Title - Resurrecturis
Author - Noll, Dagmar S.
E-Mail - dagmar@noll.com
Rating - PG
Classification - X-X-File
Spoilers - (None) 
Keywords - 
Summary - Mulder and Scully spend yet another Christmas chasing
 zombies.

~*~*~*~

The light behind the Best Buy sign flickers in the falling snow
over the heads of busy holiday shoppers. Inside the beeping of items
scanning at the registers falls into jolly harmony with Christmas
carols blaring out of several 'SPECIALLY PRICED FOR THE HOLIDAYS!'
boom boxes. An announcement periodically breaks though the merriment
and bustle via several store speakers: "Only three shopping days left
shoppers! Don't know what to get? Try a Best Buy gift certificate!"

A young boy, shrieking with glee, vaults around the corner of a
music aisle with a taller boy at chase behind him and, glancing back
at his pursuer, runs squarely into a black-hooded figure crouched over
one of the tables. The boy stumbles onto his knees and slides against
the far table. Scrambling to his feet he offers a perfunctory "Sorry"
before running off again. By the time the form turns toward the spot
where the boy fell, he is gone. The figure turns back to the table,
reaches out one pale, hand to painstakingly extract a CD from the
rack, and, with a slow shuffle, joins a checkout line.

A young cashier scans the CD, her eyes blank. "That'll be
$16.08", she says in monotone as she reaches absently for a bag. The
pale hand removes a bill from the folds of the black cloak and places
it carefully on the counter.

Suddenly there is a scream from the doorway and the cashier
turns to see a crowd gathering at the front window. Out in the street
three figures are moving through the deep snow with jerky movements,
blood-covered arms reaching out straight in front of them.
"ZOMBIES!!!" someone yells, and shoppers begin to run in, out, through
and around the store. The cashier dives beneath the counter. No one
notices the tail of a dark cloak disappear through the revolving door
at the front of the store.

Outside the figure hobbles close to the wall and around a corner
into a dark alley. There she pushes back her hood to reveal a face as
white as her hands, made even more striking by the dark hair pulled
sharply into a ponytail at the back of her head. Her bleary eyes peer
briefly out at the frantic scene before her. She gives a low noise of
disgust and traverses the length of the alleyway before disappearing
into the night. 


  ~*~*~*~



A light illuminates the walkway between an elevator and a closed
door displaying a black plaque: "Fox Mulder Special Agent". Other
shadowed doorways along the hall are mere suggestions in the gloom.
The elevator door opens with a festive "ding" to reveal a woman in a
red skirt suit and Santa hat.

Entering the office, she pauses momentarily to regard a lanky
figure seated at a desk watching a small television on the other side
of the room. He doesn't look up as she enters. "Close the door, will
ya?"

Scully complies and walks to the desk. "Where have you been all
morning? We missed you at the Christmas party...". Her voice trails
off as she glances at the TV image of a man and woman fornicating in
a cemetery beneath a statue of an angel. "Mulder..."

Mulder gestures toward the television with the remote control,
eyes riveted to the screen. "Watch this, Scully: her dead husband will
rise from the ground beneath and exact revenge for her unfaithfulness
by biting a chunk of flesh off of her upper arm."

Scully leans over to take the remote from Mulder who, looking at
her for the first time, snags her hat and, placing it on his own head,
leans back in his chair. "Heeey Mrs. Claus, I'm doing research here."

"Research. On the day before Christmas Eve." Scully notices the
video cover next to her hip, picks it up, and gives him a skeptical
look. "'Cemetery Man', Mulder?"

"A.k.a 'Dellamorte, Dellamore'."

"'Of love, of death'. I didn't know you were a romantic", quips
Scully. "What brought this on?"

"A sitting with this piece of cinematic genius doesn't require
any particular inspiration, but..." Scully sits in a chair opposite
Mulder and picks up the article at his fingertips. "...I found that in
my inbox this morning. No stamp, no address."

"Three Freed from Iowa Cellar". She looks up.

"A town called Edunda, Iowa. Last night three men were picked up
in front of a strip mall in downtown Edunda after frightening the
local populace with nonsensical mumblings and jerky, staggering
gaits."

"According to this article these men were held captive by a
local farmer who used them as slave labor for decades at his farm at
the outskirts of town. They are being treated at the local hospital
for memory loss and damage to their nerves."

"Zombies, Scully."

"The zombie phenomenon was exposed years ago as nothing more
than a careful application of drugs that induce hallucinations and
partial paralysis, ultimately suppressing the victim's memory and
self-control but rendering them useful for mindless work."

Mulder nods. "This was especially common in Haiti where voodoo
priests, or houngans, were purported to have 'enchanted' villagers and
then sold the 'zombies' into slavery. Perhaps the most famous case
dates back to just 1980 when a man named Clairvus Narcisse returned to
the village he had supposedly died in nearly two decades before with a
tale of an enslavement which ended when a lapse in the administration
of his drugs allowed himself and some of the other slaves to became
conscious of their situation and fight back against their captors."

