From: "aka "Jake"" Date: Sat, 2 Dec 2000 18:31:47 -0500 Subject: xfc: NEW: SNOWMAN by aka "Jake" (1/4) Source: xfc NEW: SNOWMAN (1/4) TITLE: Snowman AUTHOR: aka "Jake" E-MAIL ADDRESS: nejake@tds.net INFO: Written for I Made This Productions Virtual Season 8, Snowman was toned down to UST at the request of the production crew. This is the original MSR version. DISTRIBUTION: Archive anywhere -- but please drop me a note to tell me where. DISCLAIMER: The characters Fox Mulder and Dana Scully are the property of Chris Carter, FOX and 1013 Productions. No copyright infringement intended. This is for fun, not profit. SPOILER WARNING: Vague references to War of the Coprophages, Rain King and Je Souhaite. RATING: R (Language and Violence) CLASSIFICATION: X, MSR SUMMARY: Mulder and Scully travel to the remote town of Caribou Corners, Maine, to investigate the chilling death of 10th-grader Danny Davis. The murder weapon? An icicle. The motive? Unknown. The killer? Depends on whom you ask. Some believe he's human. Some claim he's a legendary man of snow. The one thing everyone agrees on: he's going to kill again AUTHOR'S NOTES: Special thanks to Marybeth for the great beta. You're the best! Any errors found herein are mine. FEEDBACK: Please. Write to nejake@tds.net. AUTHOR'S WEBSITE: www.crosswinds.net/~bluefroggie/aka "Jake".html SNOWMAN (1/4) PROLOGUE _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ Caribou Corners High School Caribou Corners, Maine Friday, February 16 2:59 PM "Heads up," a voice warned and a pencil whizzed like a dart toward the bulletin board, just missing the teacher's right shoulder. Ricocheting off the wall, the miniature harpoon tumbled to the floor with a chattering bounce. It settled at Ms. Spencer's feet. "Ooops. Almost nailed her." A flurry of tittering giggles swirled through the class of grinning tenth graders. At the front of the room Connie Spencer swallowed and blinked. The pencil's broken tip pointed at her like an accusing finger and she struggled to keep her knees from buckling. Clearing her throat, she selected a nub of chalk from the blackboard's powdery tray. Her fingers trembled as she wrote, causing the chalk to sputter and skip. Her back to her students and her arm jogging with the rise and fall of her shaky letters, she strained to recall when, or even how, things had grown so out of control. She knew it was long before today. Or even before the start of school five months ago. In fact, Connie Spencer couldn't remember a time when she hadn't felt afraid. In a shivering script, she wrote the students' assignment on the blackboard. -- 10-page essay on the theme "tales within tales" as illustrated in Mark Twain's "The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County" -- Disgruntled groans, rumbling through the room like an avalanche, died when the bell rang, ending the school day and marking the start of Winter break. Books slammed shut. Chairs scraped backward. The students poured out the door, hurrying to their lockers and their coats. Turning from the blackboard, Connie Spencer gaped at the disheveled rows of empty desks and breathed the room's chilling silence into her lungs with a feeling of longed-for liberation. "Hi Mommy!" Seven-year-old Katie twirled into the room, arriving from her afternoon dance lesson. "We practiced pirouettes in ballet class today," she said and proudly demonstrated her newfound skill. "That's very good, Katie." Connie watched her daughter whorl around her. "Did your dad drive you?" "Nope. Miss Tredwell drived." Katie spun again, her bulky winter coat flaring like a woolen tutu. "Miss Tredwell said my pirouette was best in class." "Don't boast, Katie." "Well, she did!" Connie was certain Katie told the truth, that the ballet teacher had indeed complimented the girl. Not because Katie was an especially good dancer, but because Anne Tredwell was a kindhearted woman. Connie was grateful for the special attention the dance teacher lavished on her daughter. Connie and Tom Spencer's divorce had been hard on Katie. Their marriage had been even worse. The memory of her ex-husband's uncontrolled temper knotted Connie's stomach even after two years. Although Tom Spencer had been granted visitation rights with his daughter, a court order kept him at a safe distance from his ex-wife. Sliding into her coat, Connie watched her daughter spin happily around the room. "You ready, honey?" "I know a song, Mommy. Wanna hear it?" The girl didn't wait for an answer but launched into her song. "Frosty the snooowmaaan, is a fairytale they SAY. He was made of SNOW but the children KNOW how he came to life one DAAAY!" While Katie sang, Connie took hold of her hand and led her into the hall. Their rubber boots squeaked against the glassy floor as they walked toward the exit. Halfway down the corridor, Katie abruptly stopped at the door of the school's biology lab, locking her sherbet-colored boots in place and halting her mother. "Hi, Uncle Phil!" The girl waved a mittened hand at the biology teacher. "Hello, Katie. Hi, Con." Phil Peters smiled and waved back. "Doin' anything special for winter break?" He stepped into the hall, plunging his arms into his coat sleeves before pinching Katie's nose and making the girl giggle with delight. "No. No plans. How about you, Philly?" Connie answered, her unease lessening somewhat in her older brother's calming shadow. "Not a thing. Just the way I like it." "Whaddabout Winter Carnival?" Katie asked. "Aren't you gonna go, Uncle Phil?" "Of course I am. How 'bout you?" "Uh huh! I'm gonna build a snowman for the snowman contest. I know a song. Frosty the snooowman..." she began again. Peters held open the door and Katie pranced out into the snow, singing her song and twirling in dizzying circles. "Be glad to give you a lift home, Con," Peters offered, ushering Connie out into the cold. "No, thanks. We enjoy the walk and it isn't far." "Okeydoke. Hey, if the weatherman's right about Sunday's snowstorm, I'll be by to shovel your driveway." He winked and headed to the parking lot, strains of "thumpity thump thump, thumpity thump thump" making him smile as he waved goodbye. "Look, Mommy, look! It's Frosty!" Katie ran through knee-deep drifts to a large snowman standing guard in the schoolyard. A striped scarf in the school colors flapped around the snowman's neck and two tiny stone eyes appeared to squint across the yard at Connie. A wide line of pebbles dotted the white face, creating a lop-sided grin while skinny, bent arms branched out into woody fingers swayed in the breeze, waving hello to the girl's waiting mother. Katie rubbed her mittens over the snowman's big round belly. "Mommy, look..." Katie stopped mid-sentence when she saw three familiar boys exit the school behind her mother. Danny Davis, Ricky Hart, and Benjamin Shute. "Troublemakers" she'd heard Uncle Phil call them. "Hey, Ms. Spencer," Danny sniggered as the three scruffy tenth- graders crowded around Connie. "She looks kinda nervous, Danno. Maybe you scare her," Ricky giggled, looming over his much smaller teacher. "Do I scare you, Ms. Spencer? BOO!" He puffed in her face, his breath blowing a lock of her dark hair across her forehead. "G-go home, boys." She tried to steady her voice but it whined from her throat like wind skimming across the icy school yard. The boys laughed. "'Go home, boys, go home, boys,'" they mimicked. Danny pushed closer until he squeezed Connie firmly between himself and Ben. The slippery fabric of his down-filled vest squealed against her raspy wool coat. The boy's airy winterwear exhaled the odor of pizza, cheap cologne and car grease when he pressed into Connie and she held her breath against the smell. "We're havin' waaaay too much fun right here, Ms. Spencer. Ain't you havin' fun, too?" he asked. Connie shook her head, her eyes fixed on Danny's widening smirk. "P-please go..." A wave of fear blurred her vision and in her mind's eye she saw her ex-husband's raging face floating between her and the haughty teen. She could almost feel Tom Spencer's brutal fingers crushing her throat. A biting swirl of snow billowed around the three teens and their teacher. Across the schoolyard, Katie lost sight of her mother in the sudden squall. The percussive crack of shattering ice boomed through the air as long icicles plunged from the school's overhanging roof, one after the next, detonating on the sidewalk with the raucous pulse of a Gatling gun. Katie blinked with each explosive jolt. "Mommy...?" She was answered by a gurgled scream. The vortex of blowing snow sucked skyward, popping Katie's ears and inexplicably taking the blizzard with it. When the snow cleared, Danny Davis lay sprawled on the sidewalk with a four-foot-long spear of ice stuck through his neck. His mouth was packed solid with snow. Blood pumped from the wound splitting his throat and the vermilion puddle haloing the boy's head steamed with the lost heat of his dying body. A scraping *schht, schht* of ice drew Katie's attention away from the frightful scene. Glancing over her shoulder, she was certain she saw the frozen snowman's stony smile twitch. The words "catch me if you can" whistled past her ears. ACT I _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ Two days later Route 1, Northern Maine *Schht, schht, schht.