The X-Files Episode 12x15: It's Later Than You Think
Inspired a little by Stephen King's "1408", and trying to style some of my writing on the way he pens books.
This fanfic once again took me a while to write; too much writers block, as I tried to write a "single hander" story about Mulder in a haunted hotel room; harder than it seemed.
The whole use of the song mentioned in the title came from seeing the lyrics on a bench when I was recceing a hike a few years ago.
Trigger warning for suicide references.
The X-Files Episode 12x15: It’s Later Than You Think
22 SEPTEMBER 2019
8:00PM
WASHINGTON, DC
Washington DC’s Lovecraft Hotel was a grand-looking old building. Just the right setting for a horror film, Mulder thought as he entered Room 237.
The room looked innocuous enough; a large double bed sat in the centre of the room; there were the usual furnishings, including a wardrobe, which probably contained extra sheets, and an ironing board. A few pictures were scattered around the walls; Mulder wasn’t too sure about the ugly one of a long-necked circus clown. It felt like the stuff of nightmares.
A 1970s record player sat in the corner, looking redundant, without even a record for it to play.
There was a door that led through to the bathroom, and another that evidently led through to the room next door. Mulder was never sure why so many hotels were designed with these weird connecting doors, like you were expected to pay your erstwhile neighbour a visit, say hello.
Nevertheless, this room was very cheap to rent for the night, and the rumours of it being haunted were the reason why Mulder had chosen to stay there. Scully had refused to believe such nonsense, and in any case she wanted to stay at home, and bond with Jackson now that he had suddenly shown up on their veranda.
Mulder might even get evidence of the existence of ghosts caught on camera; just one thing he could prove, and finally help him to vindicate the existence of the X-Files. Maybe if he managed to prove ghosts exist, and captured a real-life E.T. …
… Maybe he could finally stop working on the X-Files, enjoy some sort of retirement.
The added advantage of having an unemployed Jackson at home was that he was now Tena’s unemployed babysitter, in return for living with them rent-free. Scully had just been pleased to be reunited with her son; she wasn’t going to leave him homeless.
Mulder looked around the room, glancing at everything, and then looked into the bathroom. It was surprisingly modern-looking, with a combined bath and shower, and a large mirror over the sink.
He opened his suitcase, and carefully took out a few possessions from his bag; he didn’t need much, as he was just staying one night. He unfolded and lay out some spare clothes on the bed, and then pulled out two bags of sunflower seeds. He placed them on a bedside table.
He took out a penknife; he never really had much use for it, but he liked to be prepared.
Just in case it ever did come in handy.
He bought out two copies of the Lone Gunmen magazine, and placed them on the other bedside table. He’d initially planned to bring some porn magazines, but the rumours of the room being haunted put them off. There was no way he was going to masturbate in front of ghosts; he didn’t like the idea of being watched.
He also put his phone on charge; he could use it to stay in touch with Scully overnight.
Mulder took his toothbrush and toothpaste into the bathroom, and left it on the sink. At least he’d remembered his oral hygiene.
The bathroom’s décor fitted the style of the main room; it looked old fashioned. Like most hotels, there was a combined bath and shower, giving Mulder a choice of how to go through his daily routine.
Mulder almost always showered; who has time for a bath these days?
The bathroom floor was made of wood like the bedroom floor, but looked newer than everything else, like it had been replaced at some point.
He was so busy, he did not see the shadow on the wall, taking the form of a man, despite the fact that there was no one around to cast this shadow. Unnoticed, it moved towards the record player, and reached down, before disappearing.
Mulder looked around startled, as the music began. He recognized The Specials right away:
Enjoy yourself, it's later than you think,
Enjoy yourself, while you're still in the pink,
The years go by, as quickly as you wink,
Enjoy yourself, enjoy yourself, it's later than you think,
Hello, I'm Terry, and I'm going to enjoy myself first
XXXXX
Mulder fiddled with the record player unsure of what to do, but the music stopped as abruptly as it had started.
“Eenie Meenie, Chilli Beanie; the spirits are about to speak”, he muttered to himself.
If there was a ghost, it was a ghost with good musical taste. The song had been written in 1949, and his parents had still been fixated with it as he had been growing up with Samantha.
Mulder took out the record that someone had left on the turntable, and placed it inside its sleeve. Strangely, it seemed to have been the only record that had been left in the room.
He opened a packet of sunflower seeds, and started eating them. If all that happened in this room was that a record player started playing itself, he could deal with it.
After a few moments, he felt around for cold patches. To be honest, it felt futile, as the entire room felt cold; maybe there were phantoms everywhere.
He put on the TV; the image was black and white, and unsteady. Mulder hit the TV, and image vanished completely.
Grumbling, he changed channels; the next station wasn’t much better, but Mulder kept trying until he bought up a documentary about the lyricists behind The Specials. He lay down on the bed and started watching, while eating more of his sunflower seeds.
He started wishing he’d bought three packets with him.
“Enjoy yourself”, he muttered; “it’s later than you think”, remembering the lyrics to the song.
He was taken by surprise when a face flickered up on screen; it looked like a bald, middle-aged man. The face put him in mind of a less cheerful version of Skinner.
A strangely creepy version of Skinner.
Mulder felt the air grow even colder as the face appeared.
Seconds later, the television blinked off. Mulder tried the remote for a few minutes, but nothing happened. It would appear that it had given up the ghost completely, for want of a better expression.
Mulder started reading one of the issues of the Lone Gunmen magazine. The first article bore the familiar all-seeing eye and pyramid that he was familiar with.
NOVUS ORDO SECLORUM…
…as the illuminati would say, and also…
ANNUIT CŒPTUS
Jimmy Bond’s article was all about their new theories about the Illuminati, and organisations that they were most likely controlling.
“Seems that the illuminaty are more in charge than we might like to think”; Mulder spotted where one of Jimmy’s typos had slipped through the proof-reading process.
“Oh, Jimmy”, he laughed; “I always wondered how my friends put up with you”.
It seemed from the article that several elementary schools had secret rooms underneath them where the illuminati met regularly, and tried to initiate kids. The kids then returned to their studies, and spied on their friends.
Illuminati junior; who would have guessed.
At that point, the lights went out, and the room was plunged into darkness.
Mulder glanced out of the window; a quick check around showed that it seemed to be only his room that was affected. He could see lights coming from adjacent windows, and hear televisions playing.
Televisions playing with decent sound, and probably full colour picture quality.
“Hello?” Mulder said to the empty and dark room; “what do you look like?”
He often quoted films when he couldn’t think what else to say. He’d watched Poltergeist the night before with Scully. Jackson had got bored and offered to check up on Tena instead. He’d then returned, and started playing with his new phone.
As if on cue, the lights came on again. Mulder wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d seen REDRUM scrawled on the door, or some other message, but there was nothing of the sort.
“You need to try harder than that to scare Fox Mulder”, he said.
“Shut up, Dude”, said a voice from the other side of the connecting door.
XXXXX
9:00PM
Mulder’s phone rang; it seemed that Scully wanted to video call him.
Mulder put his video on and held up his phone; it was good to see the woman who would eventually be his wife, if just on his screen.
“Mulder?” said Scully; “have you seen Casper yet?”
“I will be disappointed if there is just a friendly ghost”, Mulder laughed.
“So, how are you going to prove the existence of these spirits?”, Scully sighed; “I trust you bought a phone charger if you’re going to film all of this”.
Mulder rummaged around in his bag, and pulled out a charger. He held it up proudly to the screen.
Scully’s face was stock-still; almost like she was staring at him in complete disbelief. After a few moments, Mulder realised what had happened; her screen had frozen.
“Scully?”, he asked, waiting for a response.
Almost half a minute passed; it felt like much longer, before Scully unfroze.
“Mulder, you do realise this is ridiculous, don’t you”.
“How are Jackson and Tena?”
“I’m fairly certain they think you’re wasting your time, Mulder”.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Scully”, Mulder laughed.
“I’ll speak to you later, Mulder”, Scully sighed, and she hung up.
XXXXX
Mulder showered; it was predictably not a fun experience, as the water seemed to have only two temperatures: Freezing cold, and scalding hot.
He climbed out of the shower, and pulled on his underwear and vest.
He glanced at the mirror; it was completely steamed up from the shower. Mulder glanced around at the also steamed-up shower screen. It was then that he saw words scrawled on it, standing out amongst the condensation.
IT’S LATER THAN YOU THINK
It felt like someone was trying to get a message out to Mulder, who wiped the words off, and turned back to the mirror.
He began to brush his teeth, and looked up at the mirror, which was slowly becoming clearer again, and he could see his reflection in it.
Time for a Marx brothers dance in front of the mirror, perhaps?
Mulder finished brushing his teeth, and stared at his own reflection.
As he looked, he started to feel that there was something off about the Mulder who looked back at him; he couldn’t think what it was. It was almost like his reflection was menacing.
He couldn’t explain what happened next, it just happened in an instant. One minute his reflection was in the logical place, where it should be; right opposite him.
The next section, it was two feet to the left, and standing further back. It still felt like the reflection was watching everything he did.
The reflection changed in an instant again, and suddenly the other Mulder - the evil Mulder, it seemed - was not even copying the real, one and only, Mulder.
Mulder looked as his own reflection held up his arms, showing the wrists slit, the red marks on them dripping with blood. Was this what he was destined to do if he stayed in this place too long?
Mulder blinked, and reality fixed itself again. Mulder’s reflection returned to its normal place, and started to copy his actions, just like it should have.
He stared back at his faux-self for a few moments, and rubbed his eyes.
Maybe he had been imagining things; Tena had been keeping him from getting a good night’s sleep on many occasions.
As Mulder left the room though, he was almost convinced that he could hear menacing laugher, like a twisted version of his own voice.
Like that version of me from my nightmare, he thought. Me as Sunflower Seed Eating Man.
If this was a presence in the room trying to convince him to leave, he wasn’t going to crumble. Not yet, anyway.
XXXXX
An hour passed, and nothing much happened. Mulder entertained himself by thinking about old X-Files cases.
He looked down at the air vent by the floor. If Eugene Tooms were still alive, he could have fitted through that with no problem.
The silence was almost eerie; it was like the ghosts themselves had gone to sleep. Mulder resisted the temptation to go back into the bathroom, just for the sake of not having to look in the mirror.
Mulder was interrupted by the sound of the television coming on again, showing the exact same footage from the very same documentary he had been watching before. It was like being stuck in a time loop.
Mulder tried changing channels again; in fact, he cycled through several channels, only to find one thing that startled him.
Every channel was now showing the same documentary. Faulty television, perhaps? He knew that this was what Scully would say.
Almost like someone was suggesting I watch this old documentary, Mulder thought.
It was at this moment that the television switched itself off as abruptly as it had switched on. He could almost hear Scully saying in his head: “Mulder, this is an old building; that TV set probably was around back when Jimmy Carter was president”.
She’s have probably been right on that count.
“Why don’t you go haunt a house?”, Mulder asked whatever unseen force was affecting the set; “got rattle some chains or something?”
He found Whoopi Goldberg very quotable at times.
“Shut it!” shouted Mulder’s unseen neighbour.
As if in response, the window flew open, and Mulder could suddenly hear a howling gale outside.
He reached to close the window, and felt for a second like an invisible force was trying to push him out. Mulder wasn’t going down without a fight, and stood his ground while he closed the window.
He looked out the window, glancing down at the lit up street and cars below. At this point, nothing would have surprised him, not even if Mr. Stay Puft Marshmallowman were advancing menacingly along the street.
Mulder’s eyes rested on something he’d not spotted before; writing was carved into the window frame, and he could just about make it out.
MR MULDER
DO YOU REALLY WANT TO STAY HERE?
MAYBE YOU SHOULD JUST LEAVE NOW
TERRY
XXXXX
Even Mulder was starting to wonder if the hotel staff were playing a practical joke on him; leaving a message for him to find, but would they really vandalise a window frame to mess with his head?
Mulder thought for a few moments, and called down to the reception.
“Do you have a member of staff called Terry?”, he asked.
He was told a little curtly that even if they did have a person on staff called Terry, that was not something they would share with Mulder, but was there anything he needed?
“No”, Mulder replied; “but thank you for your…”
A crackle, and then the singing started again:
Enjoy yourself, its later than you think;
Enjoy yourself, while you’re still in the pink
That song again; Mulder started to wonder if the reception staff were playing a prank on him, but just as abruptly, the line went dead.
Mulder picked up the phone, and tried calling reception again, but he got nothing, not even a dial tone.
He contemplated walking down to the reception, but what was he going to ask? He wasn’t going to even look like he were quitting now. He could just imagine Scully telling him: “I told you so; you couldn’t last it out, and ghosts aren’t even real, Mulder”. Maybe she’d even get Skinner to work the story into the Best Man’s speech.
Skinner organising a bachelor party, Mulder had thought. He’s my best option now Byers, Langly and Frohike are gone. At least he’s unlikely to be plying me with tequila or mojito.
It would more likely end up finishing at 8pm if Skinner were organising; no drunken behaviour to annoy Scully.
To confuse things, Scully had asked Skinner to give him away at the altar. As the older Scully brother, Bill would not be happy at being usurped to the job by Charles. Bill would also most likely drive Scully to somewhere far, far away if he knew she were to marry Mulder.
Scully had told neither of her surviving siblings about their engagement.
“I’ll prove this to you, Scully”, Mulder said to himself; “and Skin Man; the only best man for me”.
Mulder got out his notebook and started writing:
Music playing by itself
It’s later than you think
Messages on the mirror, the windowframe
Who is Terry?
Is it normal for your own reflection to assume a mind of its own?
Waiting for what the next sign will be.
He put down his pad.
“Do you want to give me any more signs, Terry?”, he asked.
If Terry was listening, he didn’t show any indication of it.
XXXXX
Mulder spent what felt like half an hour pacing the room, and occasionally looking out the window.
Terry had to be a ghost; that was his hunch, but what was he doing?
Trying to get Mulder’s attention? Or just drive him insane … more insane than he probably already was.
The mirror.
Mulder avoided looking in that mirror each time that he had to look in the bathroom.
Even he wondered if that had all been in his mind.
If he turned and saw his older self lying in the bed, 2001: A Space Odyssey style, Mulder would not have been surprised.
He tried using Google to look up the name “Terry”, and the name of the hotel, but this got him no useful results. The first result that came up was a bio of the late Terry Jones of Monty Python fame.
The thought that Mulder might be getting haunted by a recently dead British actor briefly crossed his mind.
“He’s not The Messiah; he’s a very naughty boy”.
Mulder was distracted when he suddenly felt like the floor was damp. Looking down, he could see water seeping under the bathroom door.
He quickly opened the door, half-expecting the tidal wave of blood from The Shining to appear. It wasn’t quite that, but Mulder could see that the bathtub was overflowing; it looked like it had been running for some time.
Mulder could see red stains in the water.
Red, like blood.
There was no time to think about this as he quickly turned off the water.
The bath began to drain, and Mulder heaved a sigh of relief, hoping that if there was someone in the room below him, he wasn’t about to start getting complaints about the water dripping through.
Mulder grabbed every single towel in the room; the hotel had completely over-provided, which was helpful as he began to lay them down on the floor, in an attempt to absorb all the water.
He couldn’t stop thinking about the red bloodstains, though; where had those come from?
“I should have filmed it”, he muttered to himself, realising that in his haste to prevent a disaster, he had forgotten about his phone, which lay nearby on the bed.
XXXXX
Half an hour again, Mulder was calmer, as he sat on the bed.
“You killed yourself, Terry”, said Mulder; “that’s it, isn’t it?”
Slit wrists in the bathtub, immersed with water to prevent clotting.
That had to be what Terry had been showing Mulder; the water overflowing, as he’d got in the water with the taps still running.
The bathroom floor looking newer than everything else; it had been to replace the old one; it must have got completely ruined.
Mulder imagined Terry lying dead in his bath, the people below him cursing when they found water drip-dripping into their bathroom.
Most likely, making complaints to the hotel management…
Who eventually found Terry in the bathtub; left to die alone.
Probably only after several minutes of frantically knocking on the door. Mulder could imagine the other guests wondering what was going on…
Oblivious to the tragedy that had happened just in the next room.
Maybe the hotel had kept them from realising what had happened; it might have been like that Fawlty Towers episode.
Mulder started writing this all down in his notebook, scribbling away furiously. He just had to convince Scully about this story; would the hotel management corroborate the story?
Probably not, he figured; most hotels kept suicides on their properties to themselves, as they made for very bad publicity.
Mulder picked up his phone, and googled the hotel name, “Terry” and “suicide”; the search engine bought up nothing. It seemed that this incident had completely avoided any press coverage.
A cover-up that Cancer Man would have been proud of.
Mulder took the phone into the bathroom, and switched the video on. He didn’t know exactly what he hoped to see; Slimer’s ectoplasm maybe.
He made a ten-second long video of the bathroom, and played it back, but there was no sign of any sort of ghostly presence on the playback.
He just needed to be filming at the right moment next time.
As Mulder stared at his phone, a face appeared. It was sudden enough to make him drop his phone.
Mulder picked the phone up, but the screen looked normal again.
The face on the screen had reminded him of when the electronic imprint of his deceased friend Richard “Ringo” Langly had contacted him through his phone.
This hadn’t been Langly though.
It looked more like the face that had appeared on the television screen earlier.
Perhaps Mulder was tired; tiredness can play tricks on the mind.