"Wouldn't it follow, then, that these so-called zombies in Iowa
are victims of the same sort of chemical enslavement?"

"Yes".

"Then where's the X-File?"

"How are you with anagrams?"

Scully raises an eyebrow. Grabbing a pen and a piece of paper,
Mulder scribbles out a couple words and pushes the paper over to
Scully.

"Edunda, Undead."

Scully's eyes meet Mulder's smug ones and a pause stretches
between them.

"I am not spending another Christmas chasing after the living
dead."

"I was hoping it could be a holiday tradition for us Scully."

Looking down at her lap Scully begins, "Mulder, Mom's invited
you to join us for Christmas din-"

"I'm going to scope this one out Scully." Mulder interrupts,
rising and moving toward the door, dropping the hat back on her head
on his way out. "Give Mom a kiss for me."


   ~*~*~*~

 

"Thanks for coming along Scully."

Scully's eyes remain closed and her jaw stiff as she rests in
the reclined passenger seat of the rented Honda Civic. "Twenty-four
hours Mulder. I've assured Mom that I will be home by midnight on
Christmas Eve."

"Twenty-four hours," affirms Mulder as they pass a sign:
'Entering Edunda'.


  ~*~*~*~  


Mulder and Scully walk into the squat, one-story Edunda Medical
Center and greet the nurse on duty.

"I'm Fox Mulder and this is my partner, Dana Scully. We're out
here investigating an event that occurred in town yesterday."

The nurse nods briskly. "You mean the latest zombie incident.
The men are being treated here, but we're hesitant to allow visitors.
They are very sensitive to human contact at this point. Poor souls
have been terrorized out of their minds..."

"Nurse..." begins Scully.

"Frie", supplies the nurse.

"...nurse Frie, I'm a doctor. Perhaps I can look over the
patients' charts and talk to the doctor treating them."

"No harm in that, I suppose," replies the nurse.

"I'm going to swing back to the motel we passed on our way in
and check us in," advises Mulder. "I'll be back in half an hour."


  ~*~*~*~  


Mulder re-enters the hospital forty minutes later and spots
Nurse Frie at the front desk. The nurse informs Mulder with a polite
smile, "Agent Scully is finishing up with the doctor and will be with
you in a moment."

"Actually, I wanted to ask you about something you said earlier.
You referred to this as 'the latest zombie incident'. You've seen this
before?"

"Yes, sir. Edunda townsfolk are full of zombie stories, some
referring back to the beginnings of this town. Most people take it for
no more than legend, but there was one incident within my own
experience." Nurse Frie hesitates, and then encouraged by Mulder's
look of interest, continues, "About ten years ago a boy was found
wandering one of the country roads and was brought into the emergency
room where I was on duty. His eyes were bleary and he could only moan
and babble nonsense, as though he were under some sort of spell. Over
several weeks the boy gained some control over his finer motor skills,
but it was obvious he had never learned to read, write, or speak
properly. He never did learn to say more than a few words . . .
'Zombie Jim', we called him."

"You believe he was a zombie?"

"Oh, not in the literal sense of the word. He was surely
living-- I felt his pulse myself! But the symptoms of his affliction
were so like something out of 'Night of the Living Dead' that the name
stuck."

"Is he still alive?"

"Yes, he works as a caretaker for Ms. Craig over at the old
Edunda estate off of South Street on Cherry Lane. It was actually her
that found him and brought him in, and she's been a great sponsor for
his well-being over the years."

"Thanks."

Mulder turns as he hears Scully's voice echoing down a hallway.
She appears a moment later at the side of a doctor.

Turning to the nurse and doctor she says professionally, "Thank
you both very much. If I have any more questions I'll be in touch.
C'mon Mulder."

They walk silently out of the hospital and get into the car.
Mulder looks at Scully expectantly.

"Well, those men were given hallucinogens and a series of drugs
that has effectively shut down all but the crudest of muscle control.
It appears that someone has been administering these drugs for years,
and the long-term damage to their nerves and memory is still unknown.
I've discovered something that wasn't in your article though: They
were brought in covered with blood."

"I called the local authorities while you were in with the
doctor to find out more about the farmer the article mentioned. This
morning a local farmer, Ed Schwartz, was reported missing. A search of
his house revealed his corpse torn to pieces on the kitchen table. No
official connection has been made between the two incidents, though
judging by the article at least someone believes that these men were
indeed the slaves of this farmer and, given a chance at freedom,
slayed him. However, the article pre-dates this information."

"Unfortunately the men were bathed shortly after they were
brought into the hospital, so it will be difficult to make an official
connection between the blood on the men and the farmer's death. I'm
not impressed with the work of the local authorities here Mulder."