* Scully sat in the driver's seat, watching Mulder scrape ice from the windshield of their rental car. A fog of breath huffed from his nose with each thrust of the scraper across the glass. Despite the car's suffocating defroster, this was Mulder's third trip into the stormy weather to clear their view. Lashes laden with ice and dark hair turning white, he squinted to avoid the onslaught of stinging sleet that pinged and bounced off the de-iced surface of the car. "The Ice Man Cometh," he announced, sliding into the passenger seat and slamming the door behind him. A blast of bitter air followed him inside and caused Scully to shiver. "You look like an abominable snowman," she said and shifted the car into drive. "Didn't know you were up on such things, Scully." A shake of his head sent a spray of melting snow in her direction. She sniffed her disapproval, flooding her sinuses with the humid smell of his damp wool coat. "I watched 'Rudolph' as a kid." "Well, I always thought I had more in common with Yukon Cornelius than with the Bumble. I identified with the prospector's elusive quest for the unattainable." "Silver and gold?" "Metaphorically speaking." With a sly half-smile, Mulder plunged an icy hand down the back of Scully's collar. She let out a yelp of displeasure when his chilly fingers pressed into the bare skin of her neck. "Pay dirt, Scully! I may have just struck the mother lode," he chuckled into her ear. "Stop it, Mulder. Tell me about our case," she advised. He withdrew his frigid fingers and rearranged himself comfortably in the passenger seat. "Danny Davis, tenth grade student at Caribou Corners High School, died when an icicle pierced him through the neck. His lungs were packed like a snow cone." "How did an icicle pierce his neck?" "Well, that's the question, Scully. His two best friends, Benjamin Shute and Ricky Hart, who were witnesses, say Danny was stabbed by their teacher, Connie Spencer." "So if the boys saw Ms. Spencer stab Danny, how is this an X- File?" "You know I *love* it when you ask that. It send chills up my spine every time." He shivered to emphasize his point. "Just give me the facts, Mulder." "Ricky and Benjamin weren't the only ones to witness Danny's unlikely demise. Actually, quite a few people saw what happened." "Do they corroborate the boys' story? "Snowball's chance in hell, Scully. Phil Peters, the high school biology teacher who happens to be Connie Spencer's brother, was standing by his car in the school parking lot about sixty yards away when the incident occurred. He insists the event, although unusual, was an accident. He claims a strong wind knocked a row of icicles from the school's overhanging roof and Danny was simply an unfortunate victim when one falling icicle flew at him and stabbed him in the neck." "Flew at him?" "Sounded suspicious to me, too. A dance teacher, Anne Tredwell, was in the parking lot as well, talking with Peters. She's uncertain about what she saw...or actually, what she didn't see. She said the blowing snow made it impossible to know for sure what happened. But based on Ms. Spencer's character, she's adamant that Connie Spencer didn't kill the boy." "X-File, Mulder, X-File. Get to the point if there is one." "There is. Ms. Spencer's seven-year-old daughter was present, too. She claims a snowman killed Danny." "A snowman?" "A snowman." "This girl is how old?" "Seven. Her name is Katie." "Explain to me why you think Katie's allegations are worth risking our lives driving to Caribou Corners, Maine, in this snowstorm?" "Katie's version of the event was corroborated by the school's custodian. The janitor, Elwood Jenkins, was in the schoolyard shoveling snow at the time the alleged attack took place." "And he says a snowman killed the tenth-grader? With an icicle?" "Yes." "Do you know how unlikely that story sounds?" "I do. Or I did. But after a little digging, I've changed my mind." "And what did you find?" "An old legend, Scully." "You're not planning to sing 'Frosty the Snowman,' are you?" "Not at all. This is something with a little more local flavor." Mulder's limbs vibrated with excitement and Scully marveled at his frenetic enthusiasm. No matter how many myths and legends he encountered, his fervor never seemed to wane. "According to legend..." she prompted, causing him to smile and launch into his story. "According to legend, back in the early days of Caribou Corners when the small village was little more than a few families settled bravely in the remote north woods, a handsome trapper named Georges Desjardins married a pretty farm girl named Catherine Dawes. Georges adored his beautiful young wife and lavished her with devoted attention. In turn, Catherine loved Georges with all her heart. On the eve of the happy couple's first wedding anniversary, a mysterious stranger visited their home demanding to be fed and given a place to spend the night. Although the stranger was fearsome in appearance, having skin and hair and even eyes the color of new fallen snow, Georges and Catherine were kindly people who opened their home to the man. During dinner, the stranger told them his name was Maledeneige." Scully snorted. "Man of snow?" "That's what the legend says, Scully. Anyway, after dinner, Maledeneige took a white stone from his pocket and laid it on the table. 'This is a magic stone,' he told the young lovers. 'It has the power to protect you from your fiercest enemies. Since you have treated me with kindness tonight, I will offer you the stone in exchange for a kiss from your pretty wife.' Well, Georges did have an enemy, a brute of a man named LaRoche who was a trapper, too. Both men hunted the same forest. One day, finding his line of traps sprung but empty, LaRoche had accused Georges and threatened to kill him. Although Georges was innocent, he believed the surly trapper meant to kill him the next time they met. Not wanting to leave Catherine a widow at the hands of LaRoche, Georges agreed to trade his wife's kiss to Maledeneige for the magic stone." "I don't suppose Catherine had anything to say about all this?" "If she did, it's not mentioned in the legend. So, Maledeneige took Catherine in his arms and kissed her long and hard. He continued his kiss until she became frightened and began to struggle. Despite her protests, Maledeneige persisted with his unwelcome kiss. Georges grew jealous and angry at the sight of the stranger's snow white lips pressed against his struggling young wife's mouth." "What did he do?" "He tackled Maledeneige and the two men fought. Georges was no match for the white-eyed stranger and Maledeneige soon had the upper hand. With a ferocious twist, he snapped Georges' neck, killing him." "No!" Scully found herself caught up in Mulder's tale. "Yes! The stranger then turned to Catherine. 'Now both the magic stone and you are mine!' he said. Mad with grief and fright, Catherine grabbed a pot of boiling water from the stove and hurtled it at Maledeneige. The scalding water hit him full in the face. His snow-white skin melted like candle wax as he screamed in agony. Covering his wounds with his hands, he ran from the house, vowing to return and kill Catherine later that night." "So what happened?" "Catherine was afraid for her life. So she took the magic stone the stranger had left behind and packed it into the center of a snowball. From the snowball, she built an enormous snowman. 'My husband is dead and I am alone,' she told the snowman. 