Title: Scullylocks
Author: Nessie
Written: May 1997
Archiving: Anywhere- just keep all the parts together and keep Nessie as the author.
Rating: PG13 for language
Classification: C, A
Spoilers: References to the episode Home
Content: A bit of UST, and some angst.

Summary: X-Files/Goldilocks crossover

Disclaimers: I keep getting pestered about this; people seem to think *I* own Mulder and Scully as I keep getting asked permission to use them. Truth is... I think people are confusing me with CC <in my dreams...> as I *don't* own them at all. But, all you people out there- I'm workin' on that one... Okay, the story I based this on belongs to some dead guy who is probably turning in his grave right now.

Author's Note: This is the second in "The Fairies have landed" series; the previous story was Mulderella. It would help you understand this story if you read that one. If you want it, mail me. As a reminder- at the end of Mulderella, he was running away- and Princess Dana was heartbroken. You'll notice the names are different here. This isn't just Nessie bein' stupid...

The continuity's a bit weird. Events and personalities carry through from one story to the next... but they take on different identities.

I got notes from a few moaning 'shippers who weren't satisfied with the ending of Mulderella- but, hey, I'm enjoying myself here <hahah> !!!

Thanks to them and to everyone else who sent me feedback on Mulderella... hey, lets do it again!!

Please note that my characters don't age. Fairytale princesses don't go grey and wrinkly...


Huge... dark... forbidding, yet somehow alluring. If you had asked Scullylocks how she felt upon first moving to her cottage in the forest, this is how she would have described her surroundings. Scullylocks was thirty-three years old, and had beautiful long flame-coloured hair; it shone in the sun- like the sun, even, and cascaded down her back in soft waves of red. In contrast, her skin was pale- and her eyes clear blue, like the sky.

She had lived in the forest for a couple of months now; away from village life, she enjoyed the tranquility and the wildlife that surrounded her. She saw every living creature she could possibly imagine to have lived in a forest; and they could be seen from her own home. Rabbits... badgers... foxes. A strange expression could be seen to flicker across her face if you mentioned the foxes- distant, and somewhat sad- before she would move away from the window.

That is, if anyone was watching her. The forest was sparsely populated; Scullylocks had heard there were less than a dozen houses scattered throughout it.

In the time she had lived there, she had never ventured far from her own living quarters. Five minutes' walk in any direction other than north, and the dense green conifers would begin to close in on her rapidly; footpaths thinning out, and the light fading as heavy branches occluded the sunlight.

Many a time, she had turned on her heel and fled, from the horrors that may or may not have lurked within the woods.

She would run and run, and not stop until she got to her home, which stood in a small clearing. It was a dear little cottage, and she loved it as if she herself had built it. A narrow track ran north from the house; north led out of the forest, and onto the country lanes that would eventually take her to civilization when the need arose.

But she loved to explore the area around the cottage; each day and each trip revealing a new piece of wildlife, each fascinating her more than before.


It was a dull drizzly morning. The clouds were most definitely grey, and an atmosphere of oppression pervaded the treetops and descended on the cottage.

Scullylocks sighed, resting her elbows on the windowledge, and gazing into the trees. There was not a sign of life- no birds sang, and the undergrowth was still. Not even a breeze shook the trees. The air hung heavy. Scullylocks felt rather depressed, her eyes hazing over as she sank into a daydream.

She was snapped back to reality by a sound. Not loud- an ever-so quiet, but definite 'click!'. She turned around and looked round the kitchen. Nothing there.

Probably the door- I expect I didn't close it properly, she told herself, and walked out of the kitchen, across the small living room, and into the hallway, to close the door. Yes- it *had* been left open.

She shivered as the cold air from outside crept around her, as she went to shut the door, locking it- just to be sure.

Scullylocks ran a hand through her hair and walked back to the kitchen. She stopped.

There it was again. It was definitely the gentle click of the front door- her suspicions were confirmed as she turned around to find it hanging open once again.