Nodding, Mulder grips the steering wheel and gazes out the
windshield. "I've scheduled an autopsy for you on Schwartz tomorrow
morning. In the meantime is there any chance of getting any
information out of the 'zombies'?"

"Right now even their identities are a mystery. The constant
presence of drugs in their system along with the long-term trauma they
have undergone has effectively scrambled their brains. Perhaps given
time . . . weeks, months, or even years, we might gain some access to
their memories."

Mulder starts the car. "How about ten years?"


  ~*~*~*~  


Mulder and Scully walk an overgrown path, Mulder's flashlight
lighting their way.

"Exactly why are we out here?", inquires Scully dubiously as she
picks her high-heeled way through brush and snow.

"This man, Jim, was found in a condition similar to the men
we're out here investigate, only he's had significant time to recover.
I'm hoping he might have some understanding of what happened to
him . . . shed some light on our current case. Look, there's the
house." The agents pause their trek to take in the dark stone
farmhouse looming before them.

"It looks like nobody's home, Mulder."

"Let's check around back."

Scully rubs her hands together and tucks them into her coat
pockets before proceeding around the corner of the house. Mulder
follows close behind, periodically attempting to peek into the
shuttered first floor windows. Finally he comes up to where Scully
stands at the back of the house looking at a small building a hundred
yards off. The building is dark, but a wisp of smoke coils out of a
lone chimney. With a quick glance at each other the agents approach
the front door and knock. There is no answer.

"Hello!" calls Scully. "Anyone here?"

Mulder tries the knob and the door swings open.

A small fire lights a room furnished with a table, two chairs,
a small bed, and a stove. A figure is hunched in the far corner.

Mulder pokes his head farther into the room. "Hello, my name is
Agent Mulder from the FBI. Are you Jim?"

There is no response, no movement from the man in the corner.

"This is my partner, Agent Scully. We'd like to ask you a few
questions."

The figure shifts, leaning forward slightly. "No. No. No."

Scully pipes up, "We won't be long, sir, if we could just have
a moment of your..."

The figure crosses the room in two powerful strides saying,
"Please. No. No. Go. Please," and shuts the door firmly in their
faces.

Mulder looks at Scully. "Chatty fellow."

"I doubt it would be any use to press him."

Mulder nods, gazing at the big house. "I'm going to see if Ms.
Craig is home."

Mulder and Scully walk back around to the front of the house and
Scully wanders toward the drive while Mulder knocks on the door.
Receiving no answer Mulder begins to walk toward Scully, and then
pauses.

"Do you hear that Scully?"

"Do I hear what?" Scully asks.

"That sound...it sounds like a television, or music....or...."

"A tooth?"

Mulder smirks and then looks serious again. "It's gone now."

"I didn't hear any music Mulder. I think you're delirious with
hunger. I know I am. I haven't had anything to eat since the party
this morning." Scully turns on her heel and sets off in the direction
of the car.

Mulder, after another glance at the house, follows.


  ~*~*~*~

9:00 AM December 24th
Edunda Morgue


Mulder walks into the morgue where Scully is removing a pair of
bloody latex gloves. "What've we got?"

"Good morning, Mulder."

Mulder glances down at the twisted mélange of limbs and
intestines on the table in front of her. "Mr. Schwartz begs to
differ."

"Heart attack." Mulder looks up at Scully with raised eyebrows.
"Ed Schwartz was seventy-six and his cholesterol levels finally got
the better of him. The mutilations occurred after the body was cold.
Whoever did this to him, though, used their bare hands."

"That makes sense. Mr. Schwartz would have been the one
administering the drugs to our 'zombie' victims. Once he was dead
they would have emerged out of their trances slowly."

"We still don't have any hard evidence that he was holding them
as prisoners Mulder."

"No... and I visited Mr. Schwartz's home this morning. It's been
cleaned out, though I am assured by the local PD that there was
nothing there to suggest he was holding three men against their will."

"We'll know soon enough. I managed to find some fingerprints on
the victim's clothing and sent them express to the FBI labs for
analysis along with fingerprints from our 'zombies'."

"With some luck we should have an answer by tonight."

"You should have an answer by tonight Mulder. I can't see
that there's anything else we can do here at this point, and I
wouldn't mind getting to Mom's early." Scully pauses, and receiving no
response, stands resolutely in front of her partner. "There's a plane
leaving the airport at noon."

"I'm going to stick around Scully."

"For?"

"To see if I can discover who sent me that article, for one."

"It could be anyone...probably someone frustrated with the
incompetence of the local police who didn't want to draw attention to
him- or herself."

"Not just anyone. Someone who believes what the article says
and has sympathy for these tortured souls. Someone who might know
more..." Mulder pauses and then looks down at the corpse. "It's a
hunch."

"I guess I have a bus to catch then." Scully removes her smock
and puts on her coat. Opening the door, she pauses briefly to look
back at Mulder who is hovering over Ed Schwartz's body, scrutinizing
some fine detail.