'You must protect me from the evil of Maledeneige.' To her astonishment, the snowman nodded. And he slid across the yard to stand guard at her front door while she hid inside the house." "Did Maledeneige come back?" "He did. And he was more frightful looking than ever with his features distorted by his burns, and his white eyes staring out of gaping holes in his scarred, snow-white flesh. Unaware the snowman contained the magic stone, Maledeneige climbed Catherine's steps and prepared to break down her door. The snowman grabbed Maledeneige by the neck. It shoved a frosty fist into the stranger's terrible mouth, past his melted white lips and down into his throat. The snowman's arm filled the surprised man's gullet, packing his lungs with snow and suffocating him. Maledenaige was killed and Catherine was saved." "Well, that's a good fairytale, Mulder, but it doesn't explain the death of Danny Davis." "That's not the end of the story." "Oh. So what happened next?" "The snowman continued to guard Catherine against all enemies. But try as he might, he couldn't save her from her own grief. You see Catherine's heart broke when her loving husband was killed. She couldn't live without him. She fell ill and soon died. And without Catherine, the snowman was left to search for others who might need his protection. To this day, the snowman returns to Caribou Corners each winter where he roams the countryside looking for injustices against the weak, avenging cruelties visited upon the helpless." "So he's a good guy? Everyone lived happily ever after?" "That would depend on your point of view, Scully. I doubt Danny Davis or his family would look at it quite that way." _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ Connie Spencer Residence Caribou Corners, Maine *Schht. Fump.* *Schht. Fump.* *Schht. Fump.* Connie paused at her snow shoveling when she saw an unfamiliar car pull to a stop at the end of her half-scraped walk. She didn't recognize the official looking man who sat in the passenger seat or the red-haired woman behind the wheel. When they stepped from the car, Connie blinked in surprise at their smart wool coats, impractical calfskin gloves and ankle-high boots. Neither wore a hat and their salon-cut hair flailed in the sleety wind. Clearly they weren't locals. Connie glanced over at the driveway where Phil leaned on his shovel staring at the strangers, too. "Ms. Spencer?" Mulder asked and when Connie nodded, he hooked Scully's elbow and escorted her through the snow to the cleared portion of the walk. He reached into his breast pocket and withdrew his ID. "I'm Agent Fox Mulder and this is my partner Dana Scully. We're with the FBI." At the sight of Mulder's badge, Phil abandoned his snow shovel to join his sister. Nearing the agents, he extended a hand and introduced himself. "I'm Phil Peters, Connie's brother," he smiled. "You're here about Danny Davis?" he guessed. "Yes. May we ask you each a few questions?" "Sure," Peters ushered them toward the house. "Actually, Mr. Peters, we'd prefer to interview you separately," Scully said as tactfully as possible. "The garage?" she suggested, gesturing to the open door. "Oh...uh, sure. Whatever you say." "Shall we go inside, Ms. Spencer?" Mulder asked, guiding Connie with a sweep of his arm. Connie stabbed her shovel into the snowbank and led Mulder into the house. "How 'bout we sit by the woodstove?" she invited. The heat from the stove was welcome after the stinging cold outside. Connie motioned Mulder to the couch. "Tell me what happened at the school last Friday, Ms. Spencer," Mulder prompted. "Well, Katie...that's my daughter...Katie and I were on our way home. She stopped to get a look at a snowman in the schoolyard. I-I waited for her on the sidewalk. That's when some boys from my class came along and...well, they uh...they s-surrounded me." Connie picked at a ragged nail. "Was Danny Davis one of the boys?" "Yes. And a couple of his friends. Ricky Hart and Ben Shute." "What did the boys say?" "They...they didn't say much really, but I knew they were trying to scare me." "Why would they do that?" "They're not my best students. I-I told them to go home, but they wouldn't go." Connie gulped for air at the memory. "You felt in danger?" "Yes." "Why was that?" Connie thought back to the panic that had surged through her at the time. Trapped between the boys, unable to breathe, she had sensed the grip of her ex-husbands fingers around her throat. She felt it again now and the feeling was so real, she raised a hand to her neck to prove to herself that no one actually held her. "I-I felt cornered, I guess. The boys are a lot bigger than I am." Connie lifted her torn nail to her teeth. "How was Danny killed, Ms. Spencer?" "I-I'm not sure. I mean I know an icicle..." Connie shivered, the scene still vivid in her mind. "It went straight through his neck. I guess it fell from the roof when the wind started blowing." "Ms. Spencer, did you want Danny dead?" Despite his gentle tone, Connie flinched at the question. She wondered how he knew, how he had guessed that for a single, brief moment she had wanted the boy dead. The shame of that desire now flared across her cheeks and she looked away from the agent's prying eyes. "No! I-I was afraid, but I didn't want him dead. He was just a boy, for goodness' sake. I didn't kill him. It was an accident. It had to be an accident." "The other two boys, they claim you stabbed Danny in the neck." "They're mistaken. I-I did no such thing." "Your daughter said Danny was killed by a snowman. Why would she say that?" "Agent Mulder, she's just a little girl. She imagined it is all." Connie's eyes flashed with anger. "Danny's death...well, it was a horrible thing for a child to see. And Katie's already seen more than her fair share of horrible things." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Connie wished she could take them back. Ashamed of her failed marriage, she had no desire to explain her years of abuse. Not to this complete stranger. Not to anyone. How do you convey the constant fear? The beatings. The black eyes and broken bones. Connie had lost several teeth while Katie watched, wide-eyed and frightened. Even as a baby in a high chair, Katie bore silent witness to one terrible bloody encounter after the next. Tom Spencer never hit his daughter, but Connie had suffered his unpredictable battering for five long years. "What are you saying, Ms. Spencer? What exactly has Katie seen?" "Agent Mulder, Katie's father and I are divorced. Our marriage wasn't a happy one. It was hard on Katie. That's all I meant." "I'd like to talk with your daughter," Mulder said. When Connie's eyes widened, he quickly added, "About last Friday." "I'd rather you didn't." "I can understand that, but Katie witnessed a possible murder. I need to question her about what she saw. Please, call her in." "She...she's not here right now. She's with her father. They're at the schoolyard, building a snowman...for...for tomorrow's Winter Carnival." * * * In the garage, Peters leaned against Connie's old Dodge. "Sorry I can't offer you a chair, Agent Scully. You're welcome to share the bumper." He smiled. "I'm fine, Mr. Peters. This won't take long. Can you tell me what happened last Friday?" "A terrible accident," Peters became serious and shook his head. "Freaky. As you can see, we've had a lot of snow in Caribou Corners this winter. It's several feet deep on most roofs and the school's no exception. I'd have to say a sudden gust of wind caused the snow to slide off the school roof, taking the icicles with it. Danny...well, he was standing beneath it when it happened and an icicle caught him in the neck. He bled to death in a matter of a few minutes. The report said the icicle hit his carotid artery." "Was Danny standing alone near the overhang?" "No, Connie and two other boys from her class were on the sidewalk as well. Ben Shute and Ricky Hart." "But no one else was hurt?" "No, thank God." "You're aware, aren't you, that the other two boys have accused your sister of stabbing Danny with the icicle?" "Yes, I've heard that. Those boys...well, there's no nice way to put this, Agent Scully...those boys are troublemakers. Connie's had a hard time with 'em all year. I know from personal experience they can be disruptive and they have little respect for authority. Connie warned the boys weeks ago that if they didn't buckle down, they'd fail her class. A failing mark would mean repeating tenth grade, so you can see why the boys might want to make trouble for Connie." "When the accident occurred, did you have a clear view of what happened?" "I'd been watching them, keeping my eye on them from the minute the boys showed up, in case Connie needed my help. I was about to intervene when the wind started blowing the snow around. I saw what happened, Agent Scully. I was looking right at them. Connie didn't stab that boy. Nobody stabbed him. It was an accident, not murder." "Mr. Peters, I have to ask you this." Scully looked a bit embarrassed. "Why did your niece claim a snowman killed Danny Davis?" Peters relaxed and actually laughed out loud. "She's a seven-year-old, Agent Scully. She's heard that silly old snowman legend all her life and took it to heart when the accident occurred. She's just trying to make childish sense of a terrible situation. You don't put any credence in a crazy fairytale like that, do you?" "Scully?" Mulder interrupted, poking his head around the doorframe. "If you're finished here, I'd like to head over to the school. I wanna get a look at that magic