TITLE: An Instrument of Torture to the Flesh
AUTHOR: Cathy
E-MAIL ADDRESS: xraycat@sbcglobal.net
DISTRIBUTION: Archive at will with my name and email intact
SPOILER WARNING: None
RATING: R for strong language and descriptions of graphic
        violence.
CLASSIFICATION: X, S
KEYWORDS: None
CHARACTERS: M, SK O-M
SUMMARY: Third season. A.D. Skinner requires Agent Mulder's
         assistance with an annoying case of demonic possession.


Prologue

The room was quiet and still as a tomb.

Darkness settled over the second floor bedroom like a
shroud, broken only by the scant moonlight drifting in from
the window. The bare branches of the tree outside the window
whispered in the gentle autumn breeze, causing shadows to
dance within shadows across the far wall of the silent
chamber.

A tall oak dresser stood as the stoic sentinel near the
door, facing the matching antique four post-bed. The lace
canopy had long since disappeared but the original satin
coverlet still resided in the steamer trunk squatting at the
foot of the bed.  Flanking the bed on the right side, a worn
but comfortable Queen Anne chair nestled next to a bedside
table. The table hosted a brass lamp with a green banker's
shade and a telephone. To the left of the bed, a nightstand
supported a haggard looking wind-up alarm clock and a pair
of glasses. The glasses belonged to the bed's sole occupant,
one Walter S. Skinner, assistant director for the Federal
Bureau of Investigations. The closet set in the wall to the
left of the bed, its door standing ajar, an inky well even
darker than the rest of the room; untouched by the soft
beams of moonlight.

Rolling onto his stomach, Skinner turned his face toward the
closet. He sighed and snuggled deeper into the pillow.
Suddenly, a frown crossed his sleeping face and his eyelids
flew open, jarring Skinner instantly awake. He remained
perfectly still, peering about the darkened room. His heart
hammered in his chest and a feeling of unaccountable terror
seized his brain. There! Skinner's eyes narrowed to slits,
trying to focus on the blackness emanating from the closet
like an evil presence. He gasped as a pair of red eyes
peered menacingly back for a split second before winking
out. Rubbing his eyes, Skinner sat up and grabbed for his
glasses, fumbling them onto his face before turning to
switch on the lamp and stare back into the closet. There was
absolutely nothing there. Skinner wondered if he had
imagined or even dreamed the entire incident. The feelings
of terror and panic began to fade away giving credence to
the idea that this episode was nothing more than a bad
dream. He considered searching the closet, even went so far
as to sit up on the side of the bed. At the last moment,
Skinner decided it was ridiculous to allow nightmare to ruin
his sleep. Removing his glasses, he lay down on the bed
pulling the covers tightly around his neck. Sighing, Walter
S. Skinner chided himself for a fool but whipped back the
covers, darted across the room to slam the closet door
closed and rushed back to dive into the warmth and safety of
his bed before turning off the lamp.

* * * * * * * * * *

Hoover Building Washington, D.C.  FBI Headquarters:
Assistant Director Walter Skinner's Office

After the first night when I had seen...correction, dreamt I
had seen red eyes glowing from the bedroom closet, I had
considered consulting Agent Mulder's expertise. One week and
six virtually sleepless nights later, I asked Kimberly, my
personal secretary, to summon this vibrant young man to my
office.

Fox Mulder is the agent assigned exclusively to investigate
cases involving paranormal or supernatural activities. I
must say, Mulder is perfectly suited to his job, although,
you would never know just by looking. He is tall, lean, well
dressed and from what I overhear Kimberly discussing with
the others from the steno pool, Mulder is quite handsome. A
shock of dark and unruly hair frames his thin face. Bright
hazel eyes and a longish nose balanced by a full mouth and
an easy smile. He is clever, quick witted and bordering on
genius. For some reason, Fox W. Mulder left a budding career
as a profiler in the violent crimes division to pursue
aliens, monsters and things that go bump in the night.

Sitting across the desk from Special Agent Mulder, I watched
his intelligent eyes glow with excitement and anticipation
and realized I had made a gross error in judgment.

"I managed to sleep the night through." Even as I spoke the
words, the false ring in my tone struck my already jangled
nerves. I had not slept a single night through in over a
week, and the strain was showing. Glancing over my
companion's shoulder to break eye contact, I continued to
embellish the truth somewhat, "I think I overreacted and
asked for your for help when it isn't really needed, Mulder.
Why don't you just forget the entire matter?"

Leaning forward in his chair, Mulder rest his elbows on his
knees, "No, sir! I mean...you haven't forgotten the matter,
obviously."

Mulder had unbuttoned his jacket when he first sat down, so
now his tie hung loosely between his legs. Mesmerized by the
sight, I could not to take my eyes off the length of silk
suspended from his neck. I wondered fleetingly why most men
never wear tie tacks any more before coming back to the
matter at hand. Reaching blindly for the stack of files to
my right, I selected a folder at random and placed the
contents in front of me on the desk as an excuse to continue
to avoid meeting Mulder's eyes, "Well, I will forget in
time."

Sliding even farther forward in his chair, Mulder placed his
hands upon the desk surface. He peered at me with a look of
shock and disbelief, "Sir?"

His tie swung gently as if brushed by a soft breeze. I felt
my eyes following the swatch back and forth, like a
pendulum. God, I really have to sleep soon. My concentration
is for shit. Forcing my gaze back to the file before me, I
perused the document without registering a single word. I
finally cleared my throat and closed the folder resting my
hand firmly on the cover. Without conviction I stated, "I
spooked myself, Mulder. That is all. It will pass and I'm
sorry I bothered you over such a foolish notion."