"Merry Christmas, Mulder."

Mulder looks up to see her slip through the door and close it
firmly behind her.

"Merry Christmas, Scully."


  ~*~*~*~


"Ms. Craig?" The door swings open under Mulder's firm knock. "If
that's not an invitation I don't know what is," mutters Mulder as he
slips through the door.

He stands in a wide front hall stretching the length of the
first floor to a door at the back of the house. Despite the darkness,
the house smells light and clean. He glances up a staircase built
against the right side of the hallway and calls out, "Hello?"

There is no answer. Mulder tilts his head, listening, and begins
to climb the stairs, following a faint trail of music. "Ms. Craig?"

At the landing he turns right down a hallway and, walking toward
the door at the far end where the music is louder, says "My name is
Agent Mulder. I'm from the FBI and I'm in town investigating a case.
Please don't be alarmed. I'd like to ask you a few questions..."

He reaches for the doorknob, but the door opens beneath his
fingertips.

Mulder is still for a moment, taking in the figure before him.
She regards him over octagonal-framed spectacles containing a heavily
tinted brown glass. The eyes peering at him are slightly bloodshot,
but the irises are a soft blue-gray and their expression is as open as
the wintry Iowa fields.

"Fox."

Mulder, who had just started to reach for his badge, pauses
again. "I-I'm sorry, do I know you?"

"You've been looking for me. I'm Helen, Helen Craig." She pulls
the door open farther and gestures for him to enter. "Come in."

"Mulder enters the room and his eyes touch briefly upon the
shelved books lining two of the walls, floor to ceiling; the dark wood
mantelpiece carved with a rough, twining design framing a blazing
fire; three large windows stretching the full length of the wall
opposite the door, heavily curtained with velvet draperies of a wine
hue so dark it's nearly black; a state-of-the-art sound system
sparkling and winking from the hollow of a wall cabinet.
The song ends, and the machine shuts itself off.

"May I take your coat, Fox?"

"Mulder," insists the agent, " and I don't think this will take
very long."

"Fox . . . Agent Mulder . . ." She pauses. "I wrote that
article."

The two stand face to face for a moment and then, his eyes
locked calmly with hers, Mulder removes his jacket.


  ~*~*~*~


"Where would you like to begin, Agent Mulder?" Ms. Craig leans
her head against the back of the plush armchair she has pulled up next
to the fireplace.

Mulder perches on the edge of a stiff couch opposite the blaze,
his hands clasped gently in front of him, elbows resting on his knees.
"My partner Agent Scully and I visited your caretaker, Jim, yesterday
with hopes of gaining some insight into how the three men found in
town got into their abnormal state. We also knocked on your door." 

"I was sleeping. I frequently nap, and when I sleep, I sleep
like the dead." She chuckles softly. "Your partner isn't with you
today?"

Mulder ignores the question. "How long have you lived in this
town Ms. Craig?"

"I was born here, but I left in my youth to travel."

"Most recently, then..."

"About ten years, though I spend a good deal of my time away
from here, returning occasionally to check on Jim, to rest."

"What do you know about three men found wandering in town the
other night?"

"I don't know their identities, but I do know that they're not
zombies."

"We've ascertained as much. I guess I am wondering why you lured
me out here, then."

"I'm a great admirer of yours, Agent Mulder. I've been following
your work for several years...and I knew that you would listen."

"If you've followed my work then you know that I deal
exclusively in the paranormal, yet this case is a straightforward
situation of chemical enslavement." Mulder pauses. "Do you believe in
zombies, Ms. Craig?"

She laughs out loud. "Everyone in this town believes in zombies.
Even those who claim they don't believe are afraid of them. Yes, I
believe in zombies."

"You took Jim in."

"Yes..." She tilts her head.

"You believe, but you are not afraid."

A smile plays at the corners of her eyes. "Let me show you what
I do for a living." She reaches to the bookshelf above her head and
picks out a slender hardbound book with gold lettering along the spine
spelling out 'Resurrecturis'. Her hand trembles slightly as she runs
her fingers over the lettering, but her gaze remains steady. "I write
stories of murder and horror, of spirits and wild beasts, in my dark,
old house. No, I am not afraid." She slips the book back into its
place.

Mulder purses his lips slightly. "How familiar were you with the
farmer, Ed Schwartz?"

"I didn't know Mr. Schwartz personally, but it is no secret his
farm has been suffering the past decade. He was old, alone, and this
isn't a good period for small farmers in America. Many of the local
farms have suffered these past decades, and yet they seem to
survive...some even thrive."

Mulder's nod of encouragement is barely perceptible.

"There is something bigger going on here Mr. Mulder. I don't
have proof, but I have a lot of time to watch, to analyze the people
around me . . ."

Mulder's phone rings interrupting her, "Mulder . . . I'll be
right there."

