TRAVIS AFB
SACRAMENTO
2.48 AM
The airfield lay in perfect silence, broken only by the
chirping of crickets. Suddenly lights flicked on in a darkened
hangar. Then they flicked off. On, off, on, off, at varying
lengths of time.
The flickering lights caught the eye of the guard at the
front gate. Poking his head out of the guardhouse, he muttered,
"What the hell..."
"It might be some kind of signal!" his partner exclaimed.
The first guard looked again at the blinking hangar, and picked
up the phone.
Guards rushed into the hangar, their Rottweilers baying
their heads off. They did a visual sweep, but the hangar was
empty. As they looked around, puzzled, the lights flicked off and
on slowly, almost lazily. The light grew brighter, almost
blinding. Abruptly, the fuse box exploded in a shower of sparks.
Then, one by one, the overhead lights sparked and blew out,
raining glass shrapnel down. The guards scrambled out of the
hanger, and stood around looking at each other, confused.
One pulled out his walkie-talkie. "Sir, there's something
very strange going on here..."
FBI HEADQUARTERS
WASHINGTON D.C.
8.25 AM
Scully entered the office to find Mulder leaning back with
his feet propped on his desk, his chair at a precarious angle,
readin a file.
"Mulder, one of these days you're going to fall and break
your neck," she said in her best schoolmarmish voice.
"Yes, teacher," he replied with a smirk, dropping his feet
off the desk. Leaning forward, he flipped her the file he had
been reading.
"The Air Force poltergeist has popped up again," he said
with a grin.
Scully raised an eyebrow. "Air. Force. Poltergeist." She
opened the file and began to read. As she scanned the reports,
glancing at the accompanying photos, Mulder explained, "It's a
kind of legend at the Air Force. Over the last five years
there's been a rash of unexplained incidents happening at Air
Force bases all over the country."
Scully interrupted him, reading out loud from the file.
"Falling bulletin boards, erased computer disks, phone
interference, lights flicking on and off at night...the last
three sound more like spy activity."
"That's what they thought at first," said Mulder. "But the
disks didn't contain any classified information; in fact, most of
them weren't even data disks, just wordprocessor programs and
stuff that's left out in the open. Plus they checked out the
entire phone system at all the affected bases. No bugs, nothing.
And the flashing lights were too random to be any kind of code."
"Is there any kind of connection between the bases?" Scully
asked, leafing through the pages of the file she was holding.
"Major Kevin Scheldon, the new commander of the latest base
to be affected, was on the staff at each of those bases at the
time of the incidents." Scully raised an eyebrow again.
"He's checked out clean," Mulder assured her. "But, the
incidents always happened almost daily, up to a few days each
time, before he moved on."
"So you think he's got something to do with the incidents,"
Scully concluded.
"There have been cases where a poltergeist forms an
attachment to a subject and follows it around..." Mulder said in
all seriousness.
"Mulder," Scully leaned her knuckles on his desk, "you've
been watching too many bad horror movies."
"Horror movie or not, a lot of important people think it
warrants investigating," Mulder retorted. "We're on the noon
flight to Sacramento."
TRAVIS AFB
3.02 PM
Mulder pulled the base headquarters door open for Scully. A
teenaged boy almost fell out, dropping a box in the process.
"Careful!" exclaimed Scully, steadying him with a hand on
his elbow. "Are you all right?"
The boy looked up at her, blushing. "Y-yes, ma'am," he
stammered, pushing up his glasses. Mulder picked up the scattered
objects that had fallen out of the box and handed the box back to
the boy with a smile, noting the ID pinned to the boy's pocket
protector. Bob Scheldon. He wondered idly if he was related to
the man they had come to see.
"T-thank you," said the boy, taking the box. He couldn't
take his eyes off Scully. Mulder hid a smirk. The boy hurried
off, almost tripping over his own large feet.
"Nice-looking kid," Scully commented.
"Isn't he, though," Mulder agreed.
"Major Scheldon's expecting you. Go right in." The secretary
inclined his head towards the simple grey door.
The man who greeted them was an older, grayer image of the
boy they had met earlier, confirming Mulder's guess.
"Major Scheldon, I'm Special Agent Fox Mulder - this is
Special Agent Dana Scully."
Scheldon waved them to chairs, saying "Please, have a seat."