Hypnagogia, Scully called it; when you’re approaching the moment of falling asleep, but you’re still conscious. She’d have told him all of the symptoms: Lucid thoughts, even feeling as though someone else were in the room, even though it was empty except for Mulder.
Mulder, and maybe …
Terry.
Mulder had spent much of his life thinking he were being watched though. For all he knew, the Government may have had security cameras in this very room.
Their own eyes in the sky.
The sudden vibrating made Mulder jump, but he realised Scully was calling again.
“Scully”, he smiled; “I’m still alive”.
“Mulder … I’ve had enough of all of this. To be honest, we all have”.
“I’ve hardly begun, Scully”.
“Mulder, I can’t believe you do this to us”, Scully snapped; “you walk out on us, just to … there was interference on the line and brief static … your ridiculous ghost theory. You don’t really understand how we feel”.
“How do you - collective - feel though, Scully?”, Mulder asked.
“Jackson told me you’re out of your mind”, Scully snapped; “when will you get it into your head that there is no…”
The call cut off. Mulder stared at the blank screen; Scully’s words had sounded harsher than they ever had before.
Maybe she was tired, or maybe she had a point, but Mulder could not give up on his quest yet. Especially now that he was certain he had met a real-life (for want of a better phrase) ghost.
There was no evidence that Scully wanted to call back, so Mulder put his phone down.
XXXXX
Mulder lay on the bed for a while; there was silence, until he heard banging on the connecting door.
Again.
“Hey”, he shouted; “how can I be disturbing you this time?”
Silence, then more banging.
It was getting louder this time, almost thunderous.
“Quit it!”, Mulder shouted; “this isn’t funny!”
“Make me”, a faint voice replied; it sounded like it was coming from the bottom of a well.
Mulder got up; time to take action. He went to open the door of his room, but it was jammed.
“Hey”, he shouted; “anyone there?”
All he could hear was banging on the connecting door, sounding as loud and aggressive as it had moments before.
No response; Mulder realised he had another way out, and it wasn’t through the window.
Another way to confront his mysterious neighbour.
He pulled the handle of the connecting door, and opened it, to find himself stepping into…
A corridor, which seemed to be stretching into eternity. He couldn’t see what was at the other end.
It was as though invisible hands were pushing him into the corridor; he had no choice but to enter.
As he wandered through the blackness, he could hear the Specials song playing again:
It’s good to be wise when you’re young,
‘cause you can only be young but the once.
As the song played on, Mulder stepped into a room.
Enjoy yourself and have lots of fun.
He looked around, becoming slowly aware that he was back in his own hotel room. The music was unrelenting. He noticed that it was coming from the record player.
The same record that had started playing by itself earlier that evening.
So glad and live longer than you’ve ever done.
Mulder glanced around the room; it was full of someone’s possessions, but not his. An empty porcelain mug sat on the bedside table.
Enjoy yourself, it's later than you think.
Mulder picked up what looked like a diary. The year on the front was 1981.
The year when The Specials split up.
Enjoy yourself, while you're still in the pink.
The diary seemed to open on one page: 11 September 1981.
I proposed to Ellie today. Still waiting for her response.
She said she’d think about it.
Are Mr. and Mrs. Gordon trying to talk her out of it?
Her parents never really thought highly of me.
Several pages in the diary after this had been torn out, and after that there was nothing; blank pages starting from 22 September.
Mulder put it down; he looked around; were there any other clues in this mysterious time warp that he had entered.
The years go by, as quickly as you wink,
Enjoy yourself, enjoy yourself, it's later than you think.
The impact of the porcelain mug being thrown and smashed against the wall made Mulder jump…
The next moment, he was rousing from a dream, and he realised he was still lying on the bed.
A hypnic jerk, Scully had told him, when your body suddenly wakes itself in the first stages of sleep, usually caused by the muscles twitching involuntarily.
A similar phenomena to hiccups.
Mulder would usually dream that he was running, only to suddenly and unexpectedly fall, just as the hypnic jerk woke him up.
He wrote down the words “Ellie Gordon” and “proposed” in his notebook, as well as the date 21 September 1981, just in case they were important.
He was sure Scully would have insisted: “But, Mulder; it was just a dream”.
He looked at his watch; it was 2 am.
XXXXX
Mulder called Danny, just for someone to talk to; he found himself listening to an automated message.
“Hello, Danny”, he said; “just wondered if you could find any records of an Ellie Gordon, living in DC in the 1980s. Did she marry someone called Terry, maybe in 1981 or 1982? Call me back when you get this”.
He hung up; he wasn’t used to getting Danny’s voicemail, but everyone had to sleep, didn’t they?
As Mulder stared at his phone, he didn’t notice the room begin to shrink, the walls pushing inwards, slowly moving everything towards him.
It was so gradual, he didn’t notice at first, but as the wardrobe began to encroach on the bed, he started to panic.
Mulder wasn’t particularly claustrophobic, but he knew he had to get out of there.
As the wardrobe and bed began to splinter, and break, pieces of wood scattering on the floor.
The doors? Where were the doors?
Vanished, without a trace…
They had vanished behind the encroaching walls; the window was accessible, but even if Mulder made it out there…
There was a sheer drop.
Afraid of heights…
“Not funny”, he gasped; “not funn”y.
Mulder was ready to jump out of the window, as he narrowly avoided the television falling on his head; it was either that or be slowly crushed inside the room.
Maybe he could grab a window ledge below him…
Which fate is worst?
The air outside was like a tsunami as he leant out of the window. Rain lashed down from above; it felt almost sharp to the touch, like hail. He could feel the water, wet against his face.
The sky above looks blacker than any other night.
No moon.
No stars.
It was like a tsunami was raging outside, but everyone else was sleeping through it.
Nobody else can hear it.
Nobody else knows about it.
Mulder glanced around, and saw that the room was back to normal.
Nothing was broken, and the doors had appeared again. The room was no longer threatening to become the tomb for Mulder’s crushed, broken body.
Glancing back out the open window, he saw that the calm clear night had restored itself; there was nothing to indicate apocalyptic weather phenomena. Even the water that had lashed against his face was gone; he felt his brow; it was bone dry.
Not even a single drop of forehead sweat.
It seemed that he’d been hallucinating again. Almost like Terry was trying to say something about his own state of mind.
Mulder and Scully had once met a weather forecaster whose moods unconsciously affected the weather; had what he briefly witnessed been a manifestation of Terry’s feelings?
Maybe what Terry had been feeling when he died.
XXXXX
Mulder calmed down; he paced around the room.
“Terry, what are you trying to tell me?”, he asked; “did it feel like the walls were closing in around you?”
Feelings of isolation, being alone.
Maybe even heartbreak?
“Was there a storm raging in your mind, Terry?”, Mulder asked; “I just need a way into your head”.
Assuming Terry in fact had a head.
Mulder sat down on the bed.
“I don’t know if you still want to communicate with me, Terry”, he sighed; “Scully doesn’t believe in you. I believe in you, though”.
He felt ridiculous speaking to an otherwise empty room; the only response he got was the trilling sound of a nightjar.
It was a strange feeling, but it was almost like someone else was in the room.
Pacing around.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Mulder glanced around, but couldn’t see anyone, but when he turned back it was almost although someone was breathing down his neck.
The strange thing was, he didn’t feel as though it were Terry.
So nice to have company.
I’ve been waiting.
Mulder almost felt like he could smell cologne.
Was that a shadow over the bed that hadn’t been there before?
I have no parents.
I wasn’t born.
I was created.
A tap on Mulder’s shoulder, and he turned around, to see…
No one.
Looking down though, Mulder saw the hand-written note that hadn’t been there before.
Picking it up, he read:
It’s been underneath you all the time.
Consider what’s under the floorboards.
Directly under you now.
Is this a three-pipe problem, Sherlock?
Salutations from the world beyond
David
Just like that, the new presence in the room was gone. Mulder felt more alone than ever, but could he trust this visitor?
David Greendale, could that be you again?, Mulder wondered.
XXXXX
Mulder climbed under the bed, and started pulling up the carpet.
I can be out of here before they find out about a bit of wanton vandalism, right?
Mulder was no stranger to tampering with things; he’d taken a knife to an el camino once, all for the sake of finding hidden evidence, and Skinner had not found out.
Mulder peeled away the carpet, and found…
A loose floorboard.
As he got ready to pull it up, his phone vibrated again.
Scully, calling again?
Had she not gone to bed yet?
“Scully”, he said; “I think we have a friend helping us; I might be able to make a breakthrough on Terry. You won’t believe the things I’ve seen tonight; walls literally closing in on me…”
“Mulder, just shut up for a moment, will you?”, Scully demanded; “I honestly don’t know why I listen to you, all this … rubbish you come out with”
“Scully”, Mulder protested; “you’re just tired; maybe you should get some rest; you’ll feel better in the morning”.