A chill traveled up and down her spine as she realised she had company.

But whoever it was, *where* were they? There were very few places someone could have got to between the front door and where Scullylocks now stood.

Then it struck her. One 'click' to go in; and one to leave again. Yes. That was it. This idea now firmly implanted in her mind, for the sake of her own sanity if nothing else, she stepped slowly and cautiously towards the door.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she moved forward; back against the wall that ran along the side of the hallway, and eyes wide. As she reached the doorway, she could just make out a figure running off into the woods. Tall, at least 6ft; apparently male.

Scullylocks felt *violated* by this invasion of her own home. Not one to let things pass in this way, she bolted out of the front door, anger fuelling her to sprint into the forest in the direction he had run; bounding over thick tree-roots that threatened to trip her, and rolling under the lower branches that obstructed her path.

Determination set into her expression firmly as she ran- just keeping him in sight.

'Bastard' she thought, as she attempted to focus on him, afraid that she was going to lose him and wanting to at least get a description. So intently was she watching him, that there was one tree root that she didn't see- it caught her foot and she flew forward to hit the ground.

Thorns tore across her face, and the wounds began to ooze blood. Mud was smeared all the way up her front, Scullylocks noticed, as she began to pull brambles from her hair.

The bastard got away, damnit, she noted as she tore angrily at the offending weeds, pulling chunks of red hair from her head. She wiped her muddy hands down her jeans- what the hell, they were saturated in the stuff as it was; and touched her right hand to her cheek. It was covered in blood.

"Damn you! And damn you again!" she muttered aloud, stamping her foot- pain shot up her leg, and she let out a cry of anguish through clenched teeth, clutching the afflicted limb.

Looking around her, Scullylocks didn't recognise anything. The trees were thick around her, and the path was no longer visible. Looking upwards, she could only see cracks of sunlight through the dense branches.

She turned round and round, hoping to see *something* familiar- oh please, SOMETHING...I'm lost, she realised, as she sat down on the forest floor.

"Ouch!!" she cried out, as a thorn pierced her bottom. She reached beneath her, and pulled it away angrily.

She looked around her, re-assessing the situation. I'm still lost.


I work with a guy called Mulder
I can only reach up to his shoulder
But I'm just the right size
For unzipping his flies
What a shame I am not a bit bolder

-last line kindly and creatively provided by Chris Hadgis


It hadn't been this bad before. At least they hadn't blindfolded or gagged him... or even tied him. He'd given up struggling after a while- it never did any good, and his wrists were sore from attempts at removing the ropes.

Now, all he knew was he was sat in some closet in some house in the forest- he couldn't speak or see, and was barely able to move. Sometimes he would hear sounds- at first it had brought him hope; but he soon came to realise it was just the regular forest sounds that surrounded him. And that took away most of his hopes of ever leaving.

He didn't know how long he'd been there, or for how much longer he'd have to suffer. But he was well practised at this *prisoner* game; ohhh yes... If he ever escaped this prison, would he ever be able to forget these horrors? Those horrors before? And the pain that had come between the two?

Alone in the closet, Mulder had a lot of time for thinking.

They fed him... sometimes. It wasn't pleasant food but it was all he was going to get, so he ate gratefully each time. Usually huge, crude chunks of dry bread, sometimes raw meat- and occasionally a bowl of luke-warm, watery soup.

He knew little of the bastards that held him there- all he remembered was a sharp pain, and then darkness- before waking up in here. There was more than one of them- he would hear them talking sometimes.

Well, more like *growling* at one another. Fighting a lot of the time- there wasn't much love lost between these guys; he heard howls of agony at times; and often was glad to be hid away from it in here.

Mulder took little time out to wonder *why* he was locked up. He'd spent so much of his life locked up that he had come to think little of it; maybe it was something he had done. Maybe he was destined to be locked away for *ever*.