Mulder didn't waste any time. "Major Scheldon, are you aware
of the...strange incidents that have been happening at Air Force
bases all around the country in the past five years?"
Scheldon smiled and leaned back in his chair, steepling his
fingers. "Ah, yes. The Air Force...phantom, isn't it called?"
"The Air Force poltergeist, actually, Major," Mulder
corrected him. Scheldon looked amused, but he was too polite to
laugh out loud. Mulder went on, "Are you aware, sir, that the
incidents associated with the poltergeist have been occurring at
the bases where you have been stationed?"
Now Scheldon looked startled. "You must be joking," he said,
lightly.
Mulder fixed him with a serious look. "I'm afraid not."
"You're serious," Scheldon said.
Mulder nodded and said, "Yes, sir, I am."
Scully pulled a file out of her briefcase and handed it to
Scheldon, who took a pair of reading glasses from his pocket and
shoved them on hastily, flipping through the file. His eyebrows
rose and fell as he read down the list of the AFBs that were
affected.
"Yes, I was temporarily assigned to all these bases," he
admitted, finally. "But surely there have been others who were
assigned to the same bases?"
"You're the single common denominator, sir," Scully informed
him. "Military Intelligence went over all the personnel files,
and you were the only officer who was assigned to those bases at
the time of the...incidents."
"Military Intelligence?" Scheldon now looked worried. "Am I
under suspicion of espionage?"
"That's what was thought at first, sir," Mulder answered his
question. "But the nature of the incidents doesn't fit in with
the profile of standard espionage activity - if you'll note the
reports, sir..." Within moments he had filled Scheldon in on the
same details he had told Scully about that morning.
"And I'm the only link," Scheldon repeated thoughtfully.
"Well, I'm afraid that I can't tell you anything that you don't
already know."
"Do we have your permission to look over the sites where the
incidents occurred?" Mulder asked.
"Of course," Scheldon answered. "I'll get you cleared to
enter the secured areas. I'm just as anxious to get to the bottom
of this as you are, believe me. I just don't see what connection
there could possibly be to me."
"Thank you for your time, Major Scheldon," Scully said, as
she and Mulder got to their feet.
"We'll keep you informed of our findings," Mulder added,
shaking Scheldon's hand.
The Major escorted them to the outer office, where they were
given a couple of security badges. "Wear these at all times," he
told them.
Suddenly the door flew open, and a teenaged girl stalked in,
her thickly made-up face glowering. The girl strode up to
Scheldon, saying petulantly, "Daddy!"
"Alexandra," Scheldon said, "What are you doing here?"
Alexandra glanced over at Mulder and Scully with a wrinkled nose.
Then she got a better look at Mulder and her face softened
slightly, breaking into a wide smile.
"Hello," she cooed, walking up very close to Mulder. Scully
hid a smile as Mulder took a step back, looking from the girl to
her father nervously.
Alexandra seemed not to notice as she continued, "I'm
Alexandra Scheldon. People call me Xandra." She batted her green
mascara-clumped eyelashes coyly. Mulder glanced desperately at
Scully, who was totaly unsympathetic to his situation.
"Was there something you wanted, ALEXandra?" Scheldon asked.
Alexandra sighed noisily and turned around. "Daddy, you said
I could have the Camaro today, but Bobby says you told him to use
it to run errands."
"I'm sorry, Alex, but your brother needs the car today.
Unlike you, he has a job," he added pointedly.
"But Daddy, I promised the girls at school I'd drive us to
the mall this evening!" she protested, her voice taking on a
whining tone.
Scheldon said, "We'll discuss this later, Alex." Alexandra's
mouth turned downwards in an angry scowl, and she stormed out of
the office.
Scheldon turned to Mulder nad Scully with an apologetic
smile. "Sorry about that," he told them. "She's at that age."
"Yes," Mulder said thoughtfully. "She is."
"So what are we supposed to look for, Mulder?" Scully asked.
They were standing inside the hangar that had put on the light
show the night before. It was empty, aside from a partly-
disassembled prop plane that stood in the middle of the floor;
tall shelves filled with tools and assorted engine parts lined
the walls. Broken glass from the overhead lights littered the
floor.
