X-Files: Trust No One

by Tim Lebbon

  Now they could see that it, too, was a splintered ruin.

  Indeed, the elderly man was in the same shape as Carlo DesMarais, as they determined after trudging back across the lot. They stood over his mutilated body.

  “I guess Carlo wasn’t the werewolf after all,” Mulder muttered.

  In the distance, howling again broke the eerie silence.

  Scully glanced at him, and at the old man who’d leered at her. She felt numb.

  *****

  5:35 a.m.

  Mulder handed off the messy crime scene to the swarm of efficient Mounties summoned by their call, relief flooding through his tired system. He shook hands with their team leader and promised to coordinate reports.

  It was dawn, and the blizzard was over. Most of the tracks had been obliterated or simply covered by new snow. The agents swept their car clean and minutes later turned onto the newly plowed road. Inspector Reynard gave them the word that the main highway was open again. They tried calling the D.C. bureau office, but their cell phones were dead.

  “No signal out here in the sticks,” Mulder said as he flipped the phone shut. “It’ll be nice if these things ever get the coverage we need.”

  His foot hit the brake hard and the car’s rear end slewed as they came to a stop at an angle.

  A dog—a very large, black dog—stared at them from where he had suddenly appeared between snow banks left by the plow. Or was it a wolf? Definitely too large to be a coyote—its eyes appeared green in the brilliant white of the background. Still staring into the car, it walked slowly across the road. Mulder held the brake pushed down and only when the animal had disappeared did he realize that he was in danger of putting the pedal through the floor.

  He shook his head, glanced at Scully, who studiedly avoided his gaze.

  They drove in silence a while, many things better left unsaid.

  Finally Mulder cracked. “What are we going to tell Skinner?”

  Scully shrugged. She’d wondered the same. “That Carlo won’t be testifying against his old gang because they tracked us somehow and got to him while we slept?”

  “I really read the whole thing wrong, didn’t I?” Mulder mused.

  Scully almost shrugged again, but caught herself. She said nothing.

  “At least he tried to warn us,” Mulder pointed out as he turned cautiously onto the 416 again and set the car on its way to the border.

  “There is that,” Scully agreed. “Yes, there is.”

  End

  It’s All in the Eyes

  By Heather Graham

  PURGATORY PASS, ESSEX COUNTY, MASSACHUSETTS

  30th OCTOBER, 2009, 1:00 a.m.

  Skeletons hung from the rafters along with images of classic movie monsters. Witches rode on broomsticks and as Hannah Barton entered the giant warehouse store, a motion-activated ghost went flying over her head. The shelves on the walls were packed to the gills with smaller versions of monstrous creatures, tombstones, diseased rats, little green men, alien blobs, and all kinds of scary decorations.

  She didn’t think much about the creatures—most of which were incredibly expensive. Most of what they sold at Mayfield’s Monsters and Mayhem Emporium were movie replicas of horror creations that were done through companies approved by those who own the motion pictures that had spawned them and they were wonderfully crafted. Of course, no one needed a license to create some of the magnificent ghosts, witches, vampires, and just plain creepy looking corpses, clowns, dolls, and other decorations they carried. Still, they were all top notch.

  She walked down to the aisle that carried their corpse dolls, notebook in her hand. She was there—after working hours, mind you—because one Caitlin Corpse had been returned the night before. A few of her fellow co-workers—Randy Smith and Roberta Blake—were behind her. They were taking their time, doing this more or less out of a sense of duty. And extra pay.

  But Hannah wanted to rise to the more elite ranks in the Mayfield’s Monsters and Mayhem hierarchy, so she was here alone, forging ahead. She would do the bulk of the work—even the record keeping and reporting. Going above and beyond meant that she might one day get to go on the buying trips and head out to some of the studios where the creations were conceived and constructed.

  That’s because Matthew Mayfield was a total aficionado of the genre. He wanted to believe that the aliens had long come and landed, that the dead rose as zombies, and that ghosts and creatures lay hidden just beneath the earth’s surface everywhere. She rather figured that he was like her—he just loved all that was eerie and creepy. But she also liked to believe she was his pet—she could rise in the ranks to become management.

