Author's notes: Again the inspiration goes to my wonderful boyfriend Xeng, thanks for all the
stupid arguments we have. They are so fun. 

***********************************************
Possession 


    The dream he found himself in held similarities to the moment before sleep claimed him. It
was a chilly autumn night and that was where the similarities ended. 
    Wade Laughlin found himself sitting on a fallen log in front of a crackling campfire. He
wore the same blue uniform he had worn in his previous dream and possessed the same bushy
muttonchops along his strong jawline. He drank from a silver flask of liquor--whiskey, from the
taste of it--and stared past the immediate circle of the campsite. He saw a light in the
distance, the solitary light of a farm house window. 
    Something about that solitary light beckoned him, awakening the emotions that lay, dark and
temporary dormant, deep down within him. He took another swig of his flask the capped it,
letting the whiskey burn it's way down his throat into the pit of his belly. As he rose, he
unbuckled the brass buckle at his abdomen and left the heavy leather belt, with it's holstered
Colt Army .44 and calvary saber in a coil on the top of the log. He did, however, unsheath a
long-bladed Bowie knife and slid it into the waist band of his military trousers. 
    He looked over at the young man with a dark brown beard with the stripes of a corporal on
his sleeve, his second in command. "I'm going for a walk," he told him. The man simply nodded,
and expression of understanding in his hard eyes. 
    Wade stepped out of the hash firelight and into the darkness. the night swallowed him like
the jaws of a monster, but he had nothing of fear. After all, was he, himself not a monster? He
found humor in this thought, as he picked his way through the undergrowth of a dense forest.
Soon, he reached the edge of the thicket. 
     A few minutes later he was at the farmhouse. He made his way unnoticed to the southern wall
of the house and peered through the window. The lantern he had spotted from his campfire was at
the end of a long eating table. 
    As he crept stealthily along the side of the house toward of the back porch, he was jolted
into immobility by the striking of a match not fifteen feet away. He pressed his back against
the structure of the house and watched as the lanky form of a man raised the fire to 
the end of a hand rolled cigarette pursed between between his lips. The man was a farmer. 
    Wade knew that tomorrow he would engage in the skirmish, the same as his fellow Union men.
But tonight, whatever blood he let, whatever havoc he wreaked, would be for his own selfish
benefit, and not for the country he supposedly fought for. 
    Quietly, he grasped the wooden handle of the Bowie and withdrew the knife from the waistband
of his trousers. He moved with the speed of a hawk, taking the farmer by surprise before he
could react. Wade swung upward with all the might he could muster. The heavy blade of the Bowie
cleaved the farmer's throat open from the collarbone to jaw. With a wet gurgle, the man stumbled
forward as Wade withdrew the knife. Then the knife went underneath the man's ribs, burrowing
upward and slicing cleanly into his heart. Then the farmer fell flat on his face into the autumn
grass, his body lurching only once before growing still. 
    Wade should have felt disgust at the stabbing, but instead an incredible rush of adrenaline
shot through his veins. Silently he stepped over the dead farmer and entered the farmhouse
through the rear door. 
    He crossed to a hallway that led to several bedrooms beyond. Pausing in front of an open
door, he examined those sleeping within. 
    Two small children slept in a huge feather bed, unaware of the danger that lurked only steps
away. He passed by them, if only for the time being. He could deal with them later. 
    Wade turned to the opposite side of the hallway and entered another bedroom, a single form
slept in the bed there, the distinctive form of a woman. Again, as in his previous dream he
experienced the strong lust for the woman. He felt the crotch of the trousers tighten as he
crossed the floor of the bedroom. 
    His weight creaked against the sagging floorboard and he stopped in his tracks, his heart
pounding, the knife poised and ready if he should need it. The woman stirred slightly, but did
not awaken. He proceeded with caution.  A moment later he was standing next to the bed, staring
down at his next victim. She was a lovely woman, perhaps in her mid-twenties, and possessed the
flaxen hair and the peaceful face of an angel. Wade found himself smiling at such a comparison,
for it would not be very long before until she truly became one. 
     He reached out with his free hand and very softly began to stroke the woman's long, blond
hair. His fingers traveled through her locks like a sinister comb. She stirred a little a slight
smile came across her lips. "Charels?" she muttered drowsily, apparently under the impression
that he was her husband. 
    "No," whispered Wade in reply. he laughed softy as he grabbed a fist full of hair and
brutally pulled her to him... 


