
 The XMas-Files
 by Frank Cammuso and Hart Seely


      57 ELM STREET      BETHLEHEM, PA.      11:51 P.M., DECEMBER 24TH


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

      Mulder, I hope you know what you're 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 O.K.  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 creature is said to descend from the heavens to
 reward its followers and punish disbelievers with jagged chunks of antracite.

      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 creature 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 Washington, 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.