snowman." _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ Caribou River 2:32 PM Ricky Hart reset the tip-up and de-iced his fishing hole using a beat-up skimmer to clear out the slush. A fat hornpout lay dying at his feet, its gasping gills sluggish as it simultaneously suffocated and froze. Several yards away, a couple more traps waited to snare an unwary fish or two. "Leave it be, Jack!" Ricky ordered, frowning at his pestering dog. The shaggy mixed-breed danced around the boy, begging for a handout. To keep the dog away from his fish, Ricky tossed the hornpout into an Igloo cooler and closed the lid. He aimed a half-hearted kick at the dog. When a northerly wind skated along the river's frozen surface, Ricky turned his back to the blustering snow. Keeping an eye on his traps, the boy pushed his hands deeply into his pockets in an effort to keep them warm. He shivered as another swirl of snow penetrated the worn fabric of his jeans, biting the backs of his legs from his calves to the tops of his thighs. Glancing at the high school perched on the distant slope, Ricky thought back to Friday. Danny's death was Ms. Spencer's goddamn fault, he was sure, although he hadn't truly seen her do it. At the time, he'd closed his eyes against the blowing snow, but even so she was to blame. He'd told the sheriff as much, too. Ms. Spencer was a wacko. Everybody knew she was nuts. Hell, her husband went and left her because she was certifiably crazy, so damn paranoid Tom Spencer couldn't stand to live with her anymore. They should lock her away in a loony bin somewhere. No way was he going back to her class, even if it meant a suspension. Jack barked and trotted to the far trap. Snout buried in Ricky's tracks, a frosty sneeze threatened to send the dog bumping into the tip-up. "Com'ere, Jack," Ricky called and whistled through his teeth. Jack stood at attention, ready to bolt back to the boy. But he hesitated, nose in the air. His hair bristled along the ridge of his back. He looked beyond his young master and barred his teeth. A low growl gurgled from his throat, even as his tail slid between his legs. "Jack! What's a'matter, boy?" Ricky took a step toward the hunched dog as Jack released a spatter of warning barks. *Schht. Schhhttt! Schhhhhtttttt!* A scraping current of air plowed into Ricky's back, popping his eardrums and propelling him forward. He stumbled and a frosty arm, bitter cold and alarmingly powerful, caught him around the waist from behind, preventing him from sprawling to the ice. The arm squeezed and forced the air from the boy's lungs. Ricky tried to inhale, desperate for a breath as his ribs cracked, but a sleety hand folded over his face, blinding him and blocking his mouth. The intense cold scalded the boy's nose, cheeks and chin. He sucked against the glacial hand, his breath hitching in his empty chest. His arms flailed like the hornpout's gills, desperate at first, but slowing, slowing. I'm dying, the boy thought as snow filled his mouth, glutting coldly across his tongue and pressing against the back of his throat, stretching the malleable skin to an impossible thinness. The fist of snow filled him, expanding until the boy gagged on the arctic pain. Frosty shards grated the fragile membranes of his mouth, his throat. His insides split and ripped lengthwise, bursting like a frozen water pipe, as the plug of snow jammed his gullet. Packed solid with icy crystals, the boy lost consciousness and slipped stiffly to the frozen surface of the river. Continued in SNOWMAN 2/4 SNOWMAN (2/4) ACT II _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ Caribou Corners High School 3:12 PM Katie's giggles reached Mulder and Scully the moment they stepped from their car. Crossing the school parking lot, they watched the little girl wrestle with a snowball at least half her size. Unable to budge the monstrous sphere another inch, her father joined her effort, helping her lift the ball into place atop a similar globe. "Next we make Frosty's head, Daddy!" Katie squealed and danced a crooked circle around the headless snowman. Tom Spencer ignored his daughter's frolicky enthusiasm, staring instead at Mulder and Scully. Even from several yards away, he could make out the badge on Mulder's proffered ID. "I haven't gone near Connie," Spencer insisted, gloved palms raised. "I don't know what she's told you, but I haven't broken the restraining order." "We're not here about that, Mr. Spencer. We're investigating the death of Danny Davis and we'd like to speak with your daughter." "Katie? What for?" At the mention of her name, Katie stopped her spiraling. "Me?" she asked, her reedy voice quavering into nothingness. Scully approached the little girl and knelt in the snow, putting her eye-to-eye with the seven-year-old. "Hi, Katie. My name is Dana," she introduced gently. "That's a nice snowman you're making." "Yep!" the girl brightened. "His name is Frosty. D'you know Frosty the Snowman?" "Yes, I do. The song says he came to life one day." "Uh huh! Thumpity thump thump, thumpity thump thump," Katie sang, "Look at Frosty GO!" The girl's enthusiasm made Scully smile. The child was cute. With dark hair peeking out from under an ice cream-colored cap and a shallow crescent dimpling her wind-chapped chin, she resembled her mother, but without Connie's undercoat of sadness. "My snowman's gonna come t'life, too!" Katie proudly claimed, "'Cause I got a magic stone." "A magic stone?" Mulder asked, stepping closer and giving Scully a quick glance. "Yep! Wanna see it, mister?" Mulder nodded and crouched, too. Katie tugged off an icy mitten and dug into her pocket. Withdrawing her hidden treasure she unfolded her fingers with a triumphant smile and exposed a snow-white stone. "What makes your stone magic?" "It's gonna bring Frosty to life. Like the hat." "The old silk hat in the song?" "Yep. Only, I din't have no hat so Mr. Jenkins gave me this magic stone." "Mr. Jenkins?" "He works at Mommy's school. He fixed the song." Mulder looked confused. "Fixed the song?" "Like this: 'There musta been some magic in that white stone Katie found, 'cause when she placed it in his hhhhhead, he began t'dance arounnndddd!' See?" "Have you ever seen a snowman come to life, Katie?" Scully asked. The girl's happy smile vanished, melting into a tremble of fear. Dread peaked her delicate brows, transforming her into a miniature replica of Connie Spencer. "Yes," Katie whispered. "Where?" "Here." "At the school?" "Mm hm." "Can you show me?" Scully held out a gloved hand. Mitten dangling, Katie placed her tiny fingers in Scully's palm. With Mulder and Tom following a few paces behind, Katie towed Scully across the schoolyard to the snowman standing guard at the front walk. "Him." She thrust an accusing finger at the leaning snowman. To Scully the snowman looked like any average snowmen: three giants spheres of snow, one stacked precariously atop the next, tilting the figure a bit and giving it the impression of motion. Small stones defined the eyes and mouth; its expression appeared grim but not necessarily malevolent. "Tell me what happened, Katie," Scully asked gently. The girl sucked her lip into her mouth. Her brown eyes glossed with tears. "Danny wanted to hurt Mommy. He scared her. The snowman doesn't like Mommy to be scared." "He doesn't?" "No. He got mad and blew the wind and knocked the icicles off'n the roof and made a whooshey noise and...and stuck an icicle in Danny's neck." "You saw him stick an icicle in Danny's neck?" "Well..." "Did you see it, Katie? Did you really see it?" "Um...not zackly. But the snowman smiled real mean when Danny got stuck." "The snowman smiled?" "Uh huh. And he said 'catch me if you can.'" Katie mimicked a whispering voice, soft as blowing sleet. "Isn't that what Frosty says in his song?" "Yeah, but...but Frosty doesn't say it like that. Frosty says 'Catch me if you CAN!'" Katie sang the familiar melody. Then she pointed at the snowman. "He sounded like schhht, schhhhht, caaaatchhhh meee ifff youuu caaannn." Again she whispered. Scully nodded and gave the girl's hand a gentle squeeze. "Thank you, Katie." "You finished?" Spencer asked, fists on his hips. "I think we've heard enough," Scully answered. "How about you, Mulder?" Mulder opened his mouth, but his reply was lost in the blaring siren of the Sheriff's passing cruiser. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ Caribou River 4:01 PM "Damn!" Sheriff Ted Riley swore as he lifted Ricky Hart's face from the slush-filled fishing hole. "How in hell...?" He rolled the dead boy's stiff body onto its back. A conglomeration of ice and snow plugged the teen's yawning mouth. Blue lips stretched agonizingly around a frozen mass. The boy's eyes were wide-open, lids glazed in place with a veneer of crystal clear ice. "He was dead when I got here, Ted. I didn't think I should move him, you know, in case...well, in case I accidentally disturbed some evidence or something." Anne Tredwell, ill dressed for the biting cold and the setting sun, marched a nervous triangle between the dead boy's three abandoned fishing holes. She dodged a lopsided snowman located halfway between the farthest hole and the body. The snowman leaned toward the boy's corpse like a curious bystander at a car accident. "You did right, Anne," the Sheriff assured her, disappointed to see the dance teacher's twitchy pacing had already flattened a wide expanse of surrounding snow, obliterating any incriminating footprints. But truth be told, if Anne hadn't spotted Ricky from her home atop the river's bank in the first place, the dead teen certainly would have laid face down in the fishing hole all night. The falling snow would have covered any tracks and the Sheriff would have had to chisel the boy out of the ice in the morning. "Damn," he swore again. "Is the ambulance coming?" Anne asked, her voice watery with overwrought nerves. "Yeah, but the coroner might've been a better choice." "I was hoping, you know, that maybe the medics could revive him. You hear about that all the time. Kids drowning in cold water and being brought back to life." "I don't expect that's gonna happen in this case, Anne." "I just can't get over it. Danny last Friday. Ricky today. Do you think there's a serial killer on the loose?" "It's a bit premature to speculate about..." The Sheriff fell silent, surprised by the approach of an unfamiliar man accompanied by a red-haired woman. "Sheriff, I'm Agent Fox Mulder," the man said from a distance, holding out a badge. "FBI?" "Yes. This is my partner Agent Scully." "I'm pretty sure I didn't call the Bureau." "No, sir. We're here to investigate the death of Danny Davis." "Agent Mulder, Danny died in a freakish accident. His death was nothing more than a stroke of very bad luck." Mulder nodded at Ricky's body. "And this boy? Another stroke of bad luck, Sheriff?" "Might be. It's possible he slipped, knocked himself out on the ice and drown in his fishing hole." "And I've been told *my* theories are farfetched." Mulder raised his brows at Scully before returning his attention to the body. "This boy wouldn't happen to be a former friend of Danny Davis, would he? One of the boys who witnessed Friday's 'accident'?" "And if he was?" "Since you seem to believe in fluky strokes of misfortune, Sheriff, you might want to put the remaining boy in protective custody. I hear bad luck often comes in threes." "You're jumping to some mighty big conclusions, Agent Mulder." Mulder offered the Sheriff a small shrug before wandering away to inspect the nearby snowman. "He does that." Scully squatted next to the dead teen and snapped on a pair of latex gloves. "Mind if I take a look at the body?" Without waiting for the Sheriff's permission, she prodded the icy plug filling Ricky's mouth. Finding the blockage rock-hard, she wriggled an index finger between the chunk of ice and the boy's hardening cheek. "This is odd." "What's that, ma'am?" the Sheriff asked, clearly irritated by the agents' meddling. "His oral cavity is completely occluded." She reached beneath the boy's collar and squeezed his neck. The pressure caused blood to ooze from the teen's mouth and nose. "His trachea and esophagus are impacted. The hemorrhaging indicates his passages have ruptured. And he hasn't been dead for very long. Was he on his back like this when you found him?" "No, he was face down in the fishing hole," Anne Tredwell answered. Still pacing, she dodged around Mulder and the snowman. "That's impossible. I mean, it's theoretically feasible to drown in a fishing hole" -- Scully eyed Mulder who had plucked the carrot nose from the snowman's scowling face -- "but this boy's throat and mouth wouldn't be obstructed like this. The water, no mater how icy, would have drained out." "Well, that's how I found him," Anne insisted, marching back to the dead boy. "And you are...?" Mulder asked. "Um, Anne Tredwell. I live right over there." She indicated a house on the bank with a sweep of her ungloved hand. "You witnessed the death of Danny Davis, too, didn't you?" Mulder recalled her name from his list of witnesses. With a snap, he bit off the end of the snowman's former nose. "Well, yes and no. It happened so fast. I really didn't see much of anything. It was very windy. Snow was blowing everywhere. It was impossible to make out what happened. But I'm quite sure it was an accident." "Didn't Danny's friends say he was killed by their teacher Connie Spencer?" "Ricky and Ben were wrong about that, Agent Mulder. Connie Spencer wouldn't hurt a fly. Not after all she's been through." Anne was adamant. "And what would that be?" "She was beaten almost to death by her ex-husband. Several times. The man is a monster." The dance teacher nodded solemnly. "Now Anne, you don't know for a fact if that's true or not," the Sheriff cut in. "You've only got Connie's say so on it." "Then why was Connie granted a restraining order?" Anne argued. "You know as well as I do why the judge granted that order." "Why was that?" Mulder asked, chomping on his carrot. "If it's any of your business, Agent Mulder, the order was granted to keep Connie from falling over the edge, so to speak. She's not exactly the most stable person." "That's not true!" Anne objected. "She's been through some tough times, but she's not crazy. It's her ex-husband who should be locked away! He's the insane one, not Connie." Mulder looked past Anne and the Sheriff and pointed the remaining nub of carrot at a man standing on the crest of the hill near the school. "Who's that?" "That's just Elwood, the school's custodian," Anne identified the man. Barely visible in the late afternoon dusk, the bent figure stepped into the shadows and vanished. "Elwood Jenkins? Didn't he claim a legendary snowman killed Danny Davis?" With a curious squint, Mulder scrutinized the now nose-less snowman. "Jesus Christ." The Sheriff rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me you believe that foolish story." _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ Connie Spencer Residence 4:41 PM Tom Spencer stood at the end of Connie's walk and watched Katie wave to him from the front steps. She flashed him a happy smile before she slipped inside the house. She was such a sweet girl. A good girl. Even-tempered. Easy-going. Not like her mother, thought Spencer. Life with Connie had been one nor'easter after the next. Soon after their wedding, she had sunk beneath the surface of depression like shattered spring ice on the Caribou River. And like those choking, broken flows, she had tried to drag the rest of the family down with her. Paranoid, delusional, prone to hysterics. He was relieved to be out of the glacial whirlpool. But he missed Katie; he no longer saw her every day. Limited to weekends and vacations, his time with her was never enough. Goddamn that judge for granting Connie custody. Connie's snowy walk shimmered, reflecting the glow of the living room windows. Where the sheen faded to black, Spencer waited, hunched against the cold, glaring angrily at the house. Connie has no right to Katie, he thought. The crazy woman blew everything out of proportion. Always did. Things had not happened the way she made them sound to the judge. *Schht. Schht.* He shuffled his cold feet against the granular snow. Feeling chilled, he thrust his gloved hands into his pockets. I'll get Katie back, he thought. *Schht. Schhhht. Schhhhhtttt!* Behind him a massive fist drove a sharp punch into Spencer's lower back, sending a spiral of pain through his kidneys, buckling his knees. With his hands trapped in his pockets, the surprised man was unable to stop his fall and he hit the ground hard. His head bounced against the frozen walk, splitting his cheek. He watched a pool of steamy blood form in the snow beneath his throbbing nose. Wriggling in an attempt to free his trapped hands, Spencer found himself caught beneath a crushing knee against the small of his back. The weight pressed him with unbearable force and he thought he heard a rib pop. Then a second. He tried to scream, but couldn't suck in enough breath to shout for help. With fingers so cold they burned, two icy hands wrapped around Spencer's throat and squeezed. Tom Spencer listened to the gargle of his own strangled voice when his larynx burst with a quiet collapsing snap. With a nauseating feel of weightlessness, Spencer was lifted and spun wildly onto his back. The movement was so rapid, a salvo of panic shot from Spencer's aching neck to his exploding heart. His fright bore a bone-chilling hole straight through his stomach to his bowels. Powerless to stop the assault, Spencer shut his eyes to the terror. He felt his jaw pried open by arctic fingers. A fist of snow plunged into his mouth, freezing his tongue and plugging his throat. Two tears leaked from his closed lids, searing a scalding path down his frostbitten cheeks. I'm fucked, Spencer thought as he lost consciousness. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ Elwood Jenkins' Residence 5:13 PM "Knock again, Mulder." Mulder rapped harder on the peeling wood door as Scully peered through a black window. "He's not home, Scully." "Want to wait for him? We could sit in the car for a while." Mulder shrugged. He was getting hungry. Breakfast had been a muffin on the plane and lunch had been no more than the snowman's carrot nose. His mind kept wandering back to the Caribou Corners House of Pizza, the little restaurant they'd passed on their way to Jenkins' house. "Let's give him another fifteen minutes," Mulder agreed and walked to the car. He fished in his pocket for his keys. "If he's not back by then, we're gonna--" Mulder never finished his sentence. A wet, cold snowball hit him in the back of the head, bursting on impact and spraying him with slush and ice. "Jesus!" He spun to face Scully, a look of startled surprise on his face. Scully looked equally surprised. And guilty. She raised her palms, already backing away and apologizing. "I really didn't expect to hit you, Mulder, I--" "Oh, right, Ms. Never-Misses-At-The-Firing-Range." "That's different! That's with a gun." Having cleared most of the melting snow from his neck, Mulder marched toward her. Revenge sparkled in his eyes and a slanting grin tugged at his lips. "No, Mulder. Wait. It was an accident. I didn't--" "An accident! You're telling me you weren't aiming at my head?" "Well..." "Where were you hoping to hit me, Scully?" "Well..." She continued to back away. Glancing over her shoulder, she tried to gauge the terrain, searching for a possible route of escape. The moment her eyes left him, Mulder launched himself at her. "You can't outrun me, Scully," he shouted, plowing through the snow, quickly closing the gap between them. She laughed, feinted left and dodged right, but he anticipated her move and cut her off. She shrieked as his arms closed around her waist and he lifted her off her feet. "You're doomed, Scully," he whispered in her ear. "No, Mulder, wait..." She struggled against his bear hug and managed to slip a hidden fistful of snow down his already chilled neck. He howled at the shocking cold and nearly dropped her. Off balance, he tumbled to the ground, taking her with him. Sprawling in the snow, he rolled until she was trapped firmly beneath him. "Now what, Scully?" The rumble of his voice vibrated against her chest and he grinned as he scooped up a palm-full of snow and showed it to her. "You wouldn't," she challenged. "No? Why wouldn't I? Give me one good reason not to wash your face." She answered his smile with a chuckling laugh, her steamy breath puffing humidly against his cold-chapped cheeks. "Because you're a better person than I am?" "Hardly." "Because your mother taught you not to pick on girls?" "You're an FBI agent, Scully." "Because...uh, because..." "Hmmm?" He held the snow closer. "Because I'm really, really sorry?" she wheedled. "Are you?" "No." He aimed the snow. "Wait!" she demanded with another hitching chuckle. He paused, hand in the air, snow inches from her smiling mouth. "Don't you have something a little less cold you could press to my lips?" She smiled sweetly and arched an eyebrow. "Are you flirting with me, Agent Scully?" He lowered the snow away from her face. "Are you laying on top of me, Agent Mulder?" "So I am." He let the snow sift slowly through his fingers and kissed her reddened nose. Combing her wet hair away from her face with a snowy glove, he considered kissing her again. *Schht. Schht. Schhhht.* Startled, Mulder scrambled to his feet at the scrape of approaching steps. He hauled Scully up after him and a blizzard of snow fell from their coats. "Who the hell are you?" a bent figure asked from the dark. "And what th'hell are y'doin' in front of my house?" The crooked man, no more than a silhouette, shuffled to his front door while Mulder and Scully self-consciously dusted the snow from their clothes. "I'm...uh, I'm Agent Fox Mulder. This is my partner Agent Dana Scully. We're...uh, we're with the FBI." Mulder managed to dig his ID from his coat. He shook snow from his badge. "Really? You investigatin' the snow in my front yard?" The bent man unlocked the door and stepped inside. "Uh, no, sir. We're...uh, are you Elwood Jenkins?" "And if I am?" "We'd like to ask you a few questions. May we come in, Mr. Jenkins?" Hissing disapproval, Jenkins waved them in. He flicked on the hall light. Mulder couldn't help but gawk in astonishment at the bent man's appearance. Despite Jenkins' stooping posture, the willowy man stood at least an inch or two taller than Mulder. Curved like a branch weighted with ice, his head swayed in front of his chest as if battered by the wind. More startling still was Jenkins' snow-white complexion; the skin of his face had no pigment whatsoever. His hair, his brows, his lashes were ashen. Pale lips split his paler face. In fact, the man was so colorless his teeth resembled a row of yellow pencils when compared to the pallid tint of his skin. Mulder gaped at the man's shocking white-blue eyes and Jenkins' frosty irises stared defiantly back at the dumbfounded agent. "Ask your damn questions," Jenkins insisted. He invited them no farther than the front hall and left the door ajar. Mulder was struck by the hall's frigid air; the temperature was at least ten or twenty degrees colder inside than out. The chill raised the hairs on the back of his neck. "Did you witness the death of Danny Davis?" Mulder's breath fogged the air with each word. "Yup." "Can you explain to us what happened?" "I can describe it but I cain't explain it." Frosty currents swirled from Jenkins' nostrils, rising like chimney smoke through the chill. "The Snowman done it." "A snowman killed Danny Davis?" "Yup. Putta icicle right smack through the boy's neck." "How?" "I told ya, I cain't explain it. But he done it. He done it through the powers of Mal-dee-nej. It's magic, s'what it is. Cain't say it no plainer." Jenkins bobbled impatiently, eager to be rid of the pestering agents. "You believe in the legend?" "'Course. Don't you?" "Why would a snowman kill Danny?" Scully asked, clearly dismissing the incredible fairytale. Jenkins' head stilled for a moment as he studied Scully. His white-blue eyes combed her face and hair. She gasped when he suddenly plucked a slip of ice from the tangled strands of her hair, his warped fingers brushing her soft earlobe, searing her with cold. An involuntary shiver shuddered across her shoulders and she instinctively stepped out of his reach. "The boy musta done somethin' t'get the Snowman angry." "Such as...?" Jenkins sighed, air chuffing from his lungs like winter wind through bare tree branches. *Scht, scht, scht.* "How th'hell do I know? Snowman protects those that need protectin'. And the boy, he weren't zackly no angel, y'know. Not too many angels in this town, truth be told. Mebbe that's why the Snowman's stays on in Caribou Corners. I'd hafta guess the boy deserved what he got." "Mr. Jenkins, where were you late this afternoon, just before you watched us pull Ricky Hart's body from his fishing hole?" Mulder asked. "At the school. Cleanin' up." "Cleaning up?" "Y'know," Jenkins lips twisted upward, exposing his yellowed teeth. "Takin' out the trash." _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ Caribou Corners Motor Inn 6:57 PM Mmmmm, Scully sighed, lowering herself into the bathtub's steamy water. Thick, humid air caressed her, curling her hair and forming silvery beads on her flesh. Her legs reddened as she slipped beneath the soap bubbles. The water warmed her numbed limbs, drawing her down until only her head and knees peaked above the water's surface. She closed her eyes and let her hands float at her sides. "Scully?" Mulder's voice was muffled by the intervening bathroom door. "S'open," she murmured without lifting her lids. "Pizza's here," he announced, opening the door and thrusting the box into the room. The smell of oregano wafted on the steam, causing her to open one interested eye. "Vegetarian?" "In a manner of speaking." He stepped into the room and lifted the box's lid. "What does that mean?" "It means there were two choices: pepperoni and double cheese. Since there isn't any pepperoni on this one, I'd hafta say it's vegetarian." "Fine." She closed her eye once more. "Feed me." Opening her mouth, she begged silently for a bite. He hooked a slice of pizza from the box