    A yell jolted Wade Laughlin from his nightmare. But strangely enough it was not his own but
that of his wife. Startled he sat up in bed, feeling the soft strands of her hair slip through
his fingers. As he shook the last remnants of sleep from his mind, Wade was surprised to find
himself trying rape his wife. 
   "Wade?!" came the concerned voice of his wife. 
   "I...uh..." Wade stuttered, unable to answer 
   "Wade what were you doing?" 
   "Nothing, my dear, it was only a dream go back to sleep." 
    His wife took the excuse and turned over to go back to sleep. He could not return to sleep,
his mind went back to the dream he had experienced. The images had been more lasting this time,
and more difficult to forget. He replayed the murder of the farmer and the invasion of his
wife's bedroom, and he knew that he had, partially acted out of his disturbing dreamscape. He
also wondered what he would have done if his wife's yells would not have awakened him. 



    That night, I was awakened by the sound of weeping. 
    I opened my eyes and listened a moment. Yes, there was no mistaking the noise. It was the
heart-wrenching sobs of a grieving woman. 
    Gently, I lifted the cover over myself and slid out of bed. I put on the white terry cloth
robe I always wear. It had been in the low sixties that day, but the night had grown colder. 
    I went to the window of my room and pulled back the frilly curtains. At first glance, I saw
nothing in the garden that might be making the mournful sound that had awakened me. Then
abruptly I spotted *her*, almost concealed in shadow, a pale skinned woman clad only in a silky
nightgown. The woman knelt at the base of the tree, her face buried in the palms of her hands,
her slender shoulders shuddering with the force of her weeping. 
    I closed my eyes and then opened them to make sure I was seeing what I thought I was seeing.
The woman was still there, beneath the oak tree. 
    I went to the hallway, I knew that I had to go downstairs, to the garden, and see the
weeping woman up close. 
    As I reached the lower floor the sound grew louder. My heart sank at the agony that were
expressed in those sobs. I wondered if there could ever be at I, myself, would ever cry as
forcefully and without restraint. She knew one thing that would make her loose control, and that
would be if she ever lost Mulder for some unforseen reason. It was clear that this poor woman's
heart was broken to the very core. 
    I stepped outside into the cool night air and I saw the woman clearly for the first time.
The woman knelt at the bottom of the oak tree facing away from the plantation. I could see that
the woman's gown was dirty and torn. The front had been ripped down the middle  and one of her
small breasts was revealed. There were also angry red welts and shallow cuts, her nightgown was
soiled and there were dark splotches on the delicate fabric of her dress. I studied them from
what  little lighting the moon gave me and discovered that they were the results of freshly let
blood. 
   Don't go to her.> warned a sensible voice hidden somewhere in 
the back of my mind.  But did I listen to that voice? Of course not. 
    I walked closer the pathetic form of the woman who knelt under the tree. I wanted to help
the woman, I wanted to ease her terrible pain. 
    A moment later I was there, standing six feet from the woman. I saw up close that her skin
was almost transparent, I had no fear of the woman, only awe. That, and sympathy much too strong
to express in words. 
    I took another step closer, then spoke "Shannon?" I said not knowing why I knew who she was,
but I did know. 
    The weeping woman stopped sobbing. She lifted her face from the small cradle of her hands
and stared straight at me. Everything about her was perfect, but the face was flawed by an
expression that never should have been there, an expression of torment that would have been
difficult for the average person to even comprehend. 
    I looked into the woman's tearful eyes. They seemed to plead silently, begging for
assistance. I felt the overpowering urge to help again. I moved closer to the woman and extended
my hand outward. Slowly the space between our hands grew smaller and smaller,until our
fingertips were on the verge of meeting. 
    When they did, I was unprepared for the  flood of emotions that rushed through me. Terror,
agony, grief, humiliation...they assaulted me, engulfing my mind in a dark, smothering blanket. 
    Finally I could endure it no more. I felt myself fall to the ground, a shrill scream tearing
up from my throat like something alive desperately eager for escape... 


    He was jolted awake, his partner's tremulous cry pushing away the sluggish after affects of
sleep. 
    His eyes became accustomed to the darkness and he got out of bed when he heard it again,
Scully's scream came as full terror and agony as it had been upon his awakening. He took his
weapon from the top of his dresser and ran into the hallway proceeding toward the source of the
screams. 
    He found her in the garden at the rear of the house. she was kneeling at the foot of the big
oak tree her face buried in her hands. Her soul-rending screams had stopped. She now wept
violently, her entire body shaking with the impact of each sob. 
   "Scully?" He called out as he made his way toward her. He searched the moonlit yard for any
sign of an attacker and when finding non turned back to Scully. 
   "Scully? What is wrong?" he said reaching out hand to her. 
    She let out a startled cry at his touch and recoiled. She looked at him and stared at Mulder
as if she did not know him. 
   "She was raped!" she moaned The words forced from her throat more like broken glass the mere
words. "Murdered!" 
    He could only stand there and say "Who?" 
    The confusion cleared a bit and she reached out to him,  puling him closer. "It was Shannon
Braxton...right here...beneath this tree. I saw her!I touched her!" 
    He got Scully back to her bed with out further incident, just the look of her was enough for
him. Something strange if going on here, something very very strange. 


