Title: Nightmare
Author: S. Biddle
Written: August 1999
Rating: PG-13 for dark content
Classification: Vignette
Copywright: CC, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox own them.

Summary: A look into the darkness that is Mulder's nightmares...

Nightmare Fox Mulder's Home
Apartment 42 10:13 pm

Mulder shut the door to apartment 42 quietly, after all it was late, and no matter how much he wanted to slam it, he respected his nieghboors. And the fact that they had complained about practically everything that went on involving him. So maybe there was a gunshot now and then, the occasional NSA spy breaking down his door. Who knew blood stained?

The weary FBI agent shrugged his jacket onto the floor and layed down on the couch with an exhasperated sigh. The old leather grunted in protest. Mulder slid off his tie and kicked off his shoes, his eyelids suddenly seemed to be twenty pounds. He was more than happy to shut them and drift off into sleep.

Fox Mulder's Home
Apartment 42 1:14 am

Mulder's eyes shot open. Dark. It was pitch black.

Where the hell was he? Oh yeah. Home.

His eyes dialated, moonlight slipped through the shades, eerie shadows danced across the floor. Tiny particles floated lazily, Mulder felt his eye lids begin to droop.


The dust swirled. His throat trembled. He sat up on one elbow, his eyes helplessly searching the room. Damnit he couldn't see! And then it hit him, fear. Deathly gripping fear. It curled its fingers around his neck, he felt the bile rise.

His eyes stung and teared. His chest heaved. It was here. They were going to come. The Nightmares. He felt the black hollowness envelop him, curl around him like a snake. There was no stopping it. No use trying to stay awake, it would wait, patiently...never wavering. He clutched at his chest as the pain shot through his heart.

The nightmares whispered "Samantha..."

"No..." Mulder turned over, shoved his face into the warm black leather. Hide! His mind cried. He wrapped his arms around himself. "No..." he mumbled as his eyelids fell, the sleep taking over.

And the nightmares came. Samantha's face fresh in his mind, so vivid he c ould touch her and feel it. But nothing changed, If it wasn't that night it was him running. Chasing the van as her little face peered out the window, he never could keep up.

And he always woke up. Chest heaving and gasping, clawing desperately at the air, tears running down his face. The nightmares, they always won.


Return to Bump In The Night