He heard the sound of a key turning in a lock, and light fell upon his face as the closet door creaked open. The gag was pulled back from his mouth, and a bowl forced at his face. He drank thirstily at the water provided for him, and no sooner had he finished, then the bread was forced in straight afterwards. He chewed quickly, and hurriedly swallowed the only partly softened food, hoping perhaps there would be more.

No such luck. Gross stuff; but it was all he had. The gag was replaced immediately, and the door closed firmly, a key turning in the lock once more.

The bread did little do satisfy his hunger- but it was a feeling Mulder had grown used to. He returned to his thoughts.


A bedraggled Scullylocks trudged through the forest, jeans and sweater heavy with the now dried mud. Scratches covered her face, the blood now clotted but the soreness remaining.

Night was falling fast- it was pretty dark in the forest at any time of the day, but soon it would be pitch black, with not even the moon showing through the trees.

She didn't know which direction would lead her home- or anywhere to take her *out of the damn forest*. It was a vast wood; so she could only hope that she was heading in the right direction, or she could be wandering for ever.

Scullylocks' stomach growled, and she wondered what she could eat. Damn, why didn't I join nature club in school, she wondered. Which berries, which plants... oh *shut it*, she harshly scolded herself. You'll find *something*.

Anyway, there were other things to worry about. Where to sleep. Those cursed brambles were *everywhere*. Many a time she had tried to sit down, but had leaped up with a scream, as her bottom became increasingly wounded by thorns.

And what about the wolves... Don't be silly, she told herselves. Wolves don't live in forests... <don't they?>..... and they've got easier prey to catch than humans <are you *sure* about that Scullylocks?>

Numbly, she walked on, her feet dragging on the ground, as it became darker and darker.

It was almost pitch black when she noticed a light through the trees; she excitedly picked up her pace and soon was running towards it.

Thank god... civilization- or a cottage at least...


It was cold inside the cottage. Not that Scullylocks minded; at least there was a roof over her head now; at least the wolves- Oh, stop that about the wolves... it's just your stupid imagination. But somehow, she'd expected something a little warmer. Cottages in the forest were *meant* to be warm and cosy; much like her own home. Not cold and damp like this one. But still, it appeared to be lived in- in the darkness she had only just been able to see the well-tended vegetable plot; and there had been a light on when she had seen it in the distance. The light had vanished before she arrived at the house.

The layout of the cottage reminded Scullylocks of her own home, so it wasn't too difficult to acquaint herself with the place, even in the darkness.

Every move she made was cautious, however, after all she *was* in someone else's house...

You know, Scullylocks, you're as bad as that sonofabitch that broke into your cottage today...

No. This is different. I *need* shelter, she told herself.

She reached for the light switch...

Light switch? Lights? What lights? There were none to be seen. Oh great... This is nearly as bad as being outdoors. Scullylocks wondered where the owners of the house had got to. Surely they would have heard her by now if they were home, and come to investigate. She was quite pleased that they hadn't, as she would have had difficulty explaining herself.

Scullylocks' brow furrowed as she groped her way around the darkened room, along the wall until her hands met with something rough, wooden; some crude piece of furniture, she imagined.

She ran her hand over the surface of what she now realised was a small table, and gasped in pain as a razor-sharp blade lightly sliced the surface of the skin on her hand.

She clutched her hand, and mentally added it to her face and bottom on her list of rather *sore* bodyparts. Cautiously feeling for the knife once more, she moved it out of the way, and continued to move her hand over the surface, *slowly* this time.

Scullylocks was fortunate to find a candle and a small box of matches; and soon the room was dimly lit by the flame.

She realised it *was* indeed very similar to her own home; but was in appalling condition.

The room was very sparsely furnished; besides the table she had found, there were three wooden chairs, and another small table in the centre of the room.

How can anyone *live* like this, she wondered... still sure that someone did live here. But whoever they were, they couldn't spend much time here... how could they *bear* to?

Wandering through to the kitchen, she was hardly surprised to find it in much the same state.