  Not that it was bad working here even as a peon—she loved it. Since she’d been a little kid, she’d loved all that was creepy and chilled the flesh, the old stuff—Poe and Lovecraft, Shelley, Stoker, you name it—and more contemporary writers such as Steven King and Peter Straub, Matheson and more. She loved old Hammer films and every new horror, sci-fi, fantasy film or game to hit the market. And when things here went on sale when the season was over, she and the other employees got first dibs. It wasn’t a bad job at all—and she could rise within the ranks.

  If that meant taking time after work to take a look at the rest of their Caitlin Corpse dolls—when most of the rest of the staff was wearily calling it quits—she didn’t mind.

  Caitlin Corpse was in high demand—it was almost Halloween.

  Caitlin Corpse—when her “on” switch had been flicked—was motion activated. She was truly dreadful looking and life-sized. Hannah knew that a top model had actually been hired so that Caitlin could start out as a truly beautiful young woman—but once the model had been cast, the fright fabricators had set to her with a relish. Her flesh was a gray that truly seemed to speak of death and decay and the grave. Her cheeks were sucked out; her teeth had been filed. The eyes had been enlarged and blood had been made to drip from a ring around her neck, from her eyes, and from her ears. She wore a dress that was consumed by spider webs. She was usually set behind a door and when that door opened, she would reach out—as if she were about to embrace anyone entering with her skeletal fingers and gruesome nails and, certainly, scare that person half to death.

  Caitlin cost a lot—and yet the manufacturer had received so many orders for her that Caitlin would soon have a whole clan. They were now creating family and friends to join her—Carly Corpse, Conar Corpse, Cathy Corpse, Mama Corpse, Grandpa Corpse, and more were in the works. Hannah had seen the sales ads for Grandma Corpse—although she wasn’t going to be out until next year.

  Hannah suddenly stopped walking, staring ahead. There were only two big windows in the store, and those were at the far rear. They looked out over the old Anglican church and the graveyard that were part of the New England charm of the area—especially at Halloween. But, for some reason, seeing the rise of cherubs and angels, vaults and mausoleums, aged and lichen covered, caught her breath. There seemed to be an eerie light that had settled over the church and graveyard. The moon, she told herself. It would be full soon—just in time for Halloween.

  As she stood there, she jumped, caught by a noise. One of the ghosts had flown over her head again.

  “Hey!” she called back. Randy and Roberta should have been closer behind her. She gave herself a mental shake—she couldn’t let them see that the creatures had unnerved her. They’d laugh—or worse. They’d tell everyone else.

  She made a point of looking away from the graveyard. But it seemed a noise was coming from the back, something like... wind and cold whistling as if it were coming through.

  It was coming through, she realized. She had been attracted to the windows and the light beyond because something was wrong. There was a crack in one of the windows.

  “Randy, Roberta! Where are you guys?” she demanded, making herself walk to the back to check it out.

  It wasn’t just a crack. Part of the window had been crashed in—there were glass fragments all over the floor.

/>   Did that mean that there was someone in the warehouse with her—someone who wasn’t Roberta or Randy?

  She looked out the window and stood frozen in fear for a minute. It looked as if a bomb had gone off in the graveyard—she realized that tombstones were askew and scattered, praying angels lay broken on their sides...

  Corpses littered the ground.

  She fumbled in the pocket of her skirt for her cell phone as she backed away.

  She backed right into one of the Caitlin Corpse dolls. The shop had three of them, all identical. They were all five-six, with spider-web-infested hair, all wearing the same ragged, lacy, spider-webbed dress. They were beyond gruesome with their filed teeth and ripped up faces. And their eyes. They bulged in shadowed circles—with blood dripping from the tear ducts. She’d never noticed any difference in the eyes before, but tonight...

