scully at the house. Much better if they could stay together.
“In fact, considering the lateness of the hour I think it would be much better if you stayed the night,” their would-be hostess said.
Mulder half-expected a flash of lightening and a peal of thunder to accompany her words. They were straight out of any number of legends and horror films.
“No, really, we couldn’t impose,” Scully was saying.
“I insist,” Mrs. Knight said. “I’ll have Maria show you to your rooms. Have you dined? We’ve finished dinner but I can have something sent up to you.”
Maybe it was just the proximity to Halloween, but the whole evening had taken on a surreal quality. There was something strange going on.
Nonetheless, when the uniformed maid arrived in the hall, they followed her upstairs after thanking Mrs. Knight again.
“It’s no trouble at all,” Mrs. Knight said. “If you need anything, please ring.”
Mulder leaned over and whispered to Scully, “If you need anything, just scream…”
Scully stifled a laugh that would have bordered on the hysterical if she’d let it.
x-x-x-x
Scully stared in awe at the large, claw-footed bathtub in her bathroom. The bathroom was every woman’s dream, outfitted with glass and silver toiletries and huge, fluffy towels. The bedroom was even more luxurious. A low fire glowed in the fireplace, and the bed was outfitted with a featherbed and sumptuous linens.
There was a knock at her door. She opened it, starting to say, “Mul–”
It was another maid, with a covered tray. “Madam sent up a light supper, Miss,” she said.
“Thank you,” Scully said faintly, and watched as the maid set the tray on a table near the fire. “Can I get you anything else, Miss?” The maid asked.
“No thank you,” Scully managed. The maid nodded and withdrew.
This time when she heard the knock she opened the door more cautiously. Mulder stood there, holding a similar tray in his hands. “Care to join me for dinner?” he asked. He had changed into an elegant robe of deep burgundy shot with black.
“Aren’t you just to the manor born?” said Scully, thinking longingly of her bathtub.
“When in Rome…” Mulder said. He set his tray down on the table and drew up two chairs. “Please sit, Madam,” he said with a flourish.
As they ate, Scully asked, “Does this place strike you as strange at all, Mulder?”
“In what way?” Mulder asked, after he’d swallowed a large bite of roast chicken.
“Well, here’s this house out in the middle of nowhere, no signs or gates, no particular security. I don’t see any electronic security devices anywhere, in fact. And look around the room — no telephone, no TV, no radio.”
“It’s almost un-American, isn’t it?” Mulder remarked. “Yeah, I noticed all that, too. But if it’s a getaway, I can understand the lack of TVs and all in the rooms. Or maybe these rooms just aren’t used very much. She said something about guests — we aren’t the only ones here.”
“The furnishings seem a bit old-fashioned, but they all appear to be fairly new,” Scully said.
“Restoration Hardware must love Mrs. Knight,” Mulder quipped. “Welcome to the world of the rich and eccentric.”
“You’re not suspicious at all?” Scully asked.
“Well, maybe a little,” Mulder admitted. “I’d like to know more about how she knows my family’s name. That seems a bit coincidental.”
“What do you suggest we do?” Scully asked. “Sneak out under cover of night? Go searching for the telephone?” There was another knock on the door. Scully motioned to Mulder to stand behind the door as she opened it to reveal Mrs. Knight.
“Miss Scully, I just thought I’d check to see if you have everything you need. Mr. Mulder did not answer.”
“I’m right here,” Mulder stepped out from behind the door, quickly hiding his gun in the pocket of his robe.
Mrs. Knight took in his bathrobed appearance. Her eyes flicked briefly to Scully and then back to him. “I see. Antonio has brought your car down and it will be ready for you in the morning. He says it appears that it had just run out of gas,” she said directly to Mulder. “I’ll wish you goodnight.”
Scully’s face flamed. “Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Knight.”
“The maid will wake you at seven a.m.,” she said. “If you’d like an earlier call, please let her know when she comes for your trays.”
“Thank you,” Scully said again. Mrs. Knight nodded and walked away.
“Well,” Mulder said, “I feel like I was caught in flagrante delicto.”
“But I get the impression it’s me she’s judging,” Scully said.
“She’s just jealous,” Mulder said. “Still feeling uneasy?”
“Aren’t you?”
“I’m inclined to believe that she’s just a little eccentric,” Mulder said. “Maybe we’re just too paranoid.”
“That’s funny, coming from you, Mr. No-matter-how-paranoid-you- are-it’s-not-enough.”
He came to her and wrapped his arms around her. “I dunno what it is, Scully, but as weird as it is, I don’t get a bad vibe.”
“Maybe,” Scully said. “But it might be better if we take turns keeping watch tonight. I think we should stay together.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Mulder said. “Just try and kick me out. I’ll take first watch. I bet you’re dying to try out that bathtub.”