"Officially -" he glanced over at her, "signs of suspicious
activity, fingerprints, that sort of thing. I'd say the base
police have been pretty thorough in that department, though." He
pointed at the switch panel for the overhead lights, which were
dusted with magnetic fingerprint powder. The burned-out fuse box
was similarly powdered.
"And unofficially?" Scully prodded.
"Cold spots," he replied. "Areas of increased electrical
field activity, psychokinetic energy, but I don't have the
equipment with me to measure that."
"There's actually equipment to measure psychokinetic
energy?" Scully said. "Where do they sell that? On the back of
comic books?"
Mulder chose not to answer that. Instead, he wandered over
to the prop plane and looked inside the engine compartment.
"What're you looking for in there?" Scully asked.
"Poltergeist activity usually burns out electrical circuits,
for some reason," he answered, poking about in the cockpit fuse
box. "If this hangar was infused with spiritual energy last night
-" here, Scully stifled a snort "- the hangar's fusebox wouldn't
have been the only one to blow."
"Of course," Scully answered. "It could be that there was a
timer inside the fuse box, set to turn the lights on and off
erratically, and then to self-destruct to destroy all traces of
its existence. Also to shut down the hangar."
"What're you thinking, Scully?" Mulder asked, finishing his
inspection of the plane and walking over to her.
"Sabotage," Scully replied. "You know, there are some fringe
elements who believe that the Armed Forces are no longer
necessary, now that the Cold War is over. This could be their way
of dropping a hint."
"And they say I'm the paranoid one," Mulder said wryly,
heading back to take another look at the hangar fuse box.
Scully smiled to herself and walked over to join him.
Suddenly, she heard a creaking coming from behind her. She
whirled around, and saw a tall rack of shelves teetering
dangerously on its edge. The unsuspecting Mulder stood directly
under its shadow.
"MULDER LOOK OUT!" Mulder spun, to see the shelves coming
down towards him. What felt like a small torpedo hit him in the
side, throwing him a good two feet back from where he had been
standing. Then the shelves crashed to the floor, scattering
tools and engine parts in all directions.
Mulder sat up, coughing. Beside him, Scully was dusting off
shards of broken glass from her overcoat. He looked over at her,
realizing that she had saved him from certain death.
"Thanks, Scully," he said quietly.
"Don't mention it," Scully replied, but she smiled at him,
relieved that they were both safe.
Mulder got to his feet and helped Scully up. They walked
around the fallen shelves, picking their way through the
debris. Scully saw that the prop plane, that had also been in the
path of the shelves, was completely crushed. She and Mulder
regarded it quietly. Mulder swallowed, knowing that he might have
ended up the same way if not for his partner. Silently he patted
her shoulder, raising little puffs of dust from her coat.
The hangar door filled with people and barking dogs, drawn
by the loud crash. "What happened here?" an MP asked the pair.
"That shelf fell over," Mulder answered shortly.
"I don't understand it," said one of the mechanics who had
run over from a neighboring hangar. "These racks are firmly
bolted to the wall. And it would take four men to move it off its
foundation, even if it wasn't attached."
While Scully spoke to the MPs, Mulder bent over the shelf,
looking closely at the bolts that had formerly attached it to the
wall. "Scully! Come take a look at this," he called. She came
over and he pointed out the screws. There were still small chunks
of cement stuck to the threads. A hasty inspection of the other
bolts revealed the same thing.
"They were...wrenched out of the wall," Scully concluded.
"It takes incredible force to do this kind of work. Did you
see anyone, anything, before you saw the shelf fall?" Mulder
asked. He knew the answer, but he wanted to give Scully's ideas
the benefit of the doubt.
Scully shook her head. "No - I heard the shelf creaking, and
then I looked up and saw it about to fall. That's it," she
admitted reluctantly.
A pair of young MPs passed by just then, and Mulder and
Scully caught the tail-end of a sentence - "...think it was the
Air Force poltergeist?" one was asking the other, who laughed
nervously.
Mulder turned to Scully. "They're heeeerree..."
As Mulder and Scully emerged from the base headquarters
after giving their report of the incident to Major Scheldon, they
saw Bob Scheldon passing by, carrying a sheaf of files.
Impulsively, Mulder called to him. "Bob! Bob Scheldon! Do you
have a moment?"
Bob stopped and turned around. "S-sure," he said.
"I'm Fox Mulder, and this is Dana Scully, we're with the
FBI. We're investigating the strange incidents here at the base.