What *did* surprise her however, were the three enormous knives which lay on the kitchen table- the smallest had a blade at least a foot long; and the largest was over twice this size. She gasped at the sight, and tentatively reached out to touch the largest of the knives. She picked it up; it was even heavier than she thought it would be, and her arm sagged momentarily, before she clenched her arm muscles and lifted the knife upwards, its blade flashing in the candle light. This was *beautiful*... she had to try it out.

She held up the candle and looked around for a victim... well- not a victim, Scullylocks had to remind herself. Though, she added, it sure looked like it *could* cause some pretty serious damage. Her eye fell on a half-empty sack of potatoes, and she stepped across the room and retrieved one of the smaller ones.

She placed it sacrificially on the table. It was criss-crossed with knife marks anyway; one more wouldn't make much difference. Her muscles strained as she heaved the knife up... backwards... over her shoulder, until it almost overbalanced her, and...

WHAM!

She brought the knife down over her shoulder, and it hit the table hard, sending shockwaves up her arm.

Unfortunately, she missed. The potato went rolling off the table at the impact.

The knife was now embedded in the table. She grasped onto the end and tried to pull it away, but no luck.

Hmm... thought Scullylocks... maybe I ought to try a smaller knife. She opted for the medium-sized knife, and tried again. This one didn't place *quite* such a strain on her. She raised it over her head, looked heavenward... 1... 2... 3...

WHAM!

It just skimmed this time, but it became embedded again, and the potato rolled away. Again, she couldn't move the knife, and she bent to pick up the potato.

One more knife...

This is a stupid game, Scullylocks... Oh yeah, but what fun!!

She shrugged and reached for the smaller knife.

This feels more like my size, she thought, as she raised the third and final knife over her head, using only one hand this time, the other hand positioning the potato with precision.

The knife sliced the potato clean in two. Scullylocks dropped the knife on the table and cheered. "YES!! I did it!" performing a little dance.

She rapidly gained her composure again, when she remembered she was in someone else's house, and that a complete stranger could walk in at any time.

Moving across the kitchen, there were three loaves of bread.

Wholemeal, one hundred-percent home-made, she noted. Hmmm... She hadn't eaten all day, and her stomach rumbled at the sight of food. Okay, they didn't look all that *appetising*... but that didn't matter right now.

She reached for the largest loaf, picked up the (rather successful) small knife, and cut a chunk away.

"Ugh!" she exclaimed, just seconds after popping a piece of it into her mouth. It was *stale*... stale as hell. She spat it out. God, I should have more respect for other people's houses... she remarked to herself dryly, not really caring at all.

She went for the medium-sized loaf, but the knife wouldn't even break the surface, the crust was so tough.

When she cut into the smallest loaf, she was relieved to find there was nothing wrong with it. Well- there was the fact that it was gross... but at least it was remotely edible.

Hunger overtook her, and soon the tiny loaf was gone. Scullylocks patted her stomach, and wandered away from the kitchen.

The candle was burning low, and she wondered how much longer it would last her.

Long, I hope; I don't fancy spending the night in this place in the dark...

Scullylocks shuddered at the thought.

Oh don't be *stupid*. What are you afraid of???

She was unable to answer the question, and so dismissed the entire issue.

The staircase was steep, and at the top it curved gently onto a landing which overhung the stairs.

Scullylocks crept up the steps, looking to the left and to the right with every move she made, her fears that someone else was in the house not entirely calmed.

At the top, she paused. To her left was a bathroom; in front of her, a closed door, and to the right, the landing extended over the stairs, and there were two more doors.

Decisions... decisions... Okay... a bathroom is a bathroom, right? I don't *really* need to look in there.

She opted for the door directly in front of her, and reached for the rounded handle.

She twisted it left, she twisted it right. Damnit, locked.

She headed for the second door. Locked again.

The third door, she could see, was ajar.

A-ha... Three must be my lucky number tonight, she noted with a faint grin, as she pushed the door.

It creaked gently and swung wide open.