END OF PART 6**************PART 7 COMING SOON
*********************************************************
Possession 


    The day that Shannon Braxton had feared was finally at hand. 
    She stood on the front porch of the plantation house, her delicate hands clutching the
oriental fan her husband had brought her from one of his purchasing trips. Shannon stood on the
limestone steps, her heart heavy with sadness. She looked down the steps where all the Braxton
slaves stood awaiting the appearance of their master. One of the younger boys held Edward's
black roan stallion, the best in the Braxton stables. 
    From within the house, she heard the sounds of his boots on the risers of the staircase. She
turned just as her husband strolled through the open doorway. Edward was dashing in his
iron-grey uniform with the gold braid of Captain on his shoulder. On his head he wore a high
peaked hat with a feathered plume stuck in it's tasseled band. he removed his hat as he
approached his wife and stood there her with an expression of sorrowful regret. 
   "So," she said, hiding her dread beneath a lovely smile. "i see that you are ready to go." 
    Edward stepped forward and gathered her into his arms. "To fight for the sake of the South,
yes." he told her. "But believe me, I take no pleasure whatsoever in leaving you. If there were
no other way, I would remain here at Magnolia, but you know as well as I do that is not
possible. Not if we are to survive the oppression the North intends for us." 
    Shannon burrowed into his warm embrace, her tearful face against his chest. "Yes, I
understand," she assured him. "It is your duty to do whatever you can to see that the South wins
the struggle, no matter what the cost might be." 
    Edward stared at his wife proudly. "I am glad you support my decision to ride for the
Confederacy, my dear. There are some women in Mississippi that don't understand the seriousness
of the situation the way that you do." 
    Shannon did not say so, but there was a part of her that wanted to retreat into her genteel
world and deny that the mounting conflict between the North and South was actually taking place.
Her worst fears had come when news reached Vicksburg of John Brown's raid on Harper's Ferry with
the help of twenty-one freed slaves. Brown's violent assault had taken place two years ago, and
since that time the argument over the support of abolition had become particularly nasty. The
South's resistance to change the North's insistence for conformity had split the country in
half. After the first few major battles Edward had decided to join the Confederacy and lend what
military knowledge he had gained at West Point to the Confederacy. 
    Shannon had done her best to support Edward's decision, to be brave and unselfish. From all
outward appearances, she appeared just that. But secretly she wished that Edward could remain
safe at Magnolia with her, until the conflict could be resolved. She knew that was too much to
ask from a man like Edward. His conscience would never allow him the luxury of cowardice. 
    Reluctantly, edward pulled away from his wife and checked his pocketwatch. "I'm afraid I
must go," her told her. "I am to meet the brigade of volunteers at the Vicksburg courthouse at
noon. After that, e have a long hard ride ahead of us." 
   "Yes, you do," she replied softly. "May God's mercy and my love go with you." Despite the
presence of the slaves, she flung herself into his arms once again. "Promise me one thing,
Edward--promise you will come back to me." 
    Edward took her face in his hands and delicately kissed her. When his face pulled away, his
eyes were bold. "Don't worry about me, my 
dear. Hell, this conflict will likely be settled within a few weeks' time, if even that long.
We'll teach those meddling Yankees to keep their opinions to themselves, and then I'll be back.
You'll see. It won't be long." 
   "I hope that you are right," was all that she could say. 
    Edward turned away and descended the stone steps of the porch. He nodded to the slaves that
had come to wish him well. Then, swinging on to of his horse, he took the reins from one of the
negro boys and said "I want you to take care of her in my absence I trust you will do a good
job." 
    The big negro nodded, his broad shoulders squared proudly with the responsibility that had
been bestowed upon him. "Yo' can shorely depend on me, Massa," he assured him. 
    Edward reached out and shook the slave's callused hand in appreciation of his loyalty. "I
know I can and I thank you for that." 
    Shannon stood on the porch watching this exchange between master and slave. She stood tall
and tried her hardest not to cry she wanted possibly Edward's last sight of her to be one of
happiness not sorrow. Still, She had a premonition that she and Edward would never see eachother
again. She knew her life with Edward had come to an end the moment he spurred his horse and rode
down the magnolia grove to join the great war between the states. 