You've heard about them?"
"Yeah, I have," Bob replied. "News travels fast in a base
this size."
"Have you seen any of these incidents up close? Or anywhere
else - maybe at home?" Mulder asked.
"I - uh, no. No, I haven't," Bob answered quickly. The files
slipped from his fingers and fell to the ground. Scully knelt to
pick them up and handed them to the boy, who took them, keeping
his eyes averted from her face. "T-t-thank you, ma'am. I-I've got
to get back to work," he added, looking at Mulder.
"Sure," Mulder said. "Thanks for your time."
"What was that all about?" Scully asked as they got into
their car.
"Just a theory I have," Mulder answered, backing the car out
of the parking space. "Have you heard of recurring spontaneous
psychokinesis?"
Scully looked at him, the corner of her mouth curling up.
"Psychokinesis? Like those people who bend spoons with their
thoughts?"
Mulder turned out onto the main road and coasted into the
left lane, where he could drive and talk at the same time without
worrying about speeders. "That's garden-variety psychokinesis.
RSPK is a whole other ball game. It's often mistaken for
poltergeist activity, because the signs are roughly the same.
Objects that move on their own, strong electrical fields, things
that go bump in the night. The difference is that the agent in
RSPK is a living person -" he glanced at Scully "- usually an
adolescent."
Interested in spite of herself, Scully commented, "As if
teenagers aren't enough trouble, now they're poltergeists?"
"Lots of factors trigger it," Mulder said. "The stress of
growing up, pent-up emotional tension, raging hormones..." He
threw Scully a mischievous grin. "...speaking of which, I think
Bob Scheldon's got a crush on you."
Scully laughed. "Speak for yourself! Alexandra seems to have
a thing for _you_."
"The price I pay for my natural charm and magnetic
personality," he sighed dramatically.
"But those shelves weighed at least 2000 pounds, fully
loaded," Scully pointed out. Are you telling me that a
psychokinetic force could wrench that out of the wall?"
"Why not?" Mulder countered, slowing down for a rabbit.
"There have been documented cases of heavy furniture being picked
up and flung about. Pulling those bolts out would be relatively
easy, the weight of the shelf did the rest."
"Then again...it might have been done earlier, and
gradually, with a hand drill or something," Scully suggested.
Mulder shrugged. "Maybe." Scully could tell he wasn't
convinced.
"What do you think of Major Scheldon?" Scully changed the
subject.
"Nice guy," Mulder answered. "A lot more cooperative than
some army people we've met," he added. Scully knew what he was
talking about.
"I've been wondering if the incidents may be an attempt at
discrediting him," Scully said thoughtfully. "Having so many
"accidents" occur at the bases where he's served in the upper
levels of command wouldn't do any good for his record."
"That could be why he's been downgraded to this little
base," Mulder agreed. "It's something to consider."
BUDGET MOTOR INN
10.13 PM
"...Mulder and myself have been witness to one of the
incidents that have lately been plaguing Travis AFB. Major
Scheldon has expressed concern over the frequency of the
incidents, and has offered us his full support. So far, no
injuries have resulted from the incidents, although whether this
fortunate trend will continue remains to be seen. I am inclined
to believe that there is a systematic plan of sabotage being
carried out, the motives for which are uncertain as yet."
Scully saved her report and shut down her laptop. She took
off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. God, it had been a long day.
All she wanted was to crawl under the covers and go to sleep.
Her hopes for a peaceful night were dashed when frantic
hammering sounded at the door.
"Scully!" Mulder's voice called. Alarmed at his excited
tone, Scully opened the door quickly.
"Scully, the base just called. There's been another
accident, a fire. And this time someone got hurt," he told her in
a rush. As Scully grabbed her jacket and followed him out the
door, she wryly made a mental note to revise her report when she
got back.
Flames leaped up at the sky, as if trying to devour the
darkness as well as the hangar that burned brightly. Three fire
engines were already on the scene and firemen were unsuccessfully
fighting the blaze when Mulder and Scully drove up. Major
Scheldon came running to meet them, his face and uniform streaked
with soot.
"What happened?" Mulder asked him.
"There was an explosion," Scheldon told them, shouting to be
heard over the noise of the firefighters and the roaring inferno.
