TITLE: Trespassin' AUTHOR: mountainphile RATING: R for language and adult themes EMAIL: mountainphile@yahoo.com URL: http://thebasementoffice.com/Musea/mountainphile/index.html 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 The sequel/conclusion to this story is "Breathin' Room" http://www.mountainphile.com/breathinroom.txt . The reader will benefit by taking them in sequence. 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 druther 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 real 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's got a point somewhere in there and he's older'n me. So each time I say no and here we stay. Except now, things like they are, 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 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'm agreed. 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. I say good riddance. 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, chillbumps 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 still 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 goin'? I ask, chillbumps 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 feller 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 feller. 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 Continued in "Breathin' Room"