Putting on his coat, Mulder reports, "Two men exhibiting
zombie-like symptoms just attacked a teenager at the drive-up window
of the local McDonalds." Ms. Craig rises and follows him out the door.


  ~*~*~*~


". . . and then this freaky looking dude came up to the window
and started pounding on the window 'til it shattered. I-I-I oh man! I
didn't know what to do, y'know? His eyes were empty...and the noises
coming out of his mouth were WIERD -- inhuman!"

Mulder's attention moves from the excited young McDonalds
employee being questioned by the police to the an officer leaning
against a life-sized Hamburgler. Mulder flashes his badge. "Excuse me,
where are the men this boy claims attacked him?"

The officer gestures toward a nearby cop car. Mulder peers
through the window of the nearest to him. A figure is curled up in the
corner, head lowered. Mulder moves around to the other side where the
second figure is more alert. Mewing and moaning in pain and fear, the
creature's focus wanders up the glass to Mulder's sharp eyes looking
down at him, holding the agent in a shockingly disarming gaze which
seems to go on . . . and on . . .

The stilted step of Ms. Craig behind Mulder shatters the
connection.

Mulder straightens. "This man is wearing a shirt with, 'Svenski'
embroidered on it".

"Steve Svenski has a farm about two miles from here, but that's
not Steve Svenski." As an officer approaches Mulder, Ms. Craig turns
her gaze to the man in the back seat of the police car.

"I'm officer Blake. I'm here to help you whatever way I can."

"I'm going to need to talk to a Steven Svenski. I believe he'll
be able to shed some light on this incident."

Officer Blake nods slowly and then thumbs toward Ms. Craig,
whose gaze hasn't left the man slumped in the cop car. "She shouldn't
be involved in this. I'll have one of my men drop her off home on the 
way." As the officer arranges transport, Ms. Craig flashes Officer
Blake one piercing glance before heading out toward the car.

Mulder watches her too-firm step retreat for a moment before
turning to the officer. "Let's go."


  ~*~*~*~
  

A few minutes later Mulder and officer Blake knock on the front
door of Svenski's house. "Steve?" Blake calls. They hear a low moan in
response. Blake opens the door to reveal Svenski sprawled out across
his kitchen floor. "Steve, are you hurt?" Blake crouches next to
Svenski."

"More likely he's drunk." Mulder, squatting, picks up an empty
bottle of Jack Daniels.

Blake slaps Svenski's cheeks lightly as Mulder straightens
and wanders into the next room. Svenski murmurs at Blake's efforts to
revive him, but does not wake. Mulder can be heard opening a door in
the next room and descending stairs to the cellar.

"Blake!"

Blake comes to stand behind Mulder on the basement stairs where
Mulder gazes grimly at the scene below.

Mulder's flashlight moves over the basement, glimpsing signs of
habitation -- a small cot, a discarded bowl -- falling under the beam.

Mulder descends the last few steps and reaches up to pull a
string, lighting a dim, bare bulb. Mulder pockets his flashlight and
gazes around the room. Three cots are lined up against one wall. Two
have chains pounded into the ceiling beams above them. Mulder notes a
whip leaning next to the stairs. Mulder turns silently to the Officer
Blake and mounts the stairs. The two carry Svenski out to the car in
silence and Blake radios in their situation.

When they reach the station, officers come out to retrieve
Svenski from the car. Mulder moves to follow them in, but Blake grabs
his arm. "Svenski isn't conscious, Agent. I'm going to let him sleep
it off. He'll have plenty to say in the morning."

At Mulder's hesitation, Blake reassures, "I'll call you when he
wakes up. Let me drive you to your car."

Reluctantly, Mulder complies and gets back into the front seat
of the squad car. Blake pauses before turning the motor on. "You know,
I'd be careful, if I were you, of Ms. Craig."

"Oh?"

"Yeah . . . outsiders get funny ideas about things." Blake
pauses, and glances at Mulder. "Y'know?"

Mulder just looks at Blake as he brings the motor to life.


  ~*~*~*~


Mulder is walking across a lawn, mobile at his ear.

"Frohike? Mulder. Listen, I need you to do a quick check for me
on a 'Helen Craig', a resident of Edunda, Iowa. She's in her early
forties. A writer. No, that's all I've got. See what you can dig
up. . . . Hey, it looks like I'm going to miss your holiday
extravaganza this year." Mulder smirks at something Frohike says on
the other end of the line. "Right, give 'Miss Bliss' and 'Santa's
Little Helper' my best." Mulder closes his phone with a "blip" and
places it in his coat pocket before approaching the front door of
the Edunda mansion.

Mulder knocks and hears a slow, dragging tread approaching the
door. Ms. Craig opens the door and gestures for him to enter.

"I'm just having dinner. Come upstairs and tell me what you've
found."

Mulder follows Ms. Craig upstairs, watching her step which is
careful but smooth.

They enter the same library Mulder had been in earlier that day.
The table by the window is set for two.