"The mechanics were running a standard engine test, and it just
went up. I've got four men down, one with third-degree burns."
"Can we talk to any of them?" Scully asked.
"This way," Scheldon said, and led them towards one of the
ambulances. In the back of one, a shaken-looking man was having
his arm bandaged.
"Corporal Morgan, these people are from the FBI. Tell them
what you saw," Scheldon said.
"Yes, sir," the man nodded, and swallowed nervously. "We
were running a routine maintenance check on one of the F-14s. As
usual, we followed all the regulations. Suddenly Clayton - that's
him who got burned real bad - he yelled, "Gasoline!" Then there
was a huge explosion and all hell broke loose."
"I take it gasoline isn't common during these engine tests,"
Scully said.
"No, ma'am," Morgan said firmly. "All flammables are moved
well away from the range of the engines whenever we do a
maintenance inspection like this one. And anyway, airplanes don't
use gasoline. Where it came from, we don't know."
"Was there anybody around the engine who didn't belong
there? Any strangers hanging around?" Scully asked.
"No, ma'am, definitely not. Just our guys, we work together
all the time. If there was a stranger, we'd've noticed."
"Did you feel anything before the accident - sudden cold, a
sense of uneasiness, anything like that?" Mulder asked.
Morgan looked at him quizzically, but shook his head and
answered "Nope - can't say I did." He winced as the paramedic
tied off the bandage.
"Thank you," Mulder said. He and Scully stepped back as the
paramedic closed the doors of the ambulance, which drove off.
During the exchange, Major Scheldon had gone off to
supervise the firefighting efforts. As Mulder and Scully headed
towards him, Mulder noticed Bob and Alexandra Scheldon hovering
on the edge of the action, among the small crowd of onlookers
that had gathered at the scene. He nudged Scully.
"Look. Over there." She followed his gaze and saw the two
teenagers behind the police barricades.
"Mulder, no," she said. "You can't possibly believe that
they have anything to do with this. They're just kids!"
He shrugged noncommittally. "So were the Eves."
By now, the fire - and the hangar - had been reduced to a
smoking pile of glowing embers. Scheldon came over to the agents,
drawing a sleeve across his perspiring forehead. "Did you find
out anything?" he asked.
"Only that there was gasoline involved," Mulder answered.
"Gasoline?" Scheldon repeated.
Scully decided it was time to test her theory. "Major
Scheldon," she said, picking her words carefully, "do you know of
anyone who might have reason to...discredit you? Someone with a
vendetta of some sort against you?"
Scheldon looked puzzled. "I don't believe so, Agent Scully.
Do you think that's what's behind these incidents?"
"We're considering all the options, Major," Scully answered,
directing a look at Mulder. Mulder, for his part, kept his peace.
Scheldon looked over at the barricades and saw Alexandra and
Bob standing there. "Excuse me," he said to the two agents, and
strode off towards his children. Mulder watched him out the
corner of his eye, and noted that they seemed to be having a
heated discussion. "...not supposed to be here"..."but Daddy"...
"dangerous...Dad, we were just...go home, right NOW" were among
the angry words that floated over to Mulder's observant ears.
The roof of the hangar collapsed in a spray of sparks.
TRAVIS AFB
9.33 AM
Scheldon's authority had given them full access to the
personnel files on the base, so the first file Scully pulled the
morning after the fire was his. It was a large file; even his
children's lives were recorded down in fairly minute detail.
"Maybe Military Intelligence missed something," she said to
Mulder as she called up the file to the computer in the middle of
the file room, empty except for the two of them.
"Military Intelligence. Now there's an oxymoron," Mulder
commented dryly, dragging a chair over beside Scully's and
pulling out his reading glasses. She threw him a crooked smile
and turned to reading the information on the screen.
An hour and a half later, they were no further from where
they had started. Frustrated, Scully scrolled back to the
personal information section while Mulder tried to work a kink
out of his neck.
"His wife, Katherine Emily Nellard-Scheldon, died of cancer
six years ago," Scully said, eyes fixed on the screen. Mulder
blinked and leaned over to read the information.
"That's interesting..." he said, reading down the lines of
text and noting the picture of an attractive yet maternal-looking
brunette.
"Mulder, it's not her ghost, so don't even suggest it."
"Not that," Mulder mumbled, still reading. He scrolled down
to the information about the Scheldon children.