and aimed the point between her waiting lips. "Mmmm," she moaned again, taking a bite and savoring the cheese and spicy sauce. "You gonna join me?" she asked. He suspected she was talking about the pizza, but he decided to purposely misunderstand and get into the bath with her. Setting the box next to the tub, he pulled his shirt over his head. His t-shirt followed, dropping silently inside out on the floor. "'Nother bite." She watched him through slitted eyes. "Yes, your highness." He bowed and nudged the slice between her lips. As she chewed, he toed off his shoes and yanked the socks from his feet. Unbuckling his belt, he let his pants slip to the floor. At the sound of his gun hitting the tile, Scully lazily raised an eyebrow. "More," she demanded. Again he purposely misunderstood and stripped off his underwear. "Lean forward," he told her, patting her shoulder and urging her to the middle of the tub. "I'll wash your back," he promised and stepped in behind her. Smiling, she watched his feet slide into place beside hers. "Does this mean you're not going to feed me any more?" Plucking her half eaten slice from the box beside the tub, he curved his arm around her and aimed blindly at her mouth. She snorted when he missed and hit her nose. "Maybe you should just wash my back," she said and took the pizza from him. Chewing slowly, she leaned into his palms as they smoothed warmly over her back, slathering her with soap. "Still think Danny's death was an accident, Scully?" He rinsed her shoulders with a wring of the washcloth. "I don't know about Danny, but I'm damn sure Ricky Hart didn't fall into his fishing hole and drown." "What do you think happened?" He drew her backward until she leaned against his chest. He ran soapy fingers under her jaw and along her throat. "I'd prefer not to speculate until after tomorrow's autopsy. How about you? You have any theories?" She propped her arms on his knees. "Oh, you know me, Scully. Unlike Your Royal Highness, I prefer to speculate before I have any evidence. Facts just tend to get in my way." He soaped her upper arms, her wrists, her warm, limp fingers. He put his lips to her ear. "It was the Snowman," he whispered. "With a magic rock in his head?" "Mm hm." "Then who put the rock in the snowman's head, Mulder? And why?" She rolled against his shoulder and he kissed her hair. "Jenkins?" she asked. "You have to admit he's strange." "True. But I dunno. I checked Jenkins' background before we left DC. As a matter of fact, I checked all the witnesses' backgrounds. None of them had criminal records. None of them had so much as a parking ticket." "That could just mean the killer is clever." She absently ran her palms down Mulder's calves, dipping her fingers beneath the bath water to skim his ankles before reversing direction and caressing her way back up to his knees. "Connie Spencer had motive and opportunity. That would make her the prime suspect." "Anne Tredwell swears Connie couldn't kill a fly." "The Sheriff disagrees with Tredwell about Connie's emotional state." "I don't think she did it, Scully. For now I'm sticking with my snowman theory." "Are you saying you believe the snowman acted alone?" she chuckled and tickled his knees. He shifted behind her, settling himself more comfortably in the tub. Slipping his arms around her waist, he rested his chin on the crown of her head. "Scully, can I confess something to you?" She felt his Adam's apple slide against the back of her skull. "Yeah. Of course, Mulder. What is it?" "I hate snowmen. I-I'm not afraid of them. I just hate them." "There's something vaguely familiar about this conversation, Mulder. You aren't going to describe a peculiar childhood snowman epiphany, are you?" "Well...I wouldn't call it 'peculiar' necessarily." "No? Does your story end with a girlie scream?" "No, it doesn't. Okay, maybe a little scream. But a very manly one." Scully smiled. "What's your snowman story, Mulder?" Shifting again, he absently traced wet circles on her abdomen with his index finger. "One day, when I was a kid, Sam and I built an army of snowmen." "An army?" "Okay, a corps. Uh...actually, there were only six. But they were big." "So what happened?" "We built the snowmen to guard our castle." "You had a castle?" "Mm hm. Well, a fort. Uh...a trench/cave sort of thing. Anyway, we built the cave after we built the snowmen. What we failed to anticipate was that the cave didn't have the necessary architectural reinforcement to support the weight of the snowmen on its roof." "I think I see where this is going. It collapsed?" "Yes, with Sam inside. I was scared to death. That might have been when I screamed. Snowmen were tumbling all over the place, heads rolling, eyes falling out." "Smiles turned upside down into frowns?" "Laugh if you want, Scully, but I thought for sure Sam had been killed. I dug down through the snow, calling her name over and over again." "Was she hurt?" "No. Just terrified. Although, less so than me. I finally managed to get her out. She was crying. I was crying. But the snowmen...the snowmen just laughed at us." "They laughed? They actually laughed?" "They're creepy, Scully. They're creepier than clowns. Or mimes. They're creepier than clowning mimes." "Mulder, you can't seriously have a snowman phobia." "I told you, I'm not afraid of them. I just hate them." "I see. Your distaste for snowmen isn't going to cloud your perspective on this case, is it? You sound like you might be going into this with a distinct bias." "I'm trying to keep an open mind, Scully. I--" Out in the bedroom, the phone rang. Mulder heaved himself from the tub and water cascaded from his arms and legs as he splashed from the bathtub to the phone. Scully sank beneath the ruffle of waves and listened to his one-sided conversation, not much more than a series of "uh huhs." "Well?" she called out impatiently after she heard him set the receiver back in its cradle. "There's been another death. Sheriff's decided to call this one a murder." "Who's been killed?" She sat up when Mulder leaned around the doorframe. "Tom Spencer. Connie's been brought in for questioning." Continued in SNOWMAN 3/4 SNOWMAN (3/4) ACT III _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ Aroostook County Sheriff's Department Presque Isle, Maine 7:47 PM Connie slumped in her chair, her head bowed over the interrogation table and her arms hugging her sides. She hunched beneath the weight of Sheriff Riley's grilling. When an uncontrolled lock of hair fell across her face, curtaining her eyes and blinding her to the room, she didn't tuck it away. Instead, she squeezed her lids shut behind the swaying drape, fortifying her flimsy wall of denial. Still wearing their coats, Mulder and Scully leaned against the wall while Sheriff Riley paced angry circles around Connie. The Sheriff had become increasingly irritated by Connie's silence. Pulling no punches, he battered the unnerved woman with his blunt questions. "Connie, did you kill your husband?" the Sheriff asked outright. "Ex-husband," she whispered, eyes still shut. "Did you kill your *ex*-husband?" Connie wagged her head, waffling her swathe of hair. "But you wanted him dead, didn't you?" "Nooo." She shriveled in her seat and a tear shivered down her cheek. "No? Weren't you afraid of him? Weren't you afraid he was going to hurt you? Maybe hurt Katie? He beat you, didn't he? That's what you claimed in court. That's why you insisted on a restraining order, wasn't it? Weren't you afraid...afraid for your life?" "I didn't kill him. I didn't kill anyone! I didn't! I swear I didn't!" The Sheriff stepped closer, stopped his pacing. "What happened three years ago, Connie?" Connie shook her head. "You know what I'm talking about," the Sheriff hissed. "You pointed a gun at a student." Mulder exchanged glances with Scully. "T-that's not t-true!" Connie stuttered. "He lied about that!" "It happened, Connie. You pointed a gun at Paul Davis -- Danny's older brother. Three years ago you threatened to kill Paul." "N-nooo! I didn't. He threatened *me*! He came to my house. He said he'd hurt me if I didn't g-give him a passing grade." "So you pulled a gun on him." "I didn't! H-he made that up." "Three years ago you threatened to kill Paul. Two days ago you murdered his brother Danny. Danny's death wasn't an accident at all, was it?" "Yeeesss--" "You killed Danny. You killed Ricky. And you killed Tom. Now you're going to prison -- for the rest of your life." "Pleeease--" *Schhht-scht.