“I should get some rest?”, Scully replied, mockingly; “you’re the one who needs some rest. You’re in a hotel room, looking for a ghost that doesn’t exist. Maybe when you get back, I’ll have changed the locks.”
“Scully…?”
“Maybe I should rethink whether I should be engaged to Spooky Mulder. Or maybe that’s crazy Mulder?”
“Scully, let’s be reasonable”.
“Mulder, stop interrupting. I’m saying … I don’t love you! Does that make sense to you?”
Scully abruptly hung up, and Mulder was alone again with his thoughts.
There was only one way to get to the bottom of what David (if that was him) was trying to show him; he began to pull up the loose floorboard. This allowed him to get some leverage on the ones around it.
People hardly ever slept in this room; Mulder could easily put back the floorboards, settle the bill for damages if needed.
The music began to play again, on the record player:
Never right, yes I know,
Get wisdom, knowledge and understanding,
These three were given free by the maker,
Go to school, learn the rules; don’t be no faker,
It’s not wise for you to be a footstool,
En…joy your … self, it’s…
La … ter … than you…
TH…
INK…
The singing got slower.
Deeper.
As it stopped altogether, Mulder, distracted, got up, and ducked.
Just as the remains of an irreparably damaged record flew past him, smashing on the wall behind him.
Damn you, Scully, Mulder thought.
Damn you too, Terry.
I’m going to find what’s in here, and prove it to you.
Mulder rooted around under the floorboards, and eventually pulled out a diary. It was amazingly well-preserved; evidently the damp had not got to it yet.
A photograph marked the place of the last entry in the diary; it was a picture of a young woman; blond and beautiful.
Mulder glanced at the back of the picture; on it was scribbled:
My Ellie
As Mulder looked at the last entry, he recognised the words from his dream, vision, hallucination, whatever it had been. He could even see where the next few pages had been torn out.
Mulder looked back into the hole, and pulled out a small locked metal case, slightly rusty. It was all that was left in there. He could feel a metallic clinking sound inside the case as he shook it.
He was an expert in picking locks; he had done it many times; it was something you needed to do as an F.B.I. agent.
He’d even picked the lock to Scully’s front door once, back when he needed somewhere to go. Just after he’d faked his own suicide, and left the body of stranger in his own apartment.
Mulder looked around in his bag, and pulled out a needle; it was just right for picking the box’s lock.
The lights above him flickered and sparked as he jimmied away; it felt like any moment they would explode above him. Terry attacking him from beyond the grave.
“Go into the light, Terry”, he muttered.
As the lights stopped flickering, he looked around the room; there was nothing out of the ordinary…
Except a solitary shadow on the wall with nothing to cast it.
The shadow of a man, but not his own shadow.
The shadow just seemed to watch Mulder, as though deciding.
Terry was deciding whether Mulder should learn the truth.
After a few moments, the shadow began to fade; Mulder could feel the lock on the box opening.
Inside, he found pages.
Pages of a diary.
Terry’s diary, which he had torn out, and desperately didn’t want anyone to read.
Now, however, it seemed that he could accept this newcomer reading them.
“Thank you, Terry”, Mulder said, to the empty room; “you know it makes sense”.
Silence.
Deathly silence.
Mulder noticed one more item in the box; it was a ring.
It had to be an engagement ring.
It was as though the world were waiting for Mulder to read the missing diary entries.
23 September
I’ve heard nothing from Ellie.
I spent half an hour staring at that mirror today.
Not leaving the hotel room until I hear back from her.
24 September
That Specials song was on the TV today: “Enjoy yourself”.
I wish I could enjoy myself.
I think I will when Ellie contacts me.
25 September
Ellie came round today; I’d told her I was waiting for her her.
This could have been the happiest day of my life.
Instead, she threw that engagement ring in my face; she told me: “Get real”.
Told me that her parents were against the marriage, and she’d finally’seen sense’ from them.
Told me she didn’t love me, and I should quit this obsession.
I want to die.
26 September
Today will be the day that I die.
I can just lie back in the bath, slit my writs.
But first, I’ll make extra sure no one reads these last few diary entries.
The last few pages did not make for easy reading. Mulder looked around in his jacket pocket, and pulled out a ring.
“I was married once, Terry”, he said; “it didn’t last long. She couldn’t accept that I’d once had eyes for two other women”.
Diana Fowley.
Phobe Green.
Two woman who were now very much in the past for Mulder.
He didn’t know why he was telling a ghost this, maybe because Terry had let him find out such intimate details of how he died.
“I guess me opening the X-Files didn’t help either”, he mused.
At that moment, Mulder felt a strong grip on his wrist. The man who was now sitting next to him had a pincer-like hold.
He looked around…
At his own face, as the fake Mulder looked at him manically.
Mulder had encountered his own doppelgänger a few years ago; the double had stalked him for a long time one evening during a particularly disturbing case. This one felt more tangible than ever though.
More like the shape-shifting bounty hunters.
Or the serial sex offender Eddie van Blundht, who had nearly seduced Scully
“It’s later than you think”, Mulder heard his own voice hiss at him, as he looked down at his alter ego’s wrists.
Both had been slit, in a cross-like formation; blood was dripping out of the wounds.
…
It was like Mulder had blacked out from the shock of what happened, as he stood in the gas station trying to buy sunflower seeds, but got no attention from the store clerk. He slammed a few dollar bills on the counter, and walked out.
He checked his appearance, relieved that he had at least dressed before he evidently fled his hotel room.
Fled from a haunting that was too much for him to handle.
Had he just left his key in reception? Did he have all his stuff with him?
Had he let Scully know he was on his way?
Did he even want to see a woman who apparently did not want to be with him any more?
He did not even remember stopping at the gas station; it was almost like being intoxicated.
Mulder drove, zombie-like, towards the house. It felt like he and the world around him were in slow motion. He watched the lights of the cars coming towards him on the freeway, and felt like he had entered the world of David Lynch.
…
The next thing he knew, he was rushing into the house.
He was glad that there had been space for Jackson to share a room with Tena. He didn’t even mind sleeping on the floor until they got him his own bed.
Creeping softly upstairs.
“Scully?”
There was no evidence that she had walked out on him again; that might be a good sign.
Mulder felt a strange sensation, as though someone were pressing his chest. It was disconcerting; it was like the strange haunting had followed him home.
Mulder stopped; he could hear Scully talking.
“Yes; I am Dana Scully”.
“You say he wasn’t breathing?”
“He was holding what? Before the heart attack”.
Mulder slowly entered the room; Scully did not notice him as he entered.
“Scully”, he shouted.
There it was again, the pressing feeling on his chest.
“Mulder .. Fox, my Mulder”; Scully had tears in her eyes.
“Scully”, Mulder shouted.
As he said this, Scully got up: “I’ll be right over”, she said, as she walked past Mulder as though he were not there.
“Scully”…
“He’s stable” said a voice, as Mulder once again felt hands on his chest, and suddenly…
He was looking up at the ceiling of that hotel room that he thought he had entered.
He was also looking at the faces of four men and women in uniform.
Paramedics.
“Mr. Mulder, can you hear me?”
As Mulder tried to speak, he realised there was an oxygen mask on his face, but he nodded weakly.
“It looks like we got here in time” said the man who had been speaking to him; “and although a heart attack isn’t anything I’d wish on anyone, it seems to be the only thing that stopped you from doing anything really drastic”.
A female colleague held up Mulder’s penknife: “This was in your hand, Mr. Mulder; looks like you were feeling a little down, perhaps”.
“Almost like your girlfriend dumped you”, her male colleague suggested; he pointed to a small cut on Mulder’s wrist, as though he had been trying to slit it.
XXXXX
SIBLEY MEMORIAL HOSPITAL
WASHINGTON, DC
“Mulder, I thought I was going to lose you”.
“I guess my heart is stronger than you thought, Scully” replied Mulder.
He looked around him, and saw the bright hospital lights. Other patients lay in separate beds in the ward. A hairy, Jesus like, man lay in the bed next to him. He could almost have been the brother of Mulder’s late friend Max Fenig.
“Apparently a guest in the room next to you complained about disturbances coming from your room”, said Scully; “the manager didn’t like being woken in the night, but that was when he found you. Lucky you gave my number as an emergency contact”.
“Scully”, said Mulder; “if you don’t want to get married, then that’s fine. I know Spooky Mulder isn’t someone everyone wants to spend their life with.
“Mulder, what are you talking about?”, Scully asked.
“Those things you said to me when we Facetimed, Scully.
“When we Facetimed?”, Scully asked; “how many times did you think we spoke to each other?”
“What do you mean, Scully?”.
“I managed to speak to you for about five seconds”, Scully replied; “then I lost contact with you, and was unable to call you back”.
“So, you’re saying…” Mulder replied.
“I think you need plenty of rest”, Scully replied; “and no more causing yourself heart attacks. I’ll come back to see you tomorrow”.