"What are you looking for?" Scully asked.
"I'm not sure," he replied, scanning the screen. "This is
interesting. Since the death of his wife, Scheldon's had to
uproot his children every time he gets transferred - which was
quite often. Five moves in the last six years. Poor kids."
Scully nodded. "Army brats," she said, not unkindly. The
child of a Navy man herself, she had had her share of moving
around the country, leaving friends behind. She could sympathize
with the Scheldon children.
Mulder went on, "The date of his first transfer after his
wife's death roughly corresponds with the date that the first
accident occurred - do you have that file in your briefcase,
Scully?"
"Never leave home without it," Scully replied, opening the
leather case and withdrawing the thick file. A sheaf of papers
fell from it and onto the floor in a messy pile. "I got it," she
said, bending over to pick them up. Mulder got down off his chair
to retrieve one that had slid far under the desk they were
working at.
While they were on their hands and knees, they heard a
metallic clatter behind them. Then a noise, as if a rattling
metal object had been thrown through the air, followed by a solid
THUNK.
"Stay down!" Mulder hissed to Scully. She obeyed, her
worried eyes searching what she could see of the room while
instinctively drawing her gun. Mulder did the same as he
cautiously peered around the side of the desk. There didn't seem
to be anyone else in the room, so he slowly got to his feet.
That's when he saw the scissors, their points buried deep in
the bulletin board on the wall, four feet away from the desk they
had been sitting at.
"Scully, look at this," he said, peering closely at the
scissors, still quivering from the force of the impact. Scully
came up beside him, her eyes widening at the sight.
"Someone threw this at us?" she said, then answered herself.
"It's not possible. The only window in this room is too far away
- for the points to have penetrated this deep, the scissors
would have had to be fired out of a bazooka or something. Not to
mention it's at the wrong angle."
"And there wasn't anyone else in the room with us," Mulder
pointed out. "Face it, Scully, there's something *spooky* going
on here."
"Sure, Mulder," Scully answered. But her face was worried.
1.31 AM
"Tell me again, Mulder - what exactly are we doing here?"
Scully asked as they drove down the street leading to the base
commander's quarters later that night. She massaged her neck
gingerly. They had spent the entire day and most of the evening
going over the files of people with whom Scheldon had worked,
hoping to find some sort of clue - to no avail. The original plan
had been to return to the motel, but Mulder had made a detour.
"I'm - curious about the Scheldons' home life," Mulder
answered, in a tone that indicated that he wasn't very sure what
they were doing there himself. He was working on a hunch, as
Scully very well knew.
"At one AM?" Scully said. "I don't think you'll see much of
their home life at this hour - what the hell?" She stared through
the windscreen incredulously.
The Scheldon house was lit up like a Christmas tree. As
Mulder and Scully pulled into the driveway, they watched as the
lights slammed off in one block and then flashed on again.
"What could be happening in there?" Scully said.
"I don't know, but it can't be good," Mulder said, getting
out of the car. Scully paused to grab the flashlight from the
glove compartment, and then followed him, drawing her gun.
They went up to the front door and rang the bell. From
inside, they could hear crashes and sounds of breaking glass. The
lights continued flashing on and off.
"Major Scheldon!" Mulder yelled through the door. "Bob!
Alexandra!" Meanwhile, Scully ran around to the windows to try to
see what was going on, without success. The windows were all
shut, covered on the inside with heavy drapes that were drawn,
releasing nothing except the erratically blinking lights.
"I can't see anything inside," Scully reported as she
rejoined Mulder. Suddenly a high-pitched scream came from inside.
Without hesitation, Mulder kicked in the door.
He narrowly missed getting decapitated by a flying picture
frame. It landed on its edge on the lawn outside, cutting cleanly
into the sod. Mulder and Scully darted inside the house, keeping
close to the ground.
At first they couldn't see anything - the lights were
flashing off and on too quickly for their eyes to adjust. Between
the periods of light and darkness, they could just barely see
various objects flying through the air, crashing into the walls
and ceiling. Mulder called out again over the clamor, "Major
Scheldon!"
"We're here," came a shouted reply from somewhere in the
darkness.
"Help us!" a tearful female voice cried.
Scully gasped as a hand touched her arm.
"It's me," Mulder's voice whispered into her ear. "I'm going
to try to get over to them. Be ready for...anything."