*            *             *               *           * 


    Something was going on here, ever since my sleepwalking in the rear garden a few nights ago,
I've felt as if the events at Magnolia had been wrested from anyone's control. There is a
foreboding to the place where once I only saw beauty and historical nostalgia I now see a hidden
evil something dark that is lurking just beneath the surface of everything. If it were the
mystery of the weeping woman beneath the oak tree I could have handled that. I had felt no
threat whatsoever from what seemed the wayward spirit of a long dead southern belle. Something
else was here something which was a potential threat. A threat that stalks the grounds and
hallways of Magnolia, an unholy presence that for the time being was playing with them, much as
a sadistic cat plays with a mouse before delivering the final and fatal blow. 


    The next day, the entire company of the house gathered in the drawing room to discuss the
case and each one's personal visitations. Mr. Laughlin was the last to contribute to the
discussion he was describing his disturbing dream as the sadistic captain when he was
interrupted. Not by anyone who sat in the room...but by someone whose presence they had been
completely unaware of. 
    It began subtly at first. Wade was halted in mid-sentence by the tiniest rattling of
glassware. All eyes centered on the china serving set on the coffee table in front of the couch.
At first glance, they could detect nothing out of the ordinary. Then they noticed that Mulder's
cup and saucer were visibly vibrating due to some unseen force. Its motion grew more and more
noticeable, until the iced tea contained within the cup began to spill over the sides. then all
the other glass ware stated rattling more violently. 
    No one said  word as the phenomenon gradually increased in intensity. Soon the contents of
all and every container were spilling onto the floor. "Everyone...away from the couch quickly!"
Mulder yelled to everyone catching his partner's eye. Mr. and Mrs. Laughlin followed his orders
just in time to see their china set explode and shards of glass fly all over the room like
pieces of shrapnel, ripping into the he cushions where the two had sat a moment ago.. 
    From that moment the phenomenon got more frenetic and out of control.  The next casualty
were the pictures hanging over the mantel, the glass was cracked and the frames then fell to the
floor. Mulder hit the floor as a glass picture frame spun over his head. 
    A thunderous pounding began to move around the perimeter of the room, as if fists from an
angry giant hammered at the walls from the other side. The force of the pounding shook the very
foundation of the parlor room. Alabaster fell from the ceiling, paintings and books dropped from
the walls. 
   "What is happening, Mulder?!" Scully yelled to her partner who seemed to bear the brunt of
the assualt he just managed to dodge a flying piece of glass. 
    No one had the frame of mind answer her. the doors of the curio cabinet swung open with a
violent crash. A brass candelabra left it's place on the table and spun and then flew at Mulder
who just managed to get out of it's path before it could crash his skull. Frantically, the
objects dive-bombed Mulder and the others like a flack of crazed birds. 
    Most of the time they missed their marks, but other times they did not. Mulder cried out as
a music box crashed across his right knee causing a steady low of blood from his pants' leg. He
clutched his leg and yelled  his partner's name. "Scully!" 
    She heard him and dodged some more flying debris and went over to examine him. As he fought
against the pain, he swore he heard as echo of cruel laughter just beneath the thunderous
pounding in the walls. 
    Scully looked over at her wounded partner and recognized and emotion in his eyes something
that burned there. It was defiance, pure and simple. 
    Despite his wounded leg Mulder rose to his feet, his face a mask of mounting rage. He raised
his fists over his head, clutching them until his knuckles grew white with strain. Then a voice
that Scully had never heard from him  came from his lips, he yelled out "Stop it, you bastard!"
he roared. "Damn you, stop it this very instant!" 
    For a moment, the force that loosed chaos within the walls of the sitting room did not seem
to listen. But then, abruptly it all ended. the pounding on the walls, the airborne pelting of
the room's decorations--it all ceased in the span of one swift and unexpected second. 
    They all climbed unsteadily to their feet and looked around the room dazed the a surprised
look at Mulder who was still clutching his knee. 
   "What the hell was that?" asked Mrs. Laughlin. 
   "A poltergeist." explained Mulder, seeming out of breath. he sat down on the sofa as a
concerned Scully  "A playful spirit...although I wouldn't hesitate to say this one is more
destructive then mischievous." 
    "Did anyone notice the brunt of the attack was centered on Mulder?But why?" Asked Scully. 
    "I don't know," he replied "Maybe i remind the entity of something in it's past. Something
painful of infuriating. Or maybe because it feels threatened by my presence." 
    "Threatened?" Scully asked puzzled 
    "Didn't you notice how it stopped when Agent Mulder stood up and demand it stop," Mrs.
Laughlin said. "Something undoubtedly is here something that is evil and angry and something
that wants Agent Mulder." 
    Scully glanced from Mrs. Laughlin to her husband who noticed that he hadn't said a word
since the phenomenon started. 

END OF PART 7********************PART 8 COMING SOON