Mulder smiled; “Enjoy yourself, Scully. It’s later than you think”.
THE END
This fanfic once again took me a while to write; too much writers block, as I tried to write a "single hander" story about Mulder in a haunted hotel room; harder than it seemed.
The whole use of the song mentioned in the title came from seeing the lyrics on a bench when I was recceing a hike a few years ago.
Trigger warning for suicide references.
The X-Files Episode 12x15: It’s Later Than You Think
22 SEPTEMBER 2019
8:00PM
WASHINGTON, DC
Washington DC’s Lovecraft Hotel was a grand-looking old building. Just the right setting for a horror film, Mulder thought as he entered Room 237.
The room looked innocuous enough; a large double bed sat in the centre of the room; there were the usual furnishings, including a wardrobe, which probably contained extra sheets, and an ironing board. A few pictures were scattered around the walls; Mulder wasn’t too sure about the ugly one of a long-necked circus clown. It felt like the stuff of nightmares.
A 1970s record player sat in the corner, looking redundant, without even a record for it to play.
There was a door that led through to the bathroom, and another that evidently led through to the room next door. Mulder was never sure why so many hotels were designed with these weird connecting doors, like you were expected to pay your erstwhile neighbour a visit, say hello.
Nevertheless, this room was very cheap to rent for the night, and the rumours of it being haunted were the reason why Mulder had chosen to stay there. Scully had refused to believe such nonsense, and in any case she wanted to stay at home, and bond with Jackson now that he had suddenly shown up on their veranda.
Mulder might even get evidence of the existence of ghosts caught on camera; just one thing he could prove, and finally help him to vindicate the existence of the X-Files. Maybe if he managed to prove ghosts exist, and captured a real-life E.T. …
… Maybe he could finally stop working on the X-Files, enjoy some sort of retirement.
The added advantage of having an unemployed Jackson at home was that he was now Tena’s unemployed babysitter, in return for living with them rent-free. Scully had just been pleased to be reunited with her son; she wasn’t going to leave him homeless.
Mulder looked around the room, glancing at everything, and then looked into the bathroom. It was surprisingly modern-looking, with a combined bath and shower, and a large mirror over the sink.
He opened his suitcase, and carefully took out a few possessions from his bag; he didn’t need much, as he was just staying one night. He unfolded and lay out some spare clothes on the bed, and then pulled out two bags of sunflower seeds. He placed them on a bedside table.
He took out a penknife; he never really had much use for it, but he liked to be prepared.
Just in case it ever did come in handy.
He bought out two copies of the Lone Gunmen magazine, and placed them on the other bedside table. He’d initially planned to bring some porn magazines, but the rumours of the room being haunted put them off. There was no way he was going to masturbate in front of ghosts; he didn’t like the idea of being watched.
He also put his phone on charge; he could use it to stay in touch with Scully overnight.
Mulder took his toothbrush and toothpaste into the bathroom, and left it on the sink. At least he’d remembered his oral hygiene.
The bathroom’s décor fitted the style of the main room; it looked old fashioned. Like most hotels, there was a combined bath and shower, giving Mulder a choice of how to go through his daily routine.
Mulder almost always showered; who has time for a bath these days?
The bathroom floor was made of wood like the bedroom floor, but looked newer than everything else, like it had been replaced at some point.
He was so busy, he did not see the shadow on the wall, taking the form of a man, despite the fact that there was no one around to cast this shadow. Unnoticed, it moved towards the record player, and reached down, before disappearing.
Mulder looked around startled, as the music began. He recognized The Specials right away:
Enjoy yourself, it's later than you think,
Enjoy yourself, while you're still in the pink,
The years go by, as quickly as you wink,
Enjoy yourself, enjoy yourself, it's later than you think,
Hello, I'm Terry, and I'm going to enjoy myself first
XXXXX
Mulder fiddled with the record player unsure of what to do, but the music stopped as abruptly as it had started.
“Eenie Meenie, Chilli Beanie; the spirits are about to speak”, he muttered to himself.
If there was a ghost, it was a ghost with good musical taste. The song had been written in 1949, and his parents had still been fixated with it as he had been growing up with Samantha.
Mulder took out the record that someone had left on the turntable, and placed it inside its sleeve. Strangely, it seemed to have been the only record that had been left in the room.
He opened a packet of sunflower seeds, and started eating them. If all that happened in this room was that a record player started playing itself, he could deal with it.
After a few moments, he felt around for cold patches. To be honest, it felt futile, as the entire room felt cold; maybe there were phantoms everywhere.
He put on the TV; the image was black and white, and unsteady. Mulder hit the TV, and image vanished completely.
Grumbling, he changed channels; the next station wasn’t much better, but Mulder kept trying until he bought up a documentary about the lyricists behind The Specials. He lay down on the bed and started watching, while eating more of his sunflower seeds.
He started wishing he’d bought three packets with him.
“Enjoy yourself”, he muttered; “it’s later than you think”, remembering the lyrics to the song.
He was taken by surprise when a face flickered up on screen; it looked like a bald, middle-aged man. The face put him in mind of a less cheerful version of Skinner.
A strangely creepy version of Skinner.
Mulder felt the air grow even colder as the face appeared.
Seconds later, the television blinked off. Mulder tried the remote for a few minutes, but nothing happened. It would appear that it had given up the ghost completely, for want of a better expression.
Mulder started reading one of the issues of the Lone Gunmen magazine. The first article bore the familiar all-seeing eye and pyramid that he was familiar with.
NOVUS ORDO SECLORUM…
…as the illuminati would say, and also…
ANNUIT CŒPTUS
Jimmy Bond’s article was all about their new theories about the Illuminati, and organisations that they were most likely controlling.
“Seems that the illuminaty are more in charge than we might like to think”; Mulder spotted where one of Jimmy’s typos had slipped through the proof-reading process.
“Oh, Jimmy”, he laughed; “I always wondered how my friends put up with you”.
It seemed from the article that several elementary schools had secret rooms underneath them where the illuminati met regularly, and tried to initiate kids. The kids then returned to their studies, and spied on their friends.
Illuminati junior; who would have guessed.
At that point, the lights went out, and the room was plunged into darkness.
Mulder glanced out of the window; a quick check around showed that it seemed to be only his room that was affected. He could see lights coming from adjacent windows, and hear televisions playing.
Televisions playing with decent sound, and probably full colour picture quality.
“Hello?” Mulder said to the empty and dark room; “what do you look like?”
He often quoted films when he couldn’t think what else to say. He’d watched Poltergeist the night before with Scully. Jackson had got bored and offered to check up on Tena instead. He’d then returned, and started playing with his new phone.
As if on cue, the lights came on again. Mulder wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d seen REDRUM scrawled on the door, or some other message, but there was nothing of the sort.
“You need to try harder than that to scare Fox Mulder”, he said.
“Shut up, Dude”, said a voice from the other side of the connecting door.
XXXXX
9:00PM
Mulder’s phone rang; it seemed that Scully wanted to video call him.
Mulder put his video on and held up his phone; it was good to see the woman who would eventually be his wife, if just on his screen.
“Mulder?” said Scully; “have you seen Casper yet?”
“I will be disappointed if there is just a friendly ghost”, Mulder laughed.
“So, how are you going to prove the existence of these spirits?”, Scully sighed; “I trust you bought a phone charger if you’re going to film all of this”.
Mulder rummaged around in his bag, and pulled out a charger. He held it up proudly to the screen.
Scully’s face was stock-still; almost like she was staring at him in complete disbelief. After a few moments, Mulder realised what had happened; her screen had frozen.
“Scully?”, he asked, waiting for a response.
Almost half a minute passed; it felt like much longer, before Scully unfroze.
“Mulder, you do realise this is ridiculous, don’t you”.
“How are Jackson and Tena?”
“I’m fairly certain they think you’re wasting your time, Mulder”.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Scully”, Mulder laughed.
“I’ll speak to you later, Mulder”, Scully sighed, and she hung up.
XXXXX
Mulder showered; it was predictably not a fun experience, as the water seemed to have only two temperatures: Freezing cold, and scalding hot.
He climbed out of the shower, and pulled on his underwear and vest.
He glanced at the mirror; it was completely steamed up from the shower. Mulder glanced around at the also steamed-up shower screen. It was then that he saw words scrawled on it, standing out amongst the condensation.
IT’S LATER THAN YOU THINK
It felt like someone was trying to get a message out to Mulder, who wiped the words off, and turned back to the mirror.
He began to brush his teeth, and looked up at the mirror, which was slowly becoming clearer again, and he could see his reflection in it.
Time for a Marx brothers dance in front of the mirror, perhaps?
Mulder finished brushing his teeth, and stared at his own reflection.
As he looked, he started to feel that there was something off about the Mulder who looked back at him; he couldn’t think what it was. It was almost like his reflection was menacing.
