I miss the X-Files

[Debbie]

<center>The X-mas Files </center>

57 Elm Street
Bethlehem, PA
11:51 PM, December 24th

We're too late! It's already been here.

Mulder, I hope you know what you are doing.

Look, Scully, just like the other homes: Douglas fir,
truncated, mounted, transformed into a shrine; halls
decked with boughs of holly, stockings hung by the chimney,
with care.

You really think someone's been here?

Someone, or something.

Mulder, over here - it's a fruitcake.

Don't touch it! Those things can be lethal.

It's OK. There's a note attached: "Gonna find out
who's naughty and nice."

It's judging them Scully. It's making a list.

Who? What are you talking about?

Ancient mythology tells of an obese humanoid entity who
could travel at great speed in a craft powered by antlered
servants. Once each year, near the winter solstice, this
create is said to descend from the heavens to reward its
followers and punish disbelievers with jagged chunks of
anthracite.

But that's legend, Mulder - a story told by parents to
frighten children. Surely you don't believe it?

Something was here tonight, Scully. check out the bite
marks on this gingerbread man. Whatever tore through this
plate of cookies was massive - and in a hurry.

It left crumbs everywhere. and look, Mulder, this milk
glass has been completely drained.

It gorged itself, Scully. It fed without remorse.

But why would they leave it milk and cookies?

Appeasement. Tonight is the Eve, and nothing can stop
its wilding.

But if this thing does exist, how did it get in? The doors
and windows were locked. THere's no sign of forced entry.

Unless I miss my guess, it came through the fireplace.

Wait a minute, Mulder. If you're saying some huge create
landed on the roof and came down this chimney, you're crazy.
The flue is barely six inches wide. Nothing could get down there.

But what if it could alter its shape, move in all directions
at once?

You mean, like a bowl full of jelly?

Exactly. Scully, I've never told anyone this, but when I was
a child my home was visited. I saw the creature. It had long
white shanks of fur surrounding its ruddy, misshapen head. Its
bloated torso was red and white. I'll never forget the horror.
I turned away, and when I looked back it had somehow taken on
the facial features of my father.

Impossible.

I know what I saw. And that night it read my mind. It brought
me a Mr. Potato Head, Scully. It knew that I wanted a
Mr. Potato Head!

I'm sorry, Mulder, but you're asking me to disregard the
laws of physics. You want me to believe in some supernatural
being who soars across the skies and brings gifts to good
little girls and boys. Listen to what you're saying. Do you
understand the repercussions? If this gets out, they'll close
the X-files.

Scully, listen to me: It knows when you're sleeping.
It knows when you're awake.

But we have no proof.

Last year, on this exact date, SETI radio telescopes detected
bogeys in the airspace over twenty-seven states. The White
House ordered a Condition Red.

But that was a meteor shower.

Officially. Two days ago, eight prized Scandinavian reindeer
vanished from the National Zoo, in Washing, D.C. Nobody -
not even the zookeeper - was told about it. The government
doesn't want people to know about Project Kringle. They fear
that if this thing is proved to exist the public will stop
spending half its annual income in a holiday shopping frenzy.
Retail markets will collapse. Scully, they cannot let the
world believe this creature lives. There's too much at stake.
They'll do whatever it takes to insure another silent night.

Mulder, I -

Sh-h-h. do you hear what I hear?

On the roof. It sounds like ... a clatter.

The truth is up there. Let's see what's the matter.

------------------------------------------------------------------
(by Frank Cammuso & Hart Seely,
from The New Yorker Dec. 16, 1996)