"With all due respect, you don't believe that load of crap
and neither do I," Mulder lowered his dark head, staring
willfully at my face until I met the intensity of his gaze
in self-defense. I felt a blush warm my cheeks as Mulder
smiled gently. "There is no reason to be embarrassed, Sir.
You are not crazy and I will not tell anyone about this
assignment. It stays between you and me." Lifting his right
hand in the familiar three-finger salute, Mulder swore,
"Scout's Honor, sir."

It was hard to resist the sincerity so blatantly evident on
Mulder's face and nearly impossible to refuse his offer of
help. Returning his smile, I shook my head. "I feel like a
batty old woman, Mulder. I mean..." I pinched the bridge of
my nose and sighed.  Climbing from my chair, I began to pace
nervously around the narrow confines of my office sparing
Mulder a glance each time I passed his chair. "I'm a grown
man. I am a decorated Marine veteran. I served two tours,
active, in 'Nam." The more I spoke, the more agitated I
became waving my arms as I circled the room, "I have worked
in law enforcement for more years than I care to state."
Sighing again, I paced back behind my desk and slapped the
folder solidly, "Suddenly I'm scared to sleep in my own bed
because there is a boogey man hiding in my closet, for
Christ's sake!"

If possible, Mulder's smile widened. "What could be more
perfect, sir? Look at you. You are the most credible person
I have ever met." He stood up to face me and moved around
the desk. Resting his hand easily on my forearm, Mulder
asked softly, "Why would anyone disbelieve your story? You
have no motive to tell lies, Sir. You have nothing to gain
by creating a hoax of this nature." He squeezed my arm and
laughed good naturedly, "It would serve no purpose to try
and discredit me, because everyone in the Bureau already
believes old Spooky Mulder has a screw loose!"

I stared again into Mulder's sincere and sympathetic hazel
eyes and felt ridiculously close to tears. "I would never
make up a story like this, Agent. You are certainly right
about that much but I'm not so sure anyone else would be so
quick to believe my claims."

Mulder's smile brightened and he sat his hip familiarly on
top of my desk, "All right." He smoothed his tie against his
shirt, and propped his elbow on his elevated thigh, "You
need to leave early and get some sleep, Sir. I suggest you
check into a hotel where you won't be disturbed. First, I'd
like you to tell me every single thing you can remember
about what you saw in your closet."

Closing my eyes, I summoned my memories and suppressed a
shudder. "Every night for the past week, I've been awakened
at 3:59 a.m. I am lying on my stomach with my head turned
toward the closet." Staring hard at Mulder I tried to keep a
defensive tone from creeping into my voice, because there is
absolutely nothing I hate worse than whining. "The last
thing I do each night is to make sure that damned closet
door is closed firmly. I swear it by my good name, Agent
Mulder."

Nodding, Mulder waved a hand, unconcerned by my declaration,
"Understood. Please go on, Sir."

Resisting the urge to pace the room again, I settled my butt
firmly in the chair and continued, "Anyway, when I wake I'm
staring directly at the closet. The door is open and a pair
of red eyes is staring back at me." A chill crawled up my
spine and this time I was unable to prevent the shiver that
ran through my shoulders and neck. "As soon as I see them,
they're gone. Just like that, Mulder." I snapped my fingers
for effect.

Mulder sat on the desk silently chewing on his thumbnail.
His eyes held a glassy, unfocused look as if his mind was
thousands of miles away from the rest of his body. He gave
himself a little shake and glanced at me again. "Have you
added anything new to your bedroom recently, Sir?" He
shrugged as he explained, "A piece of furniture or something
of that nature?"

I glanced quickly down at the folder again. Clearing my
throat I made two false starts before I managed to admit,
"Well, yes." I sighed heavily and reluctantly confessed, "My
wife and I are currently in the process of a divorce, Agent
Mulder. I moved out of our house and rented an apartment in
Crystal City."

Leaping from the desk Mulder grinned, "That's got to be it,
Sir! Either the manifestation was already present in the
apartment or was attached to the bedroom furniture." He ran
his fingers through his hair again causing the dark spiky
bangs to stand at attention, "Did you buy your furniture
second hand, Sir?"

"No. I inherited quite a bit of furniture when my parents
died; several superior quality antique pieces, actually. I
brought most of my mother's things out of storage to furnish
the apartment rather than buy new."  When I received the
promotion to Assistant Director, Sharon, my wife, had
consulted a decorator and re-furnished our home. After my
mother passed away, Sharon insisted that there was
absolutely no room in the house for my mother's things.
Besides, why would we want moldy old museum pieces in our
thoroughly modern and pristine dwelling? We placed my
mother's things in storage, end of discussion.

Shaking his index finger wildly in my direction, Mulder
became more agitated by the second. "This has to be our
source, Sir." His grin grew wide enough to show molars and
his eyes positively gleamed. "Something you brought into the
apartment had this...this entity...for lack of a better
description, attached to it, Sir." He leaned over me,
placing his hands on the arms of my chair. His face was
close enough to mine for his breath to fog my glasses
slightly. He spoke in an urgent whisper, "We need to know
every last detail of your family history, Sir."

Scooting back to a more comfortable distance, I interrupted,
"Stop. Please, just calm down, Mulder." Removing my glasses,
I cleaned them on the trailing end of Mulder's silk tie,
"Stop calling me Sir, okay? Since we'll be working outside
the confines of the office, why don't you call me Walter?"