He couldn’t explain what happened next, it just happened in an instant. One minute his reflection was in the logical place, where it should be; right opposite him.
The next section, it was two feet to the left, and standing further back. It still felt like the reflection was watching everything he did.
The reflection changed in an instant again, and suddenly the other Mulder - the evil Mulder, it seemed - was not even copying the real, one and only, Mulder.
Mulder looked as his own reflection held up his arms, showing the wrists slit, the red marks on them dripping with blood. Was this what he was destined to do if he stayed in this place too long?
Mulder blinked, and reality fixed itself again. Mulder’s reflection returned to its normal place, and started to copy his actions, just like it should have.
He stared back at his faux-self for a few moments, and rubbed his eyes.
Maybe he had been imagining things; Tena had been keeping him from getting a good night’s sleep on many occasions.
As Mulder left the room though, he was almost convinced that he could hear menacing laugher, like a twisted version of his own voice.
Like that version of me from my nightmare, he thought. Me as Sunflower Seed Eating Man.
If this was a presence in the room trying to convince him to leave, he wasn’t going to crumble. Not yet, anyway.
XXXXX
An hour passed, and nothing much happened. Mulder entertained himself by thinking about old X-Files cases.
He looked down at the air vent by the floor. If Eugene Tooms were still alive, he could have fitted through that with no problem.
The silence was almost eerie; it was like the ghosts themselves had gone to sleep. Mulder resisted the temptation to go back into the bathroom, just for the sake of not having to look in the mirror.
Mulder was interrupted by the sound of the television coming on again, showing the exact same footage from the very same documentary he had been watching before. It was like being stuck in a time loop.
Mulder tried changing channels again; in fact, he cycled through several channels, only to find one thing that startled him.
Every channel was now showing the same documentary. Faulty television, perhaps? He knew that this was what Scully would say.
Almost like someone was suggesting I watch this old documentary, Mulder thought.
It was at this moment that the television switched itself off as abruptly as it had switched on. He could almost hear Scully saying in his head: “Mulder, this is an old building; that TV set probably was around back when Jimmy Carter was president”.
She’s have probably been right on that count.
“Why don’t you go haunt a house?”, Mulder asked whatever unseen force was affecting the set; “got rattle some chains or something?”
He found Whoopi Goldberg very quotable at times.
“Shut it!” shouted Mulder’s unseen neighbour.
As if in response, the window flew open, and Mulder could suddenly hear a howling gale outside.
He reached to close the window, and felt for a second like an invisible force was trying to push him out. Mulder wasn’t going down without a fight, and stood his ground while he closed the window.
He looked out the window, glancing down at the lit up street and cars below. At this point, nothing would have surprised him, not even if Mr. Stay Puft Marshmallowman were advancing menacingly along the street.
Mulder’s eyes rested on something he’d not spotted before; writing was carved into the window frame, and he could just about make it out.
MR MULDER
DO YOU REALLY WANT TO STAY HERE?
MAYBE YOU SHOULD JUST LEAVE NOW
TERRY
XXXXX
Even Mulder was starting to wonder if the hotel staff were playing a practical joke on him; leaving a message for him to find, but would they really vandalise a window frame to mess with his head?
Mulder thought for a few moments, and called down to the reception.
“Do you have a member of staff called Terry?”, he asked.
He was told a little curtly that even if they did have a person on staff called Terry, that was not something they would share with Mulder, but was there anything he needed?
“No”, Mulder replied; “but thank you for your…”
A crackle, and then the singing started again:
Enjoy yourself, its later than you think;
Enjoy yourself, while you’re still in the pink
That song again; Mulder started to wonder if the reception staff were playing a prank on him, but just as abruptly, the line went dead.
Mulder picked up the phone, and tried calling reception again, but he got nothing, not even a dial tone.
He contemplated walking down to the reception, but what was he going to ask? He wasn’t going to even look like he were quitting now. He could just imagine Scully telling him: “I told you so; you couldn’t last it out, and ghosts aren’t even real, Mulder”. Maybe she’d even get Skinner to work the story into the Best Man’s speech.
Skinner organising a bachelor party, Mulder had thought. He’s my best option now Byers, Langly and Frohike are gone. At least he’s unlikely to be plying me with tequila or mojito.
It would more likely end up finishing at 8pm if Skinner were organising; no drunken behaviour to annoy Scully.
To confuse things, Scully had asked Skinner to give him away at the altar. As the older Scully brother, Bill would not be happy at being usurped to the job by Charles. Bill would also most likely drive Scully to somewhere far, far away if he knew she were to marry Mulder.
Scully had told neither of her surviving siblings about their engagement.
“I’ll prove this to you, Scully”, Mulder said to himself; “and Skin Man; the only best man for me”.
Mulder got out his notebook and started writing:
Music playing by itself
It’s later than you think
Messages on the mirror, the windowframe
Who is Terry?
Is it normal for your own reflection to assume a mind of its own?
Waiting for what the next sign will be.
He put down his pad.
“Do you want to give me any more signs, Terry?”, he asked.
If Terry was listening, he didn’t show any indication of it.
XXXXX
Mulder spent what felt like half an hour pacing the room, and occasionally looking out the window.
Terry had to be a ghost; that was his hunch, but what was he doing?
Trying to get Mulder’s attention? Or just drive him insane … more insane than he probably already was.
The mirror.
Mulder avoided looking in that mirror each time that he had to look in the bathroom.
Even he wondered if that had all been in his mind.
If he turned and saw his older self lying in the bed, 2001: A Space Odyssey style, Mulder would not have been surprised.
He tried using Google to look up the name “Terry”, and the name of the hotel, but this got him no useful results. The first result that came up was a bio of the late Terry Jones of Monty Python fame.
The thought that Mulder might be getting haunted by a recently dead British actor briefly crossed his mind.
“He’s not The Messiah; he’s a very naughty boy”.
Mulder was distracted when he suddenly felt like the floor was damp. Looking down, he could see water seeping under the bathroom door.
He quickly opened the door, half-expecting the tidal wave of blood from The Shining to appear. It wasn’t quite that, but Mulder could see that the bathtub was overflowing; it looked like it had been running for some time.
Mulder could see red stains in the water.
Red, like blood.
There was no time to think about this as he quickly turned off the water.
The bath began to drain, and Mulder heaved a sigh of relief, hoping that if there was someone in the room below him, he wasn’t about to start getting complaints about the water dripping through.
Mulder grabbed every single towel in the room; the hotel had completely over-provided, which was helpful as he began to lay them down on the floor, in an attempt to absorb all the water.
He couldn’t stop thinking about the red bloodstains, though; where had those come from?
“I should have filmed it”, he muttered to himself, realising that in his haste to prevent a disaster, he had forgotten about his phone, which lay nearby on the bed.
XXXXX
Half an hour again, Mulder was calmer, as he sat on the bed.
“You killed yourself, Terry”, said Mulder; “that’s it, isn’t it?”
Slit wrists in the bathtub, immersed with water to prevent clotting.
That had to be what Terry had been showing Mulder; the water overflowing, as he’d got in the water with the taps still running.
The bathroom floor looking newer than everything else; it had been to replace the old one; it must have got completely ruined.
Mulder imagined Terry lying dead in his bath, the people below him cursing when they found water drip-dripping into their bathroom.
Most likely, making complaints to the hotel management…
Who eventually found Terry in the bathtub; left to die alone.
Probably only after several minutes of frantically knocking on the door. Mulder could imagine the other guests wondering what was going on…
Oblivious to the tragedy that had happened just in the next room.
Maybe the hotel had kept them from realising what had happened; it might have been like that Fawlty Towers episode.
Mulder started writing this all down in his notebook, scribbling away furiously. He just had to convince Scully about this story; would the hotel management corroborate the story?
Probably not, he figured; most hotels kept suicides on their properties to themselves, as they made for very bad publicity.
Mulder picked up his phone, and googled the hotel name, “Terry” and “suicide”; the search engine bought up nothing. It seemed that this incident had completely avoided any press coverage.
A cover-up that Cancer Man would have been proud of.
Mulder took the phone into the bathroom, and switched the video on. He didn’t know exactly what he hoped to see; Slimer’s ectoplasm maybe.
He made a ten-second long video of the bathroom, and played it back, but there was no sign of any sort of ghostly presence on the playback.
He just needed to be filming at the right moment next time.
As Mulder stared at his phone, a face appeared. It was sudden enough to make him drop his phone.
Mulder picked the phone up, but the screen looked normal again.
The face on the screen had reminded him of when the electronic imprint of his deceased friend Richard “Ringo” Langly had contacted him through his phone.
This hadn’t been Langly though.
It looked more like the face that had appeared on the television screen earlier.
Perhaps Mulder was tired; tiredness can play tricks on the mind.
Hypnagogia, Scully called it; when you’re approaching the moment of falling asleep, but you’re still conscious. She’d have told him all of the symptoms: Lucid thoughts, even feeling as though someone else were in the room, even though it was empty except for Mulder.