  One of the dolls had blue eyes, the second had eyes that were a smoky gray. The third—the one she’d backed into—had yellow, snakelike eyes. The pupils were vertical, not round. And it seemed to stare at her—really stare at her—like a snake, ready to strike.

  She was going crazy because she’d backed into it. She shouldn’t have backed into it. It should have been against the wall!

  She thought she heard something and quickly looked at a row of evil clown dolls that were next to a row of creepy Victorian dolls. They were the most normal—which somehow made them the creepiest. That was it; she was scaring herself. It had almost sounded like a chattering, as if the creatures in the place were speaking to one another in a strange language.

  It was just rustling; the heat was on. Motors were going on and off...

  The dolls weren’t talking—or laughing.

  They just sat on the shelf, as decorations. Scary things to make up a cool Halloween atmosphere for a party or a haunted house or hay ride.

  Yes, that’s what they were, what they were...

  She turned and was in the arms of the Caitlin Corpse doll.

  And she froze.

  It was moving; it was holding her... it was...

  Evil eyes gleamed into hers, the laughing sound grew louder...

  She fought hard for sanity.

  Well, of course the doll moved. She was here to make sure that they all were moving properly. The one had been returned because it had hugged a guest at a party—and hugged him so tightly that he had bruises and cuts.

  And this one was hugging her and hugging her...

  And looking at her with those evil eyes.

  It seemed as if they had all taken a step forward.

  It was late. Everyone was gone.

  Throw it off! Fight it!

  She was just unnerved and being ridiculous. But the dolls were just about her size. It was as if she was facing three evil... creatures.

  Living creatures.

  Okay. She worked with monsters, but...

  Then the one blinked. Blinked with the snake-like eyes.

  It blinked. It wasn’t supposed to blink!

  She heard laughter and tried to fight the hard arms of the mechanical creature.

  It sounded as if laughter had come from the clown dolls.

  The clown dolls were doing nothing, and yet...

  The sound of laughter seemed to echo throughout the vast corridors and shadows of the room.

  The arms were tightening around her, the bony, decaying arms...

  And the snake-like eyes blinked again. Just as the rotting lips twisted twisted into a smile.

  Hannah screamed, struggling, and fighting those arms—nothing but the instinct to survive driving her mind.

  Her fight was to no avail. The Caitlin Corpse doll twirled its skeletal fingers into her hair and ripped her back so hard that she fell.

  Stunned and flat on the ground, she looked up. The doll was bent over her. The chattering, the sound like laughter, seemed to grow...

  She screamed and screamed...

  But the eyes just came closer and closer...

  *****

  ALL HALLOW’S EVE

  6:30 a.m.

  When Dana Scully arrived at the scene, there were people everywhere. Fox Mulder had arrived before she had; he was speaking with a young woman who trembled so vehemently that Dana could see her across the room.

  She took a quick moment to survey the situation before Mulder saw her and before the local police detective in charge could approach her and skew her first impressions.

  First, it was difficult to tell what was real. So many distorted, bleeding, evilly grinning, or disarticulated creatures were spread through the room that she had to look twice to find the corpses.

  There were two of them, the bodies of a young man and a young woman. They were standing in the midst of two full-sized corpse dolls, a skeletal body with a pumpkin head. She was glad to see that no one had touched the bodies as of yet; she would be able to view them first in situ.

  As she started to make her way across the room, the detective in charge waylaid her. He was a big man, tall and hefty, and she liked him immediately. Maybe it was his size; he didn’t feel the need to be puffed out or macho, despite seeming a little puzzled that she had managed to come as far as she had. “Ma’am, this is a crime scene, I’m afraid. I’m so sorry, you shouldn’t have been able to get past the tape at the front.”

  She flashed her badge. “Scully, sir. FBI. And I’m also a medical examiner. May I?” She indicated the bodies that were posed against the wall as if they were one with the Halloween creatures.”

  “You may,” he told her. “Detective Ben Fuller out of Boston. And I’m here to follow you—this is the damnedest thing I’ve ever seen. You’ve just come across the top of the heap here. I have no problem whatsoever with the FBI taking the lead, though my men will be happy to assist in any way you so choose.”

  “I appreciate that, Detective Fuller. What did you mean? There are more—dead?” she asked.

  Fuller scrunched up his face. “Thousands of them really—but maybe fifty or so that matter.”

  “Fifty?”

  Mulder’s call had been brief; he had only told her about two murders.

  “Not fresh, mind you. And they’re strewn all over the cemetery,” Fuller told her. “Out back—the adjoining property belongs to the Anglican Church—since the end of the 1600s. The surrounding acreage is a graveyard. Crypts were broken into—there’s a massive hole where the catacombs that were—still are—part of the church. You’ll have to see it, ma’—”

  Fuller broke off. He was about to call her ma’am.

  “Agent Scully.”

  Dana looked around. Fox was still talking to the young woman who was shaking so fervently.

  “Our one witness,” Fuller said.

  “She saw it all—she knows who did this, all of this?” Dana asked.

  Fuller shook his head and scrunched his face in aggravated disgust. “Crazy as a loon—or guilty as all hell. She says the dolls did it.”

  “The dolls?” Dana repeated, frowning.

  “To be specific, the Caitlin Corpse dolls,” Fuller said. “Your partner is humoring her, I imagine, trying to find something that’s truth there in her story.”

  Dana was torn then between heading straight to the dead or straight to the attractive young woman shivering so fiercely as she spoke to Mulder.

  Mulder, she knew, was listening intently. He wasn’t humoring the girl.

  Dana didn’t have to ask Fuller to go on; he was a good cop and continued with, “Hannah Barton. She’s the one who dialed 911, hysterical. She was entangled in a heap of the other dolls, screaming that they were all coming to life, that she needed help. To be fair to the woman, a clown puppet was hanging there in the dark and she must have walked right to it and gotten entangled in the strings. She was really wrapped up and I don’t see any way she could have gotten up. Nor can I see how she could have done that to herself. I was going to send her straight to the psych ward but your partner wanted to talk to her. By all reports, and through her boss—Matthew Mayfield
, who owns the place—she was a hard-working, level-headed girl—until tonight.”

  “Mayfield was here?”

  “No, he’d gone home for the night. We got him out after the 911 call.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “Outside, sitting on a grave stone—and waiting for us in case we have more questions.”

  “Thanks, Detective,” Dana said. “I’ll take a look at the corpses and then join my partner and take a look at the graveyard destruction. As soon as I can, then, I’ll appreciate a lead on the autopsies, I’ll just need you to direct me to the morgue.”

  “Yes, ma’—Agent Scully. Make your way through the—creature crunch here on the floor.”

  Fuller led her through the piles of dolls, pumpkins, puppets, evil clowns, and so on that were strewn along the floor.

  As they walked, she looked to the rear of the place. Glass was broken down at the windows that overlooked the graveyard. Through what remained of the windows she could see the massive and bizarre destruction of angels and cherubs, mausoleums and tombstones.

  “No one heard all this?” she asked Fuller.

  “No one,” Fuller said. “But then again, the nearest neighbor—other than the graveyard of the real dead—is a gymnasium down the hill. When this places closes for the night—unless it’s Christmas Eve—there’s nothing going on here. Perfect place for perfect quiet—or a near perfect crime.”

  Dana paused in front of the two young people who had been killed. He had been skinny—possibly somewhat geeky looking in life. He’d been hung on hooks in the wall so that he looked like a puppet—awkwardly akimbo, like a Halloween decoration himself. The girl had her mouth opened in a huge O. While autopsy would reveal far more detail, it didn’t take a medical degree to ascertain cause of death—they’d both had their throats ripped out.

  “Have you found the murder weapon?” asked Dana.

  Fuller made a face. “Yeah, we found it.” He winced. “Take a look at the doll next to the corpse.”

  Dana did so. The nails on the skeletal fingers on the rotting and skeletal hands were crusted in blood; real blood ran down most of her gruesome apparel.