“You know me too well,” Scully said.
A long, luxurious soak later, Scully was a bit more at peace with the world and with their situation. Maybe they *were* just too paranoid for their own good. When presented with simple, gracious (albeit a bit condescending) hospitality, they viewed it with suspicion. What did that say about them?
Nonetheless, it paid to be cautious. She felt better that Mulder was with her.
She came out in a satin robe of her own, her hair softly curling from the steam of the bath.
Mulder was lounging on the bed, looking rather smug. “What?” she asked.
He dangled the car keys in front of her. “The maid brought our bags up. And the keys. Feel better?”
“About what?”
“That we’re not being held prisoner or under any kind of duress.”
“Are you saying that sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, Mulder?”
“Ooh, dirty psychiatrist talk. I like it,” he said. “Wanna guess what I have on under my robe?”
“I bet it’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” she shot back.
“Come over here and say that,” he growled.
She went, willingly.
x-x-x-x
The sun was peeking through the edge of the curtains when Scully opened her eyes the next morning. She stretched slowly, brushing against Mulder sleeping beside her. She reached for her watch on the bedside table.
She wasn’t sure what time they’d finally both fallen asleep, but it had been very, very late.
“Hey,” she said, shaking Mulder’s shoulder. “I think the maid forgot us.”
“Wha?” he said. “Time’s it?”
“Seven-thirty,” she said. “So, unless you told the maid to wake us later, she forgot.”
Mulder sat up. “Mrs. Knight said they’d be leaving today, so I’ll bet they’ve just been too busy to think of the unexpected house guests. Still, we’d better get up. Maybe we’re not too late for breakfast.”
A short time later, they descended the staircase to the dim front hallway. There was no sign of life anywhere — no butler, no maids, no sounds from any of the rooms. “Do you suppose they’ve already left?” Scully asked.
Mulder opened one of the doors leading off the hallway. “Hey Scully, look at this.”
She came over to the door and looked into what appeared to be a study. There was a velvet rope at the entrance, and a sign explaining the purpose of the room.
“Mrs. Knight engaged her son-in-law to design the house with the Nordic elements that she admired,” Scully read. “What does this mean?”
“It looks like we’re in some kind of museum,” Mulder said.
The front doorknob rattled and both agents were on the alert. “Anyone there?” called a voice from the door.
“Yeah,” Mulder answered. “Special Agents Mulder and Scully. FBI.” They stepped toward the entrance, showing their badges. A man in a park ranger uniform approached them. “How’d you get in here?”
“We knocked, and were invited in.” Mulder said.
“When? Just now?”
“No, last night. Our car ran out of gas and we were looking for a phone. The lady of the house invited us to stay.”
“There’s no `lady of the house’, Mr. Mulder. This is State Park property.”
“No one was here last night?”
“There sure as hell shouldn’t have been. Vikingsholm is closed to tours after September, though you can still walk around the grounds.”
Mulder and Scully looked at each other. “Vikingsholm?”
“Yeah. Built in 1929 by Mrs. Lora Josephine Knight. It was sold to the Parks Service in the 50’s. No one’s lived here since then.”
“Anything special happen here?” Mulder asked.
“Such as?”
“I dunno, a famous murder, an important historical personage visiting, something like that.”
“I heard Will Rogers was a houseguest once, but that’s about it. It was Mrs. Knight’s summer home. She had a lot of friends and relatives to stay, and by all reports, was a generous and gracious hostess.”
“And no one does any living history stuff, or rents it out?”
“If they did, I’d know about it,” Lewis said. “What’s all this about, anyway? You folks investigating something?”
“I’m not sure,” Mulder replied. “Like I said, we were let in last night by someone calling herself Mrs. Knight. We spent the night.”
“Show me where,” Ranger Lewis requested. Mulder and Scully led him upstairs.
They went from room to room and could find no evidence of anyone spending the night in any of the rooms. They were all as pristine as a museum display.
They went into the kitchen and through the rooms downstairs. There was no sign of life, anywhere.
“I don’t know what to say, Agents,” said Lewis. “I don’t have an explanation for you. I’ve never heard of Vikingsholm being haunted, and frankly I wouldn’t believe it if I did. It’s close to Halloween, could be that someone broke in and was having a little fun. I don’t know how they got past the alarms without tripping them, though.”
“Is that how you knew we were in here? Did we trip an alarm?”
“Yeah, I got a call about 7:30 this morning that one of the silent alarms went off. We’ve gotten a lot of false alarms in the past, but now I wonder if they were.”
“Sounds pretty spooky to me,” Mulder said. “Are we done here? We’re actually due in King’s Beach. That’s where we were headed last night.”