Mulder, and maybe …
Terry.
Mulder had spent much of his life thinking he were being watched though. For all he knew, the Government may have had security cameras in this very room.
Their own eyes in the sky.
The sudden vibrating made Mulder jump, but he realised Scully was calling again.
“Scully”, he smiled; “I’m still alive”.
“Mulder … I’ve had enough of all of this. To be honest, we all have”.
“I’ve hardly begun, Scully”.
“Mulder, I can’t believe you do this to us”, Scully snapped; “you walk out on us, just to … there was interference on the line and brief static … your ridiculous ghost theory. You don’t really understand how we feel”.
“How do you - collective - feel though, Scully?”, Mulder asked.
“Jackson told me you’re out of your mind”, Scully snapped; “when will you get it into your head that there is no…”
The call cut off. Mulder stared at the blank screen; Scully’s words had sounded harsher than they ever had before.
Maybe she was tired, or maybe she had a point, but Mulder could not give up on his quest yet. Especially now that he was certain he had met a real-life (for want of a better phrase) ghost.
There was no evidence that Scully wanted to call back, so Mulder put his phone down.
XXXXX
Mulder lay on the bed for a while; there was silence, until he heard banging on the connecting door.
Again.
“Hey”, he shouted; “how can I be disturbing you this time?”
Silence, then more banging.
It was getting louder this time, almost thunderous.
“Quit it!”, Mulder shouted; “this isn’t funny!”
“Make me”, a faint voice replied; it sounded like it was coming from the bottom of a well.
Mulder got up; time to take action. He went to open the door of his room, but it was jammed.
“Hey”, he shouted; “anyone there?”
All he could hear was banging on the connecting door, sounding as loud and aggressive as it had moments before.
No response; Mulder realised he had another way out, and it wasn’t through the window.
Another way to confront his mysterious neighbour.
He pulled the handle of the connecting door, and opened it, to find himself stepping into…
A corridor, which seemed to be stretching into eternity. He couldn’t see what was at the other end.
It was as though invisible hands were pushing him into the corridor; he had no choice but to enter.
As he wandered through the blackness, he could hear the Specials song playing again:
It’s good to be wise when you’re young,
‘cause you can only be young but the once.
As the song played on, Mulder stepped into a room.
Enjoy yourself and have lots of fun.
He looked around, becoming slowly aware that he was back in his own hotel room. The music was unrelenting. He noticed that it was coming from the record player.
The same record that had started playing by itself earlier that evening.
So glad and live longer than you’ve ever done.
Mulder glanced around the room; it was full of someone’s possessions, but not his. An empty porcelain mug sat on the bedside table.
Enjoy yourself, it's later than you think.
Mulder picked up what looked like a diary. The year on the front was 1981.
The year when The Specials split up.
Enjoy yourself, while you're still in the pink.
The diary seemed to open on one page: 11 September 1981.
I proposed to Ellie today. Still waiting for her response.
She said she’d think about it.
Are Mr. and Mrs. Gordon trying to talk her out of it?
Her parents never really thought highly of me.
Several pages in the diary after this had been torn out, and after that there was nothing; blank pages starting from 22 September.
Mulder put it down; he looked around; were there any other clues in this mysterious time warp that he had entered.
The years go by, as quickly as you wink,
Enjoy yourself, enjoy yourself, it's later than you think.
The impact of the porcelain mug being thrown and smashed against the wall made Mulder jump…
The next moment, he was rousing from a dream, and he realised he was still lying on the bed.
A hypnic jerk, Scully had told him, when your body suddenly wakes itself in the first stages of sleep, usually caused by the muscles twitching involuntarily.
A similar phenomena to hiccups.
Mulder would usually dream that he was running, only to suddenly and unexpectedly fall, just as the hypnic jerk woke him up.
He wrote down the words “Ellie Gordon” and “proposed” in his notebook, as well as the date 21 September 1981, just in case they were important.
He was sure Scully would have insisted: “But, Mulder; it was just a dream”.
He looked at his watch; it was 2 am.
XXXXX
Mulder called Danny, just for someone to talk to; he found himself listening to an automated message.
“Hello, Danny”, he said; “just wondered if you could find any records of an Ellie Gordon, living in DC in the 1980s. Did she marry someone called Terry, maybe in 1981 or 1982? Call me back when you get this”.
He hung up; he wasn’t used to getting Danny’s voicemail, but everyone had to sleep, didn’t they?
As Mulder stared at his phone, he didn’t notice the room begin to shrink, the walls pushing inwards, slowly moving everything towards him.
It was so gradual, he didn’t notice at first, but as the wardrobe began to encroach on the bed, he started to panic.
Mulder wasn’t particularly claustrophobic, but he knew he had to get out of there.
As the wardrobe and bed began to splinter, and break, pieces of wood scattering on the floor.
The doors? Where were the doors?
Vanished, without a trace…
They had vanished behind the encroaching walls; the window was accessible, but even if Mulder made it out there…
There was a sheer drop.
Afraid of heights…
“Not funny”, he gasped; “not funn”y.
Mulder was ready to jump out of the window, as he narrowly avoided the television falling on his head; it was either that or be slowly crushed inside the room.
Maybe he could grab a window ledge below him…
Which fate is worst?
The air outside was like a tsunami as he leant out of the window. Rain lashed down from above; it felt almost sharp to the touch, like hail. He could feel the water, wet against his face.
The sky above looks blacker than any other night.
No moon.
No stars.
It was like a tsunami was raging outside, but everyone else was sleeping through it.
Nobody else can hear it.
Nobody else knows about it.
Mulder glanced around, and saw that the room was back to normal.
Nothing was broken, and the doors had appeared again. The room was no longer threatening to become the tomb for Mulder’s crushed, broken body.
Glancing back out the open window, he saw that the calm clear night had restored itself; there was nothing to indicate apocalyptic weather phenomena. Even the water that had lashed against his face was gone; he felt his brow; it was bone dry.
Not even a single drop of forehead sweat.
It seemed that he’d been hallucinating again. Almost like Terry was trying to say something about his own state of mind.
Mulder and Scully had once met a weather forecaster whose moods unconsciously affected the weather; had what he briefly witnessed been a manifestation of Terry’s feelings?
Maybe what Terry had been feeling when he died.
XXXXX
Mulder calmed down; he paced around the room.
“Terry, what are you trying to tell me?”, he asked; “did it feel like the walls were closing in around you?”
Feelings of isolation, being alone.
Maybe even heartbreak?
“Was there a storm raging in your mind, Terry?”, Mulder asked; “I just need a way into your head”.
Assuming Terry in fact had a head.
Mulder sat down on the bed.
“I don’t know if you still want to communicate with me, Terry”, he sighed; “Scully doesn’t believe in you. I believe in you, though”.
He felt ridiculous speaking to an otherwise empty room; the only response he got was the trilling sound of a nightjar.
It was a strange feeling, but it was almost like someone else was in the room.
Pacing around.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Mulder glanced around, but couldn’t see anyone, but when he turned back it was almost although someone was breathing down his neck.
The strange thing was, he didn’t feel as though it were Terry.
So nice to have company.
I’ve been waiting.
Mulder almost felt like he could smell cologne.
Was that a shadow over the bed that hadn’t been there before?
I have no parents.
I wasn’t born.
I was created.
A tap on Mulder’s shoulder, and he turned around, to see…
No one.
Looking down though, Mulder saw the hand-written note that hadn’t been there before.
Picking it up, he read:
It’s been underneath you all the time.
Consider what’s under the floorboards.
Directly under you now.
Is this a three-pipe problem, Sherlock?
Salutations from the world beyond
David
Just like that, the new presence in the room was gone. Mulder felt more alone than ever, but could he trust this visitor?
David Greendale, could that be you again?, Mulder wondered.
XXXXX
Mulder climbed under the bed, and started pulling up the carpet.
I can be out of here before they find out about a bit of wanton vandalism, right?
Mulder was no stranger to tampering with things; he’d taken a knife to an el camino once, all for the sake of finding hidden evidence, and Skinner had not found out.
Mulder peeled away the carpet, and found…
A loose floorboard.
As he got ready to pull it up, his phone vibrated again.
Scully, calling again?
Had she not gone to bed yet?
“Scully”, he said; “I think we have a friend helping us; I might be able to make a breakthrough on Terry. You won’t believe the things I’ve seen tonight; walls literally closing in on me…”
“Mulder, just shut up for a moment, will you?”, Scully demanded; “I honestly don’t know why I listen to you, all this … rubbish you come out with”
“Scully”, Mulder protested; “you’re just tired; maybe you should get some rest; you’ll feel better in the morning”.
“I should get some rest?”, Scully replied, mockingly; “you’re the one who needs some rest. You’re in a hotel room, looking for a ghost that doesn’t exist. Maybe when you get back, I’ll have changed the locks.”