"Have a seat. Wine?"

Mulder, seating himself, answers reservedly, "Thanks."

". . . you haven't eaten?"

"No."

Ms. Craig pours the wine and serves them both. Mulder, suddenly
realizing his hunger, begins eating. After a few moments during which
Mulder downs his food and Ms. Craig barely touches hers, she asks
Mulder, "Did you find Svenski?"

Mulder swallows and nods. "Yes. It appears he has indeed been
keeping those men in his cellar."

She leans forward slightly, "Did he say why, or how?"

"Unfortunately, he was unable to answer any questions when we
found him. Hopefully he'll be in better shape tomorrow morning."
Mulder puts down his utensils and leans back in his chair
thoughtfully. "I actually came here to talk about you, Ms. Craig.
You're just like them, aren't you? Victim of the same sort of
cruelty."

"I was a victim, Agent Mulder, but not quite like the others. My
mother died bearing me. My father was a botanist who traveled
extensively to exotic places, including parts of Africa, Australia,
and, in particular, Haiti, where he studied enigmatic species of
poisonous plants. I accompanied him with my governess on all of these
journeys, along with a close friend of his, a Professor Parsons. At my
father's untimely death of some enigmatic disease he caught in Africa
when I was fifteen, Parsons became my guardian and brought me back
home to Edunda. As I grew older, Parsons gradually became infatuated
with me. Of course I was horrified, and wanted nothing to do with him.
Shortly after I refused his advances, I fell ill with violent cramps
and a nausea so vicious it drained my energy within hours. The town
doctor could do nothing for me and pronounced my situation
untreatable. Parsons brought in some sort of witch doctor to treat me.
I distrusted him and refused his medicine. The concoctions were all
that he offered me, though, and periodically, when my thirst grew
unbearable, I would sip from the cup. Eventually I was too weak to
drink, but by then my body was plunging toward death. I remember
rising, watching the doctor perform rituals on my lifeless body. There
was a light behind me, drawing me up, up. I was absolutely calm as I
rose, but I wanted to see what he would do to me, so I watched a
while. . . perhaps I stayed too long, because eventually the light
faded and, like a rubber band, I snapped back into my body."

"A near death experience. . .", interjected Mulder.

"I recall the doctor leaving, and a minister visiting my
bedside, pronouncing me dead. Parsons visited several times that night
to pray. Then, finally, I must have made some small movement, for I
heard him calling my name in earnest."

"When I finally woke I was cold and clammy, and almost immobile
with exhaustion. I didn't speak out of fear and shock. One morning,
when I knew I was strong enough to get out of bed, I finally spoke and
gave Parsons such a scare. . . After that he didn't bother me anymore,
nor did I ever see the witch doctor again. We lived as though we were
strangers, and I thought he had finally seen his error in pursuing
me."

"You never told anyone about your experience?"

"At first I didn't think those visions were anything more than
feverish hallucinations, but as months and then years passed, I began
noticing changes. . . My appetite dwindled, yet I was never ill. My
eyes acquired a heightened sensitivity to light. For a while my nerves
recovered, but then movement became difficult again. These symptoms
increased over time, and yet all could be explained away by my
mysterious illness."

"I finally left home to write, to study and learn about OBEs and
near death experiences. And then one day I visited the family home,
this home, and closed it up for good. Parsons was dead, and closure
was long due. That night, walking out to the bus stop, I chanced upon
Jim wandering aimlessly in the woods along my road and I decided to
stay, to try to prevent what happened to me from happening again."

"This is your family home?"

"Yes."

"Officer Blake referred to you as an 'outsider'."

"Oh, I'm not an outsider in that respect, Agent Mulder. Don't
you see, I was here long before any of them. . ."

Mulder clutches the table suddenly. A wave of dizziness hits him
and he slides out of his seat onto the floor, where he lies on his
back, staring at the ceiling. Ms. Craig kneels beside him.

"See, those weren't hallucinations of mine. The poisoning, the
chanting, was all part of a Haitian zombification ritual. Parsons
wanted me, and he wanted me cowed. But instead he resurrected a
creature with soul and mind intact. As years passed I became aware of
a distinct unease in people when I approached, an instinctual alarm that
alerts the living to the presence of something that death has
touched . . . perhaps a chill that runs down the spine or a raising of
the hair at the back of the neck."

"Then one day I attended a conference on OBEs where you
presented a theory connecting OBEs to alien abduction. Of course, I
knew my experience had nothing to do with aliens, but when I walked
by you at the end of the conference, you were the only one who didn't
unconsciously shift away from me. And when I brushed your shoulder you
gave me a moment's glance of such calm curiosity. It was then that I
knew that you were different, that you were not afraid."

Mulder's attempt to speak comes out as a moan, and his hands
twitch limply at his side. Ms. Craig folds them on his chest. She
strokes Mulder's jaw and forehead gently as his eyes roll from side to
side.