Curtains swayed in the breeze from the open window, and the cold air made Scullylocks shiver.

A double bed lay bare, save for one sheet. Besides this, the room was empty... that was, except for the closet.

There was a sound, only just audible above the breeze from the window. It was a weird sound, and reminded her of a whimpering puppy- only slightly more muffled. Well, some kind of animal noise anyway- and it was coming from the closet.


Someone was in the room. He'd heard the gentle tapping of footsteps on the hard wooden floor, and the gentle creak of the door. He thought it was *them*, come to beat him again, give him even more injuries- already, his back and arms were bruised with the beatings, his face sore from slapping, and his chin and throat latticed with tiny scars from the numerous times when the metal blade had sliced there so delicately, threatening all the time to cut deeper.

He shuddered at the thought of that happening another time.

Whatever it was, it wasn't feeding time. Oh no... that only happened once a day- and it was always in the daylight. And even through the blindfold, he could sense day and night- from tiny amounts of sunlight that seeped through the fabric; the sound of wildlife in the forest, and the coldness told him when night fell. He'd tried to keep track of time this way- but always lost count.

The footsteps got nearer, and he shriveled up further into the corner, shutting his eyes tightly.

But then he heard the door shake angrily, and a voice mutter. "Damnit!"

But not *them*. It was a female voice; something Mulder hadn't heard in a long time.

And something in that voice ate away to the core of his soul.


It was locked.

She wouldn't have given it a second thought if she hadn't heard the noise from the closet, and wasn't going to give up now.

The axe. After much searching, she had found this in a small cupboard downstairs. She'd come to expect to find such a weapon in this house. It wasn't exactly the most tactical of methods for opening a closet door, and she feared for the life of whatever was behind there- poor thing. Probably some neglected pet... Scullylocks had a soft spot for animals, particularly after moving to the forest and becoming acquainted with the wildlife.

"If you're in there, watch out... I'm coming in..." she muttered, wielding the axe as she had done the knives downstairs, swinging it over her shoulder and...

CRASH!

The axe tore a huge hole in the closet door; breaking away the lock, and allowing the door to swing free.

The whimpering got louder once the door was open, and she held out a candle to see exactly *what* was making that noise.

She was shocked to see a human form huddled in the corner. Not of a child, but most definitely a grown man. Thin, emaciated, and obviously in great pain. Something about him, she couldn't quite place it, was familiar.

He was blindfolded, gagged, and bound at the wrists and ankles.

She pulled away the gag, to reveal a wide jaw, heavily stubbled, and she received even more of a sense of deja-vu.

<music... dancing... laughing... now he's running... a packet of seeds...>

She gasped at the sudden rush of memories, and her suspicions were confirmed as she removed the blindfold, and the hazel eyes met with hers. They were filled with a million different emotions at once; relief, memory, fear... all mixed in together. But most of all, there was the pain- not just the pain of being tied up- but the physical pain too- she saw the wounds on his throat, and the scratches across his face.

It *couldn't* be her... Mulder could hardly bear to look at her, his rescuer, for the memory it brought back. But she was so *different * her hair was untidy, mud was spread down her front, and the dim candlelight revealed the scratches on her face, mirroring his pain. He thought he caught a glimpse of a tear in her eye, but could have been wrong.


Edmund Peacock was not a happy man.

"WHO has been cutting *my* bread??" he roared. As if it wasn't enough to have jammed his damn knife in the tabletop. It was bad enough the door had been left open when they arrived back after their nightly drive.

Sherman Peacock echoed his brother "WHO has been trying to cut *my* bread??" His knife was jammed too, and he hated it when people touched his property.

Both chorused "Charles...", strings of rather unpleasant threats falling from the lips of the two older brothers.

"Was NOT!" Charles Peacock insisted. "Look at it, some idiot's *used* my knife, and has eaten *all* my bread...

"Then who was it?" Edmund demanded "If it wasn't me, or either of you two, that means *someone* has been here..."