“Yeah, we’re okay, I guess. Where can I reach you?” Mulder handed him a card. “Let me know if you find out anything, okay?”
“Sure thing,” the ranger said.
Mulder turned away and then stopped short. “I almost forgot. We can’t go anywhere until we get gas. Can you take us somewhere to get some? That’s what started all this in the first place.”
“That your car over there?” Ranger Lewis pointed to the brown Taurus at the edge of the drive.
“Y-yeah, I think so,” Mulder said. He looked at Scully as he walked over to the car.
The car looked like it had been waxed recently, and the windshield was devoid of any dust or bugs that might have accumulated in their drive around the lake the day before. Mulder got in and turned the key, watching as the gas gauge slowly moved all the way over to the right.
“We seem to have a full tank now,” he called over to Scully and the ranger.
Ranger Lewis shrugged. “Maybe there was a clog or it overheated or something. It sounds like it’s running fine.”
Mulder turned off the ignition and walked back over to where the ranger and Scully stood. “Well, I guess we’ll shove off, then,” he said. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” said Lewis, and he watched as Mulder and Scully got into their car and drove away.
Once they’d gained the highway, Scully asked, “What just happened back there, Mulder?”
“I have a theory,” he said, “based on something I experienced once before, but you’ll probably disagree.”
“Try me,” she said.
“You heard Ranger Lewis. The house was built in 1929, and its heyday was throughout the 30s and early 40s. I think maybe we did a spot of time-travel last night.”
Scully looked very thoughtful. “I was expecting the Haunted Mansion Theory. Instead, I get the Bermuda Triangle Theory.”
“You name my theories?” Mulder asked.
“Well, not all of them.”
“So you find time-travel an acceptable explanation?”
“Maybe just the least unacceptable one,” Scully hedged.
“Scully…” Mulder groaned.
“Mulder, when you investigated the Queen Anne you were checking out a story about the ship disappearing and reappearing in the Bermuda Triangle. With the haunted house, you were checking out a legend that had some basis in a historical event. According to the ranger, nothing historically significant happened here. And, it appears that Vikingsholm was a reasonably happy house so it stands to reason that it wouldn’t be haunted.”
“How do you explain it otherwise? How do you explain the full tank of gas?”
“I don’t,” she said. “Maybe there is a good explanation, but I’m on vacation, Mulder. You promised me no ghosts or investigating paranormal phenomena.”
“Some seek out phenomena, some have phenomena thrust upon them,” Mulder said. “You aren’t curious?”
“Of course I am, I’m just looking for the simplest explanation.”
“So am I,” Mulder said. “And I think that’s it. I want to know more, Scully.”
x-x-x-x
The Lakeview Bed and Breakfast wasn’t nearly as opulent as Vikingsholm, but they had a reasonable expectation of waking up in the same time period there.
Before heading to King’s Beach, they’d gone back to South Lake Tahoe to talk to Luke about local ghosts, only to find that his shop was closed. Mulder spent time going through newspaper archives and searching the web for more information on Mrs. Knight and Vikingsholm but found nothing significant, except reports of her legendary hospitality. Why wouldn’t she extend it to stranded motorists, especially in an era when houses along the lake were few and far between, and unexpected visitors even rarer?
They resumed their vacation with no more answers than before. Over a Black Cat Ale and burgers at the North Shore Brewpub, Mulder pondered the mystery.
“Maybe we should just accept it, Mulder,” Scully suggested. “No harm was done to us, as near as I can tell.”
“I guess not,” he said glumly. “It would be nice to have some evidence, though.”
“A full tank of gas?” Scully asked.
“Ephemeral at best. We can’t prove where it came from, we just know that it was empty the night before.”
“Even if we dreamed it, it was a nice dream,” Scully said. “And it gives us better memories of Lake Tahoe than the actual case we were on.”
“You’re not going to bring up that basement thing again, are you?” Mulder asked.
“Of course not,” Scully said. “But as you said before, I wouldn’t rule out naked.”
end.
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Author’s notes: Vikingsholm is a real place. Want to know more? www.vikingsholm.com
Mrs. Lora J. Knight was also a real person, and I hope I’ve done no disservice to her memory by including mention of her in this story.
I have no idea if there’s a Lakeview Bed and Breakfast in King’s Beach, or a North Shore Brewpub, but there probably should be.
This was a challenge fic. Elements were: a creaking door skulls blood red a werewolf, or vampire moon screams cobwebs and spiders a coffin a Boris Karloff mention A car running out of gas on a deserted road black cat caramel apples
The title I borrowed from the lyrics of a fairly well-known song. Do you know it? I bet you do.