"I have kept quiet here for a decade, watching and waiting. And
now they are rising. One by one, in pairs, trios, emerging from their
shrouds of dumb monotony. The rebirth is painful, their memories dim
and webbed. Anything dead coming back to life is going to cramp and
ache and sting, if it's lucky."

"I'm leaving these answers to you, for now. I have been quiet
here for so long, but soon they will come for me . . . and Jim. I
can't have that, even if I have finally found my most important
answer."

Mulder's consciousness begins to fade as she runs her fingers
gently over his eyelids. As the lids close, he sees the figure of
Zombie Jim reach down and lift him into darkness.


  ~*~*~*~


Sound stretches and vibrates as he floats over the earth. He
wakes briefly, and he knows someone is carrying him. There is
flickering light, yelling. And there is her voice, urgent, somewhere
above his head. It fades into his ear and pounds in his head " . . .
leave him, leave him, eave him, ve hiiim, hiiimmmmmmmm . . ." and
fades out as he falls suddenly into darkness. He knows he is flying.

When he opens his eyes he has landed and she is hovering over
him again, sliding something into the pocket of his trench coat.
"You're safe Fox. They won't hurt you." She plunges toward his eyes
and instinctively he closes them only to feel the ice of her lips
touch his forehead. When he opens his eyes again she is looking over
her shoulder fearfully, and abruptly she is gone.

Noises -- yelling, crackling, crunching -- grow louder, but his
thoughts move away to a clear silence as he stares, immobile, at the
sky above. As the moments pass his gaze intensifies, the stars taking
on acute detail, brightening, drawing close and surrounding him,
falling into orbit with him at the center. M&M-sized colored
lights emerge from the stars and soar into other stars, hum, dance,
and collide into miniature fireworks. One curves toward him and hovers
just in front of his nose. He squints, straining to perceive
microscopic life through the pin-sized windows. The ship spins for a
moment and, filling with a white, piercing light, emits a shrill trilling,
intensifying and expanding rapidly until Mulder's world is filled with
unbearable light and sound.

He opens his mouth to scream.


  ~*~*~*~


The phone is at his ear before he is fully awake.

"Mulder, where are you?"

Mulder rolls over, squinting, and winces as an object in his
trench coat jabs his side. He pulls 'Resurrecturis' out of a pocket.
"Scully . . . I'm in my motel room."

"The lab called me this morning when they couldn't reach you."

Mulder swings his legs over the edge of the bed and puts his
head in his hand. "I think she drugged me."

"Who drugged you? Ms. Craig? How did you get back to the motel?"

"I . . . I don't know."

"Is the rental outside?"

Rising stiffly, Mulder glances out the window. "Yeah, but I
don't think she drove me." He glances at the book in his hand and
pulls a piece of paper from between its pages. Scully is speaking, but
he doesn't hear her. He interrupts, "I have to get back there. I have
to talk to her."

"Mulder, you were drugged. You need go to a hospital and get
checked out."

Mulder stares absently out the window. "Right. So, what'd the
lab say?" 

"The blood was a match."

"Then Scwartz was involved."

"That's not all. One of the victims came through the fingerprint
lab as a match for a Leonard Jackson who was kidnapped as a toddler in
the seventies. We were lucky that his fingerprints were on file."

"That would explain why they couldn't seem to talk, Scully. Our
'zombies' never learned how! I'm betting that all of these men will
prove to be similar victims."

"How bad would business have to get, Mulder, for someone to take
a baby from it's parents and raise it in slavery?"

"There's something bigger going on here Scully, something that I
think has been going on for a long time. The people here are steeped
in zombie superstition. At some point someone instigated this
superstition, cultivated and exploited a fear, and gave the
townspeople a means of control that happened to help their commerce.
And if they truly believe that these are zombies . . ."

". . . then where's the crime?" finished Scully. "So you think
someone's orchestrating this?"

"I think someone began it, but I no longer believe that same
hand is behind it. Either it's been passed on or it's simply permeated
these people's belief system so thoroughly that they have convinced
themselves of it's validity, and work together to protect themselves
from the real truth."

"Maybe, Mulder, but you're not in any condition to . . ."

"I'll call you later."


  ~*~*~*~


Mulder approaches the smoking remains of the Edunda estate
slowly, still bottoming out several times along the way. Pulling up
next to a squad car where officer Blake sits against the hood watching
his approach, Mulder kills the engine, gazing at the scene with
dejection showing in the slumping corners of his eyes and mouth. After
a moment he gets out of the car and approaches Officer Blake, who
takes in Mulder's muddied, torn jacket, tousled hair, and bloodshot
eyes. 

"Rough night?"

"Yeah, you could say that. What happened here? Where's Helen
Craig?"

"The place burned last night. Jim was found wandering around the
ruins, yelling and howling. Ms. Craig's car was found an hour ago, 100
miles west of here. No sign of her."