“Scully…?”
“Maybe I should rethink whether I should be engaged to Spooky Mulder. Or maybe that’s crazy Mulder?”
“Scully, let’s be reasonable”.
“Mulder, stop interrupting. I’m saying … I don’t love you! Does that make sense to you?”
Scully abruptly hung up, and Mulder was alone again with his thoughts.
There was only one way to get to the bottom of what David (if that was him) was trying to show him; he began to pull up the loose floorboard. This allowed him to get some leverage on the ones around it.
People hardly ever slept in this room; Mulder could easily put back the floorboards, settle the bill for damages if needed.
The music began to play again, on the record player:
Never right, yes I know,
Get wisdom, knowledge and understanding,
These three were given free by the maker,
Go to school, learn the rules; don’t be no faker,
It’s not wise for you to be a footstool,
En…joy your … self, it’s…
La … ter … than you…
TH…
INK…
The singing got slower.
Deeper.
As it stopped altogether, Mulder, distracted, got up, and ducked.
Just as the remains of an irreparably damaged record flew past him, smashing on the wall behind him.
Damn you, Scully, Mulder thought.
Damn you too, Terry.
I’m going to find what’s in here, and prove it to you.
Mulder rooted around under the floorboards, and eventually pulled out a diary. It was amazingly well-preserved; evidently the damp had not got to it yet.
A photograph marked the place of the last entry in the diary; it was a picture of a young woman; blond and beautiful.
Mulder glanced at the back of the picture; on it was scribbled:
My Ellie
As Mulder looked at the last entry, he recognised the words from his dream, vision, hallucination, whatever it had been. He could even see where the next few pages had been torn out.
Mulder looked back into the hole, and pulled out a small locked metal case, slightly rusty. It was all that was left in there. He could feel a metallic clinking sound inside the case as he shook it.
He was an expert in picking locks; he had done it many times; it was something you needed to do as an F.B.I. agent.
He’d even picked the lock to Scully’s front door once, back when he needed somewhere to go. Just after he’d faked his own suicide, and left the body of stranger in his own apartment.
Mulder looked around in his bag, and pulled out a needle; it was just right for picking the box’s lock.
The lights above him flickered and sparked as he jimmied away; it felt like any moment they would explode above him. Terry attacking him from beyond the grave.
“Go into the light, Terry”, he muttered.
As the lights stopped flickering, he looked around the room; there was nothing out of the ordinary…
Except a solitary shadow on the wall with nothing to cast it.
The shadow of a man, but not his own shadow.
The shadow just seemed to watch Mulder, as though deciding.
Terry was deciding whether Mulder should learn the truth.
After a few moments, the shadow began to fade; Mulder could feel the lock on the box opening.
Inside, he found pages.
Pages of a diary.
Terry’s diary, which he had torn out, and desperately didn’t want anyone to read.
Now, however, it seemed that he could accept this newcomer reading them.
“Thank you, Terry”, Mulder said, to the empty room; “you know it makes sense”.
Silence.
Deathly silence.
Mulder noticed one more item in the box; it was a ring.
It had to be an engagement ring.
It was as though the world were waiting for Mulder to read the missing diary entries.
23 September
I’ve heard nothing from Ellie.
I spent half an hour staring at that mirror today.
Not leaving the hotel room until I hear back from her.
24 September
That Specials song was on the TV today: “Enjoy yourself”.
I wish I could enjoy myself.
I think I will when Ellie contacts me.
25 September
Ellie came round today; I’d told her I was waiting for her her.
This could have been the happiest day of my life.
Instead, she threw that engagement ring in my face; she told me: “Get real”.
Told me that her parents were against the marriage, and she’d finally’seen sense’ from them.
Told me she didn’t love me, and I should quit this obsession.
I want to die.
26 September
Today will be the day that I die.
I can just lie back in the bath, slit my writs.
But first, I’ll make extra sure no one reads these last few diary entries.
The last few pages did not make for easy reading. Mulder looked around in his jacket pocket, and pulled out a ring.
“I was married once, Terry”, he said; “it didn’t last long. She couldn’t accept that I’d once had eyes for two other women”.
Diana Fowley.
Phobe Green.
Two woman who were now very much in the past for Mulder.
He didn’t know why he was telling a ghost this, maybe because Terry had let him find out such intimate details of how he died.
“I guess me opening the X-Files didn’t help either”, he mused.
At that moment, Mulder felt a strong grip on his wrist. The man who was now sitting next to him had a pincer-like hold.
He looked around…
At his own face, as the fake Mulder looked at him manically.
Mulder had encountered his own doppelgänger a few years ago; the double had stalked him for a long time one evening during a particularly disturbing case. This one felt more tangible than ever though.
More like the shape-shifting bounty hunters.
Or the serial sex offender Eddie van Blundht, who had nearly seduced Scully
“It’s later than you think”, Mulder heard his own voice hiss at him, as he looked down at his alter ego’s wrists.
Both had been slit, in a cross-like formation; blood was dripping out of the wounds.
…
It was like Mulder had blacked out from the shock of what happened, as he stood in the gas station trying to buy sunflower seeds, but got no attention from the store clerk. He slammed a few dollar bills on the counter, and walked out.
He checked his appearance, relieved that he had at least dressed before he evidently fled his hotel room.
Fled from a haunting that was too much for him to handle.
Had he just left his key in reception? Did he have all his stuff with him?
Had he let Scully know he was on his way?
Did he even want to see a woman who apparently did not want to be with him any more?
He did not even remember stopping at the gas station; it was almost like being intoxicated.
Mulder drove, zombie-like, towards the house. It felt like he and the world around him were in slow motion. He watched the lights of the cars coming towards him on the freeway, and felt like he had entered the world of David Lynch.
…
The next thing he knew, he was rushing into the house.
He was glad that there had been space for Jackson to share a room with Tena. He didn’t even mind sleeping on the floor until they got him his own bed.
Creeping softly upstairs.
“Scully?”
There was no evidence that she had walked out on him again; that might be a good sign.
Mulder felt a strange sensation, as though someone were pressing his chest. It was disconcerting; it was like the strange haunting had followed him home.
Mulder stopped; he could hear Scully talking.
“Yes; I am Dana Scully”.
“You say he wasn’t breathing?”
“He was holding what? Before the heart attack”.
Mulder slowly entered the room; Scully did not notice him as he entered.
“Scully”, he shouted.
There it was again, the pressing feeling on his chest.
“Mulder .. Fox, my Mulder”; Scully had tears in her eyes.
“Scully”, Mulder shouted.
As he said this, Scully got up: “I’ll be right over”, she said, as she walked past Mulder as though he were not there.
“Scully”…
“He’s stable” said a voice, as Mulder once again felt hands on his chest, and suddenly…
He was looking up at the ceiling of that hotel room that he thought he had entered.
He was also looking at the faces of four men and women in uniform.
Paramedics.
“Mr. Mulder, can you hear me?”
As Mulder tried to speak, he realised there was an oxygen mask on his face, but he nodded weakly.
“It looks like we got here in time” said the man who had been speaking to him; “and although a heart attack isn’t anything I’d wish on anyone, it seems to be the only thing that stopped you from doing anything really drastic”.
A female colleague held up Mulder’s penknife: “This was in your hand, Mr. Mulder; looks like you were feeling a little down, perhaps”.
“Almost like your girlfriend dumped you”, her male colleague suggested; he pointed to a small cut on Mulder’s wrist, as though he had been trying to slit it.
XXXXX
SIBLEY MEMORIAL HOSPITAL
WASHINGTON, DC
“Mulder, I thought I was going to lose you”.
“I guess my heart is stronger than you thought, Scully” replied Mulder.
He looked around him, and saw the bright hospital lights. Other patients lay in separate beds in the ward. A hairy, Jesus like, man lay in the bed next to him. He could almost have been the brother of Mulder’s late friend Max Fenig.
“Apparently a guest in the room next to you complained about disturbances coming from your room”, said Scully; “the manager didn’t like being woken in the night, but that was when he found you. Lucky you gave my number as an emergency contact”.
“Scully”, said Mulder; “if you don’t want to get married, then that’s fine. I know Spooky Mulder isn’t someone everyone wants to spend their life with.
“Mulder, what are you talking about?”, Scully asked.
“Those things you said to me when we Facetimed, Scully.
“When we Facetimed?”, Scully asked; “how many times did you think we spoke to each other?”
“What do you mean, Scully?”.
“I managed to speak to you for about five seconds”, Scully replied; “then I lost contact with you, and was unable to call you back”.
“So, you’re saying…” Mulder replied.
“I think you need plenty of rest”, Scully replied; “and no more causing yourself heart attacks. I’ll come back to see you tomorrow”.
Mulder smiled; “Enjoy yourself, Scully. It’s later than you think”.
THE END