BY F. MULDER
Ask anyone who knows me. They’ll tell
you, I do NOT watch television or listen to the radio and I avoid movies like the plague.
I can’t think how it happened.
I stopped watching that idiot box about the time the sky caught my interest and I saw my first unexplained object shining in the light of the moon.
And so, I had no idea my life was being, it seemed, chronicled every week on an upstart network.
I am a private investigator with an agency that seeks out and debunks, or accepts if unavoidable, the presence of the paranormal, the magical and un-identified.
I tend to go into each case sort of believing the report. My partner, Dana tends to be a total and frustrating skeptic.
Mr Skinner, the agency director, has an inscrutible countenance. It is impossible to figure out where he stands at any point in a case.
The agency, Fulton, Bergman Investigations, or, FBI for short, is a little known outfit in Canada. I work out of their Washington office, Seattle that is, not DC.
I apparently lived in complete ignorance of a TV show called X-Files until it was just about over. After getting lost for a while, and seemly driving in circles, we were sidelined by a freak hail storm and suddenly the road we should have been taking became apparent, there it was.
I could have sworn it wasn’t there before, but, then, we were both getting pretty frustrated and Dana was making all her ‘men’ comments about stopping and asking for directions, she also began to complain about my sunflower seed shells, so it was good that the road finally made itself visible.
Having arrived at my location this particularly fateful day I knocked on the door of a complainant of spooky events in her home. Dana, meanwhile, gathered some equipment we would be using from the trunk of the car. Dana and I had rented a more or less non-descript GM sedan. She had insisted on a rather bright blue, her hair being auburn, she feels bright blues and greens go well with it and so..the car color. She always picks moderately curved top cars, due to her stature, though I have to bend quite a bit in get in. She is about five three and I am 8 inches taller. The lady of the house opened the door and I said, as I always do,
“ Mulder, FBI”
Her face lit up!
“Oh my GOD!” she exclaimed in a loud enough voice that the neighbor mowing his lawn stopped briefly and looked our way.
“Don’t tell me..., “ she said looking at Dana as she arrived by my side,” This is your partner, Scully”
Dana and I exchanged looks. This was supposed to be a case of unexplained cool spots and voices in the night, but, it seemed we had a full fledged psychic on our hands.
Dana Scully, scientist and medical doctor, skeptic, was just beginning to agree with the unspoken diagnosis of our client when she saw a poster just behind the womans’ head and grabbed my arm, nodding her head toward it.. It depicted two people who could have been us, looked almost exactly like us, standing in a hallway, backlit, posed, an X in the upper corner and the phrase I used so often across the bottom: