From CM3KERR@ARTSU2.Watstar.UWaterloo.CA Mon Nov 04 16:14:39 1996 Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. (I am willing to buy shares) Rated for Adult Language, sorry. Ps. I may have accidentally posted a working copy of this. If I did, mea culpa, oops, and don't get mad...(I sure hope I didn't) QUEEQUEG GETS HIS Another Mercifully Short Story Queequeg floated gently in the temporal realm, spreading his spirit-self out evenly and throughly enjoying the experience. He liked being dead very much. It beat begging for MeatTreats. And pretending that he actually liked them. "I'm a Bad Dog," thought Queequeg rebelliously, "I'm no longer ordinary Queequeg, I'm Free Queequeg, or maybe Queequeg Unbound." He searched his doggie mind for a name that could more accurately label his new, more expressive, uninhibited self, "Ah," he found it, "Frank." Frank, nee Queequeg, played happily with his molecules as The Ghost Of Christmas Past and Morey Amsterdam flew by, hand-in-hand. "I always wondered about those two," thought Frank, the once-dog. Queequeg's peaceful non-existence was painfully shattered by the arrival of a bright, white, light and a buffeting wave of energy below him. "Oh crap," thought Queequeg, quickly forgetting his new identity as Frank, "A rip in the space-time continuum. Man, just what I need." He watched nervously as the rip widened and began to suck his spiritual neighbours of the astral plane into the glittering void. Queequeg figured it was time to be heard, "Max! Eugene! Samantha! Melissa-Sarah-Sydney-Lillie!" he cried in terror, "Don't leave me guys!" Due to the inability of sound to carry in the vacuumy-vacuum of the temporal realm, Queequeg's pleas were to no avail. The doggie's ghostly-self dug his spiritual claws into his Universe and hung on for dear afterlife. "Geez," he thought, "Am I ever being punished for munching on my next-to-last owner!" the pleasant memory of his Forbidden Feast relaxed him, "Mmmmmm..elderly human flesh..." The void took the opportunity of Queequeg's comfortable state to pull the passed-on (probably pretty pissed-off) pup into the space-time rip. "Nooo!" screamed Queequeg, if only mentally, "I like being unformed vapour!" ********************** When Scully entered the office, observant Mulder immediately noticed her haggard face. "What's up Scully?" he asked. Scully turned towards him and began to speak, "Relatives die again?" interrupted Mulder, anxious to guess her problem and then be able to claim it was due to his superior intuition. "Well, yes," said Scully as she sat down, "one of my brothers." she brightened, "But I've got another one," she leaned forward, "Mulder, yesterday I saw Queequeg!" Mulder raised one eyebrow and then decided he'd let the other one join its buddy on the higher bits of his forehead, "Typical Ghost Haunting?" "Without a sheet, but yeah." "Complete with chains?" Scully thought hard, "I think so." Mulder stood and began to pace around his partner; he grabbed his desk lamp and shone it into her face. "Owww, Mulder, I can't see," complained Scully. "Where did it manifest itself?" Mulder asked. "Eyes burning..." "Where!" demanded Mulder, he shook her chair from behind as he towered over her. "The kitchen sink!" shrieked Scully. She turned her face away from the light and was rewarded with a forceful slap from her interrogator. "How long did it manifest itself?" Mulder asked menacingly. Scully gently probed the side of her face, "Two minutes.... ...hurts.." "Excellent," said Mulder, his eyes glittering with some obsessive element never before seen in any X-Files to date. He turned off the lamp. Temporarily blinded, Scully picked up her briefcase and stumbled towards the door. She paused, hand on the knob, "You are so fucked-up Mulder, you know that, don't you?" Mulder was silent. He was rooting throught the filing cabinet marked "Q". Scully staggered out into the hallway, "Excuse me, Mr. Skinner," she apologized to the water cooler as she bumped into it. Left alone with his thoughts -- some dirty, some not --- Mulder chuckled, "Ha Ha!" he said, then, "Ha!" ********************* The next time the other-worldly canine visited Scully's sink, she and her partner were ready. "Woo! Woo!" spooked Queequeg unhappily, he was annoyed to find himself stuck as a ghost in the kitchen where -- in life -- he'd been so miserable, "Bark. Bark." "Foul fiend!" called Mulder enthusiastically, "Get thee back to thy hell!" He swatted at Queequeg with Scully's spatula, liberally dipped in holy water, of course. "Cease thy haunting!" he turned to Scully, "Are you getting all this?" Scully sighed as she wielded the camcorder, "Yes." Her boredom wa evident in her running commentary of the events at hand, "Here Mulder tells my dead dog to leave...My dead dog does not leave...Mulder gets my spatula stuck in the garbage disposal...I paid 1.87 for that, Mulder." Amused by Mulder's attempts to exorcise him, Queequeg laughed in his little doggie mind, "Bark." he told Scully as he rattled some chains for effect. He turned his good side to the camera, "Bark!" Mulder abandoned the spatula and pulled out the heavy guns. He took a medium-sized stick out of his pocket, "Fetch boy!" he ordered as he threw it at Queequeg. The physical body of the stick passed through Queequeg's spiritual form and into a strange red void that opened up above him to accept it. Queequeg saw Mulder's plan, "Oh, you bastard," he told the agent as he felt the need to chase the stick into the unknown, "Oh fuck you so badly, buddy." Scully was not impressed with Queequeg's profanity, "He didn't pick up that language from me," she muttered behind the camera. Mulder smirked preteniously as he watched Queequeg jump into the red void, "Heh, heh," he said to no one in particular. Queequeg's last thought was that he should have done a "Carrie" and pinned his tormentors to the wall with steak knives, "Mmmmm steak..." ...Then he was gone. ********************** "So where am I now?" Queequeg asked himself. The dark red vacuum around him smelled suspiciously of sulphur and was obviously not Queequeg's beloved temporal realm. "Oh no." thought Queequeg, realizing. "Yes! That's right! said The Devil, sneaking up behind the doggie as Devils are wont to do. "Welcome to Hell!" Queequeg groaned, "Awww, man, what did I do to get in here?" The Devil considered the question, "Well, you did eat your owner, but mostly you are here due to dramatic conventions." "Dramatic conventions?" repeated Queequeg as he watched his spirit-fur beginning to smoke. "Yes," said The Devil, he scratched his horns, "It's supposed to be like...a technique of Tragedy." He was embarrassed by his lack of literary knowledge, "Maybe you married your mother and killed your father?" "I certainly don't think so." "Well," said the Devil, "Just chalk it up to irony, that's always a good one." Queequeg frowned, "Well, I don't think much of this use of it, then." And neither do I. the end. ------------------------------------------------------------------------- --- Claire "Scully steals from the Civil War achives! Revoke her library card! Has she no concern for community property?" Kerr Comments Welcome. KEN FINKLEMAN FOR PRIME MINISTER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (Eastern Canada: watch CBC's "The Newsroom" Mon. at 9:30pm)