The lights gave out at that point, unable to withstand the
irregular surges of current pouring through them. The room was
plunged into total darkness, but the air was still full of flying
objects. This time Mulder and Scully were able to make out the
outlines of the Scheldons, huddled under a heavy mahogany table.
"What's happening to us?" Bob yelled over the din.
Suddenly the last piece clicked into place in Mulder's mind.
"Scully! I got it wrong," he said urgently.
"What?" Scully replied, ducking a vase that crashed into the
wall two feet above her head.
"It isn't the kids. It's all three of them!" Aiming his
Glock at the ceiling, Mulder fired two shots. The reports loudly
overshadowed the noises of destruction, startling everyone. The
objects still in the air hung for a moment, then crashed to the
floor.
Then there was perfect silence, broken only by Alexandra's
hysterical weeping.
Slowly, Mulder and Scully got to their feet. Scully switched
on her flashlight and turned the beam onto the Scheldons. They
were all in their nightclothes, and Scheldon had his arms
protectively around his children's shoulders.
"Is it over?" Alexandra whimpered.
Scully glanced at Mulder.
"Yes. It's over," he answered.
10 DAYS LATER
FBI HEADQUARTERS
10.31 AM
"You're welcome, sir. Good luck," Mulder said into the
phone, and hung up. Scully looked at him quizzically, one eyebrow
raised.
"That was Major Scheldon," he told her, answering her
unvoiced question. "He and his children have been seeing a family
therapist - it looks like they have a lot to talk about."
"And the Air Force poltergeist?" Scully inquired.
"It seems to have disappeared - for now, anyway. There
haven't been any more incidents," Mulder replied.
"One thing I don't understand, Mulder," Scully said. "How
did you know that it wasn't just the kids, but Major Scheldon as
well?"
"I didn't know, until they were all in the room together,"
he admitted. "I thought it was either Bob or Alexandra at first,
because of their youth. Then I realized something. The incidents
- at least the ones we were present for - usually followed a
Scheldon family argument. There was stress and unresolved tension
on all sides. Also, Major Scheldon's true Army material - not
given to emotional outbursts. I'd say he had a lot of steam to
blow off, and nowhere to do it. And you noticed, Bob's also kind
of uptight. Perfect conditions for RSPK manifestations."
Scully smiled. "I know you're the paranoid one, but I got
the feeling...some of the incidents seemed to be aimed at us?"
Mulder allowed a grin at her "compliment" and steepled his
fingers. "I think our presence triggered additional anxiety, in
Major Scheldon in particular. He must have subconsciously felt
threatened by us, especially after we told him that he was
investigated by Military Intelligence previously. Every action
has an equal and opposite reaction, and in this case the reaction
was a backlash of psychokinetic power, directed at us."
Scully went on, "And the psychokinesis was completely
unintentional and unconscious on the part of the Scheldons?"
Mulder nodded. "Mm-hm. In all cases of psychokinetic
activity, the perpetrator was often totally unaware he or she was
the source. When I fired into the ceiling, I was hoping the loud
noise would disrupt their subconscious train of thought - like a
mental dash of cold water. It was a hunch, but it worked."
"But how is it possible that three people could create such
a powerful force, from a distance? Remember, Mulder, they weren't
anywhere near us in two of the incidents we witnessed."
Mulder exhaled noisily and leaned back in his chair. "There
was an experiment once, back in the 70s, where a group of
perfectly ordinary people managed to create and manifest a
completely fictitious - character, you could say. This "person" -
Philip, they called him - answered questions and even moved
furniture around. And get this - when some of the group members
were sick and stayed home, the others would suggest to Philip
that he say 'hello' to them - and at that very moment, there
would be a very loud knock on the bedroom walls of the sick group
members. No matter how far away they lived."
Scully humphed. Mulder only smiled. "Fact remains, Scully,
the Air Force poltergeist hasn't reappeared since."
"So what you're saying is that anyone who's stressed out has
the potential to become a psychokinetic source."
Mulder tucked his hands behind his head, leaning back at
that precarious angle that he knew always irked Scully. "Yep."
A pencil rolled off Scully's desk and landed on the floor
with a clatter.
"Not a word, Mulder. Not - one - word."
© 1994 Winnie Guat-Sim Lim