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Very Small Lower-Case x-ish Stories

(Characters from The X-Files are owned by Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and Fox Television.)


Suction
Very Small Lower-Case x-ish Stories: #4

So off outside the gulag, the village men held Agent Krycek down and cut off his left arm. This was done so he wouldn't become a victim of the men who injected people with the Black Oil. It still hurt like heck though, as you might well imagine. Always the plucky type, Krycek doesn't let it get him down. He immediately signs up for very experimental treatments using regenerative cells from starfish. Things don't work out as planned, but who's to say not for the best? Ask any of the gals in the steno pool at Foggy Bottom and they'll tell it to you straight: "Once you've been with a guy who has a tentacle, you're spoiled for anything else."




















Just Say No!
Very Small Lower-Case x-ish Stories: #5a

After meeting Byers, and agreeing he could room with them, Frohike and Langly discover, that because Byers has a rare condition, they must legally adopt him as well. Byers suffers from Human Unbelievable Gulliblity Syndrome (HUGS.) As part of becoming his legal guardians, Frohike and Langly must attend classes to learn the "do's and don'ts" of dealing with his condition. For instance, they learn they must never let him climb on the back of a turnip truck (just falls off.) They learn he cannot wear any wool garment that can be pulled over his eyes. They send him to Skepticism Training classes. He is making remarkable progress.

Byers is dawdling on the way home from S.T. classes one day and he realizes that the street lights have come on. He knows that he was supposed to be home by now. He shortcuts through the Big Park. A misting rain now is becoming a cold drizzle.

As he hurries along, a noise like someone whistling and humming at the same time, goes down about seven or eight notes. A car-like conveyance pulls up. From seamless sides of grey metal, two doors are delineated. Windows spread out from pinpoints of glass-like material. One slides down. The Being in the passenger side hails Byers. The Being smiles, baring a mouth filled with dark yellow teeth like stalactites and stalagmites. Thick saliva stretches in strings between the upper and lower jaws when he speaks.

Passenger Being: "Hi! Gee, it sure is cold and rainy! Would you like a ride home?" He opens the door.

Byers doesn't answer. He continues to walk. The Passenger Being closes the door and the vehicle moves along next to Byers at the same speed.

The Passenger Being leans out through the window and says: "Your mom sent us to pick you up."

Byers: "Nuh-UH!"

Passenger Being: "YES-huh!"

The vehicle stops and the Passenger Being opens the door again. The Driver Being leans across and smiles, also revealing a mouth like Carlsbad Caverns. He picks up a paper sack which is on the seat next to him. "Hey, I've got a bag of candy! Let's go eat it!"

Byers screams, "NO!" He starts to run through the Arboretum part of the park. "NO! NO! NO! NO!"

The Passenger Being closes the door and slides his window up, saying, "Rats." The wheels retract into wells and hatch covers close over the wells. The windows shrink to pinpoints that disappear. The door and hatch cover indentations smooth out. The vehicle ascends. The sound which accompanies its ascension is the same sound, the whistling and humming going up seven or eight notes.










Just Say "Ohhhh..."
Very Small Lower-Case x-ish Stories #5b


Because he was the first one home, Byers started supper. He chose one of three nutritious meals planned by Frohike on their last shopping trip. He started boiling water in the spaghetti pot for Sour Cream Macaroni and Cheese, and is chopping veggies for a salad when Langly arrives home. Frohike is out with his new e-friend, Lois Lane, a widow he met in an on-line political chat room. Frohike took off from work a little early today. Lois told Langly they wanted to catch the Impressionist Exhibit before it left town. They took the VW van.

Frohike and Lois arrive at the apartment a little later than planned, but the macaroni cassarole is still baking. They bring in a large bottle of White Zin. They are in high spirits, describing in detail several of the wonderful paintings included in the show. This stuff actually works until Lois takes off her heavy sweater.

Langly, standing in back of her, first notices the tags on the outside of her blouse collar. Yep. Seams are outside, too. He smiles a big ol' smile at Frohike, who scowls in return. Langly taps Lois on the shoulder and points to a seam.

"Oh, Lois," he says "Look! When you got dressed this morning, you put your blouse on inside-out!"

"Land Sakes!" exclaims Lois, "Imagine! Inside-out all day!" She pushes past Frohike, gives him a little shrug and a smile, and heads for the bathroom. His scowl softens a bit.

Byers seems a little bewildered by this whole exchange. The timer on the stove dings, though, so everyone, eventually including Lois, who soon emerges from the bathroom with the blouse rightside-out, gets busy setting up for supper, and the incident passes.













Deletion
Very Small Lower-Case x-ish Stories: #6a




The Cigarette Smoking Man, leaving a cigarette hanging from his lower lip, hits the delete button on his desk computer. He was deleting names from this month's "Active" File. No one whose name he was deleting would ever again be described as "active."



















Catching The Spirit
Very Small Lower-Case x-ish Stories #6b

The Cigarette Smoking Man has been deleting people on his computer. His office door opens and in walks his son, Jeffrey Spender.

CSM looks up for a second, and then finishes the column on which he's been working. Taking a long last drag, he stubs out the cigarette. He turns to greet his guest.

CSM exhales, "It's been a while. They treating you well?"

Spender ices, "It's been exactly a week, Dad, since you "last saw me." So I bet you're wondering what I'm here about? Well, you're the kind of man who needs to be haunted, and haunted often, and by someone who knows how to do it. Would you like to see something I learned in the Underground?" He begins to decompose. He is at the point in rigor mortis when the tongue is a really bad color and begins to protrude from the mouth. CSM has taken out a cell phone and has punched in a number. "My son is here. He's making faces at me. Could you take care of this?" He lights a cigarette.

Spender is so engrossed in his performance piece, he somehow fails to hear the commotion coming up the corridor. Suddenly three men in a line strut in, turn, clap, and stop.

The three are wearing silver Haz-Mat suits, which are obviously home-sewn (Butterick #989006.) Inexplicably, one wears a cowhide vest over his suit. They carry some weird contraptions on their utility belts.

At this point, one of the men, who hasn't corralled all of his long blonde hair under the hoodpiece, comes forward with a device which looks for all the world like a Gossen Lunar Pro light meter which has been jury-rigged with several soldered microchips, a port, and a Boy Scout compass. He announces, "I'm gonna take a Specter Analysis of the area." He waves it back and forth near Spender, and says, "All indications are...what we've got here is a ghost." He enters all the data onto the disk in the port. While this goes on, the cloth tatters and semi-solid flesh of Jeffrey Spender slides to the floor in thick sheets. He's bone.

"Excuse me," interrupts CSM, "Over 50 people attended his funeral last week. A certain two agents WAITED with me until several front-end loads of earth had been put on top of the coffin. So...(hacking air cough) you think this is a GHOST?"

The cowhide-vested member of the trio pulls CSM aside and whispers, "Insurance problem: we have to have documentation."

Conveniently, Spender has reached the Dust-to-Dust Finale. The third man vacuums him up and empties him into what looks like like a Hav-a-Heart animal trap which has all the vent holes covered by duct tape.

CSM stubs out his cigarette, takes out a large wad of bills, and peels off three of the center leaves. He hands one to each of the silver pseudo-suited spook sleuths. Suddenly, they line up. A cross (or crosser,) look comes over CSM's face. He pulls three smaller bills from the roll, holds them out, and then yanks them back.

Obviously the tip comes with "conditions."

He waits until he has the full atttention of all three. "On your way out of FBI Headquarters," he says, "there will be no singing and dancing about "Who Ya Gonna Call?" Capisce?"












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