Scullylocks' fingers worked deftly at untying the ropes that had bound Mulder for so long.

As his wrists were finally freed, he began to stretch out his arms, and winced as the joint let out a large cracking sound.

"You okay?" she asked, concern in her voice.

He nodded. She smiled at him, an attempt at a reconciliation. He weakly smiled back.

She finally freed his ankles, and allowed him to stretch out his legs. Leaning over him, she placed an arm around his shoulders; he clung on to her as she pulled him up.

It was then that they heard the unmistakeable *roar* of Edmund Peacock. Mulder turned whiter than he had been before, his grip on Scullylocks' shoulder tightened, and her eyes widened in alarm at the sound.

He attempted to stand, but even with her support, his knees buckled. "MULDER, watch-"

Too late. He toppled, pushing her to the floor with him in an almighty *crash*, extinguishing the candle and leaving them in pitch black.

"Ouch, you're crushing m-" She was cut off as he placed one hand firmly over her mouth.

"Shh-" he croaked, his voice obviously under-used. She realised, as she heard the heavy thudding of footsteps on the stairs, that *they ** whoever they were, had heard the noise, and were on their way up here pretty rapidly.

She prayed, and silently begged them *not* to come in here, please- if there's a God- these guys were obviously *lethal*...

Her prayers were obviously ignored, as she looked up to see a dark figure looming over here, at least 6 foot- could it have been the intruder? It didn't really matter to her right now; all that mattered was that this guy was standing right over her and Mulder, looking as if he was ready to murder. Even in the darkness, she sensed his fury, his breathing was low and laboured. But the strike never came. Instead, he walked over to them and grabbed hold of Mulder. The man was weakened by his imprisonment and barely even tried to resist. His eye caught hers as he was dragged from the room.

A second figure appeared in the doorway- the rage not quite as great, but still definitely there. Scullylocks felt the heavy hands grab hold of her armpits, and drag her in the opposite direction- her ankles were bumped up and down as she was dragged down the stairs, into the hallway and outside the front door, which was closed with a bang.

Dazed for only a few seconds, she quickly picked herself up and threw herself at the door, hammering at it with her fists- as guilt-racked sobs began to take over her body.

It was no good.

I can't get inside there- and even if I could, they'll be guarding him so closely...

Damn you, you bastards.

Whoever you are.

Scullylocks sniffed.

Look on the bright side- you know where he is now... you can get help- set him free.

Or maybe its too late... who knows what they'll do to him now? Maybe there's hope... they didn't kill him before.

Whatever, she realised- I'm not going to achieve anything. She got up again, and began to walk away.

She still didn't know the way- out of the forest... home... but she had to keep going; for her, and for him.

Looking up at the house, all was silent. She didn't know if that was a good or a bad sign.

Fresh determination washing over her, she picked up her pace and began to run. Into the trees- there were no paths around here, but she'd get out of here somehow...

Only just into the trees, she felt an urge to look back at the house one more time. She was glad she had and wished she hadn't all at once, when she saw the flames. Lapping up at the outside of the walls, smoke billowing from every window. What th-

She couldn't move. All she could do was stand and watch as the cottage became a blazing inferno... until the branches of nearby trees began to catch alight and she realised she herself would be burned to death if she didn't get out of here soon.

She turned on her heel and ran- what hope there was for him, she didn't know. She *wanted* to save him, but the reality was, there was no way she could. All she could do now was to save herself.

So she ran.


The END

FEED The Feedback MONSTER!!! I NEED Feedback!!!

Sorry 'bout the cliffhanger... I promise there *will* be another story after this. I don't know when though, as I've got a lot of work on right now. I know it's another depressing story... couldn't help it!!

Nessie

:D

|"Shut up, Mulder."
-Scully, Syzygy

*The greatest XF quote ever*

"We don't live in the same world
We don't live in the same world
But I could step into your world
If you step into my world..."

<from 'Step into my world' by Hurricane no. 1>

-now is that M&S or what???

Return to Bump In The Night