"Where is Jim now?"

"He's been institutionalized until we can find his family. Your
partner called us this morning with the fingerprint results, and we're
making every effort to discover who his family is."

"You've institutionalized the wrong man. Jim didn't start the
fire."

"Yeah? Then who was it?"

"I have a list of names of farmers who I suspect are keeping
other "zombie" slaves on their farms. This is some kind of network and
they burned this house because Helen Craig knew the truth."

"Now, Agent Mulder, I can't just go running around accusing
people of that kinda thing. . ."

"Then let's go talk to Svenski."

Blake clears his throat and removes his hat. "Svenksi was found
hung in his cell early this morning after a night of moaning his
remorse over what he had done to the men. All of them. Including Jim".

Mulder looks Blake in the eye incredulously, his face gradually
moving into hard lines of understanding. He turns away as his mobile
rings, and begins to walk around the smoldering ruins. "Mulder".

"Hey, Mulder, Merry Christmas."

Mulder pauses in his walk and looks out at the fields grimly.
"What've you got for me Frohike?"

"After opening our stockings, Byers did some searching for you
in the old vital records for Edunda. There is no record of a Helen
Craig in Edunda Iowa, but there is a record of a Helen Parsons who
published a few novels with a small, private publisher."

"That's her."

"Ah, but there's a catch, Mulder."

"How so?"

"You said she was in her forties, right?"

"Yeah . . ." Tucking his phone between his neck and his
shoulder, Mulder pulls Resurrecturis out of his pocket and opens to
the copyright page. He runs his finger down the text and pauses at
the date.

"Helen Parsons wrote at the turn of the century. If she were
alive right now she'd be over one hundred and twenty years old."


  ~*~*~*~


"I didn't expect you to make it." Scully pulls the door open
wide to allow Mulder entry.

Mulder pokes his head in and glances around with mock caution.
"Is Big Brother around?"

Scully smiles. "No, Bill went home hours ago, and Mom is in bed.
I was just cleaning up a bit before I head home." Mulder enters and
Scully removes his tattered coat. "You look horrible, Mulder. Come
into the kitchen and tell me about the case."

"Not much to tell. I was right, it is a network, and the whole
town is in on it, right down to the friendly local PD. There's not a
thing we can do Scully." Mulder follows her into the kitchen and
sprawls into a chair.

"There's some of the pecan pie I made left over, and a slice of
apple."

"Pecan."

Scully cuts a piece of pie and puts it in front of Mulder, who
is staring at the table.

"Mulder." Mulder looks up as she pushes the hair back from his
forehead and peers into his eyes as she takes the seat next to him.
"Are you all right?"

Mulder grabs his fork and shifts forward to eat the pie. After a
few bites, Mulder makes a face and puts his fork down. "Have you ever
thought of what it would be like to live forever, Scully?"

"Are you talking about eternal life in the heavenly sense, or
immortality in the vampires and monsters sense?"

"Vampires and monsters."

"I suppose I've thought about it once or twice. It sounds very
lonely though, when I realize the immense sorrow of watching my
friends and family grow old and die as I remain unchanged. I'm not
sure I could take that loneliness"

"Think of all the things you could experience."

"Yet, how long would those experiences last? Theoretically you
would eventually experience everything."

"Would you? Or would there continue to be enough development
year after year to make it worthwhile . . . a twist on an old
philosophy, a strange evolution of music? Even locations evolve
dramatically from one century to the next. Imagine D.C. a hundred
years ago Scully, two hundred years ago."

A smile plays on Scully's lips. "I'd be wearing one of those
awful corsets, Mulder, and we wouldn't be able to talk like this
without a chaperone."

"Well, we could."

"But it would be scandalous."

Mulder pokes at his pie. "Scandalous is this pecan pie, Scully.
You should have warned me."

"But I thought you wanted to experience everything, Mulder."

"Maybe some things are better left unexperienced." Mulder and
Scully gaze at the forlorn pie. "Who made the apple pie?"

"Mom. Want some?"

"Yeah."






 End

Bibliography:


Calkins, Carol C., ed. Mysteries of the Unexplained. New York: The

Reader's Digest Association, 1982.

- Excellent compilation of mysterious tidbbits. I started here to get
a general feel for zombie lore.


Davis, Wade. The Serpent and the Rainbow. New York: Touchstone, 1985.
 
- Wade Davis is something of an expert on  the zombie phenomenon, and
is in fact mentioned by my beloved hero in the season two X-File,
"Fresh Bones".


The X-Files. Television series. Chris Carter. Twentieth Century Fox.

1993-2001.
 

Inspiration:
 Visual Audio Sensory Theater. Music For People. Wea/Elektra
Entertainment, 2000.

-  I listened to this album almost constanntly while writing 
"Resurrecturis", in particular the track "I Don't Have Anything" whose
tone touched so accurately the sort of emptiness and beauty of my main
character, Helen Craig.