Title: A Visit to Larkspur Lane
Author: Maureen S. O'Brien
Distribution: As always, be my guest
Category: poem, H
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: How the Ghosts Stole Christmas
Summary: Good little ghosts get presents in their stockings.
Bad little ghosts get sticks and lumps of coal.
What do psychotic ghosts get?
Disclaimer: This isn't my fault. Personally, I blame Chris Carter. 
And Ten Thirteen Productions. And Twentieth Century-Fox, too.

Author's Note: Merry Christmas, Cici! 
Thanks to Dasha K. for the ideas.

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'Twas the midnight of Christmas. In a Larkspur Lane house,
Not a creature was stirring, though ghosts liked to grouse.
Two agents to safety like snowbirds had fled,
Though visions of gunshot wounds played with each head.
So Lyda in her kerchief, and Maurice in his cap
Had just settled down from their long winter's trap
When out at the door there arose such a clatter,
They materialized to see what was the matter.

Away to the window they flew like a flash.
Had some couple stalled, or was there a car crash?
The lights down the street in the stillness below
Threw rainbows of hues on the newfallen snow.
"I swear I heard something. Maurice, you heard too."
"So what? I'm not Horton, and you're not a Who."

A tap on their backs, and they both jumped up high!
They turned around slowly to see who was nigh,
When what to their wondering eyes did appear
But a man in a labcoat who showed them no fear; 
And a woman in green, her resemblance so marked
To their visitor Dana.... "Oh, no!" "It's the narks!"

"I hate to barge in on your Christmas like this,
But my name's Melissa, and I'm Dana's sis.
And this is Mark Pendrell, who was Dana's friend."
"We've come here to tell you these murders must end."

"Are you sure?" then asked Lyda. "Aren't you really here
Because this is Christmas, a night that is drear
To ghosts lost to families, ghosts who must roam,
Ghosts who must envy our snug little home?"

"You're saying that we're the dysfunctional ones?"
Asked Pendrell. "Why bother? We ghosts don't eat guns."
"Not at all," said Maurice. "I'm sure that is true.
And the needy one prob'ly is just one of you."

Melissa broke in, with her crystal in hand. 
"I don't think the two of you quite understand.
The pain, hate, and sorrow have proved such a bar,
That you've both forgotten just what you two are."

"Ghosts don't age," said Pendrell. "We stay time-of-death.
You're addicted to mortals; you need them like breath.
We cannot take over a human's perception,
Much less turn their glands in a fight/flight direction.
You're not who you say. Heck, you're not even ghosts.
Parasites (ectoplasmic), your victims your hosts."

"You're all in a dark place." "And that's why we came."
And they touched them, and held them, and called them by name.
"Come, Maurice." "Come, Lyda." "Jim, Fleeta, Blanche, John."
"Ann, Robert." "Dee, Brandon." "It's time to go on."
"We've unlocked your prisons. If you hear us call,
Then dash away, dash away, dash away all!"

As flakes that before the cruel blizzard winds fly,
And finding no rest swirl on back to the sky,
So into a bright place the captured souls flew
And took back their names and each moment they knew.

And Maurice and Lyda's old forms were replaced
By tentacles, muzzles, and rifts beyond space...
Two parasite beings both blinked at the show
Then suddenly realized they really should go.
They looked at each other, and without a sound
Up the chimney the parasites went with a bound.

So then, in a twinkling, the labcoated doof
Turned on a containment device on the roof.
Their two heads impacted on one wall of force,
And they fell in the fire (but weren't hurt, of course).
They grabbed his remote, but the doof said, "Surprise!
It's not real. It just helps me to visualize."

The parasites reddened from strange head to foot,
With their rugous limbs covered with ashes and soot.
"I think," said Mark Pendrell, "it's time you should pack.
"We know where your world is. We're sending you back."
Their limbs -- how they trembled! Their eyes turned so wary!
"Please, don't send us home!" "Yeah, those people are scary!"

Melissa looked into her crystal's bright glow,
And told Pendrell, "They aren't lying, you know."
"Well, what can we do? We can't let them stay here
After killing 8 couples in 81 years."

"They need help from someone who can handle sf.
I don't know just who. We'll ask Karen Kosseff.
But first," she said, "before the sun's next arisen,
We must put these two in a crystalline prison.
I'm sorry," she told the two bedraggled wraiths,
"I don't like to do it, but you're just not safe.
This way, you won't hurt anyone or yourselves."
Said Pendrell, "You'll also fit therapists' shelves."

They spoke not a word, but went straight to their work
And ignored parasites who tried quoting _The Jerk_,
Or saying, "You're dead, people! Why should you care?"
"You're not even lovers! This just isn't fair!"

A new rock was laid by the chimney with care
In hopes that two parasites soon would be there.
To help focus their thoughts, Missy took Pendrell's hand.
No illusions to help parasites, and no glands;
So laying the house aside like dirty clothes,
And with resigned nods, into that gem they rose.

But Melissa and Pendrell still stood palm to palm.
They could not feel the cold, but they could feel the calm.
Then Pendrell bent down, ghostly lip met ghost lip,
And we knew in a moment there was a new 'ship.

"I thought you were waiting for Dana," she said.
"She always loved Mulder. Besides, I've been dead
For two years." said Pendrell. "For all my hopes were,
I know you far better than I ever knew her.
I love you," he said. They forgot the damn crystal
For a while, as they floated like the down on a thistle.

But the parasites yelled, as they drifted from sight,
"Get a room! That's disgusting! On Christmas? Good night!"

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http://www.dnaco.net/~mobrien/fanfic/