* The inward swing of the door interrupted Connie's plea. Phil Peters stood at the threshold accompanied by a woman in a business suit. The woman crisply crossed the room and set her briefcase on the table. "No more questions, Sheriff," she said. "I'm advising my client to remain silent." She raised a quizzical eyebrow at Mulder and Scully. Scully displayed her badge and the lawyer's eyebrows climbed higher. "FBI?" she asked. "I didn't call them, Vick," the Sheriff insisted. "Con, are you okay?" Peters' worried eyes took in his sister's tear-stained face. "Where's Katie? I thought she was with you, Philly. You...you didn't bring her here, did you?" "No. No, of course not," he soothed. "Katie's with Anne. She's fine." Connie sagged with relief to know her daughter was safe with the dance teacher. The Sheriff waggled two fingers, beckoning Mulder and Scully out of the room into the hall. Once in the corridor, Mulder asked, "Exactly how do you think Connie Spencer killed her ex-husband and those two boys, Sheriff?" "I won't know that until the bodies are autopsied." "I'd be glad to perform the autopsies right now," Scully volunteered. "By all means. The sooner we know the cause of death, the sooner Connie Spencer will begin her life sentence." "I don't think Connie murdered anyone," Mulder argued. "Agent Mulder, Connie Spencer had motive and opportunity to kill all three victims. I'm confident the autopsies will prove she's guilty." "Earlier today you said Danny's death was an accident." "I've changed my mind." The Sheriff bristled. "Tom's murder convinced me Connie's to blame." "I don't agree. I think you need to place the third boy in protective custody." "What the Christ for? We've got our killer locked up right here." "You're wrong, Sheriff. The killer is still out there and Benjamin Shute's life is in danger," Mulder insisted, keeping his voice low. His restraint ignited a flare of anger in the Sheriff's eyes. "Oh really? And just who do you think the murderer is, Agent Mulder?" "I think there are paranormal aspects to this case. We need to be looking for a supernatural killer." "Jesus Christ. Don't tell me you believe that crap about a storybook snowman, Agent Mulder." "As a matter of fact, I do." "You're spouting fairytales, for chrissake. The idea is ridiculous. Our killer is right here," Riley's shout zigzagged down the corridor. He stepped closer to Mulder until the two men stood toe-to-toe. "Ben Shute needs protection," Mulder maintained. Before his insistence provoked the Sheriff into a brawl, Scully placed a finger on her partner's sleeve. "You check on Ben, Mulder. I'll perform the autopsies. Maybe we can solve this case before morning," she said. "I'll meet up with you later." Giving her a quick nod, Mulder brushed past the irate Sheriff and headed for the exit. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ Shute Residence Caribou Corners, Maine 9:07 PM Mulder mounted the Shute's sloping front steps, taking care not to slip on the ice. He rapped loudly on the storm door and waited. *Schht. Schht.* Tree branches scraped overhead. Mulder raised his collar against the wind. He knocked again. *Schhht. Schhht.* Peering over his shoulder into the dark, Mulder watched a fine powder of snow billow horizontally across the driveway. Ice-covered branches waved at the starless sky. Inside someone shuffled toward him. The door swung open to reveal a beer-bellied man with an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. He frowned at Mulder's badge and with a grunt of displeasure, he let Mulder in. "What the hell do you want?" The man scratched at his unshaved chin. "I'm looking for Benjamin Shute. Is he your son, sir?" "Christ almighty, what's the boy gone 'n' done now?" "He hasn't done anything, sir. I'm only concerned for his safety. Is he at home?" "Sure. Up in his room." "You're certain?" "Course I'm sure. You can hear his friggin' rock 'n' roll blastin' all the way down here." It was true. Mulder could hear the regular thrum of drums and bass guitar. "Mind if we check, sir, just to make sure?" "Christ." The man turned and lumbered toward the back of the house. Mulder followed him through the dark hall and up a steep staircase. "What makes you think my son ain't safe?" The man pounded a beefy fist against the door when they reached the boy's bedroom. "Ricky Hart was killed today, sir. I think your son may be the killer's next target." The man was genuinely shocked. "Benjy!" he called out, trying to be heard above the blaring music. "Benjy, open this fuckin' door!" The door slapped open, liberating the screams of the Pajama Slave Dancers. The boy's father bumped past his skinny son and snapped off the blasting boom box. "Christ, Benjy, you're gonna go deaf listenin' to that shit." The chastised boy thrust his chin at Mulder. "Who's he?" "FBI agent. Claims your life's in danger. Says Ricky's dead." "Rick's dead?" Ben's eyes rounded. "Holy shit. I just saw Rick on the river 'fore I went t'Miss Tredwell's today." "What time was that?" Mulder asked. "'Round one o'clock." "Did you help Ricky build that snowman down on the river?" "What the Christ are you talkin' about?" "Benjy, watch your fuckin' mouth." His father held up a fist. "The snowman. By the fishing holes. Carrot nose?" Mulder said, tapping his own nose. "We dint build no friggin' snowman. We look like babies to you?" Mulder ignored Ben's smart-mouthed question. "Why were you at Miss Tredwell's?" "She pays me to shovel her driveway." "You see anything strange while you were there?" The boy shook his head, then blushed with embarrassment. "Uh...yeah, there was somethin' I guess. When I was shovelin', I...uh...thought I heard...well, a voice." "A voice? What did it say?" "It was a whisper, kinda. I-I thought it was just the wind. It said, 'Catch me if you can.' Does it mean somethin'?" The boy's face drained of color. "Did...did Ms. Spencer kill Ricky, too?" "That woman's a lunatic," the boy's father said. "Shouldn't be teachin' kids nothin'." "Ben, has anyone other than Ms. Spencer ever threatened you or your friends?" Mulder asked. "Sure, that asshole janitor, Jenkins. He's always cussin' at us kids. A coupl'a times, he chased us outta the schoolyard like he owns the place. He raised a shovel at us once." "Why did he do that?" "I dunno. He's a freak." Ben shrugged and stared at the worn floorboards. "Boys'll be boys, Agent Mulder." A nervous laugh shook Ben's father. "Ben, I want you to stay inside during the next day or two," Mulder told the boy, "And I want someone to stay with you. Can you do that?" "But tomorrow's Winter Carnival! I was plannin' on goin'," the boy whined. "You'll do as you're fuckin' told." His father thrust a finger at the boy's nose. "Don't go out of the house, Ben," Mulder warned. "Not for any reason. And lock your doors." _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ Aroostook County Morgue Presque Isle, Maine Using heavy-duty cutters, Scully snipped through the costal cartilage of Ricky Hart's ribs, shearing his sternum free from his ribcage. The detached piece of bone and cartilage resembled a giant twenty-legged spider as she lifted it from the boy's chest and laid it gently in the tray beside the corpse. Flaring the flesh like bloody wings, Scully exposed the lungs and liver, burst trachea and the bulging esophagus beneath. An incision in the neck revealed decimated vocal chords. And although the plug of ice had melted from the boy's mouth, his bruised lips and tongue remained blistered from their exposure to severe cold. Scully inspected the damaged trachea. The cartilaginous rings were separated and the intervening membranes were shredded all the way down to the bifurcation and beyond. The bronchial tubes remained swollen. She prodded the right bronchus. It was hard. Frozen. As was the external serous coat of the lungs. Using a scalpel, Scully carefully cut through the subserous tissue. The alveoli underneath contained a plug of solid ice, despite the above freezing temperature in the morgue. "This isn't possible." She dug at an icy cylinder running through the right bronchus, chiseling loose a barrel of frozen snow. At the center she uncovered a small, white stone and she plucked it from the snow with her gloved fingers. "Ouch!" She dropped the stone. Even through the latex of her glove, the rock was so cold it hurt her thumb and forefinger. Using steel pincers this time, Scully lifted the stone to inspect it more closely. Her eyes widened as a coat of frosty crystals formed thickly around the white rock, expanding it until the stone resembled a miniature snowball. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ Caribou Corners High School 10:06 PM "What the hell?" Mulder muttered, rubbernecking and hitting the car's brakes. The vehicle skidded to a stop. He threw the car into reverse and floored the gas, spinning the tires and flinging snow into the air. The school's lights had caught his eye; they were all on, spilling from the windows in long blue-white rectangles. Their glow illuminated an astonishing fairytale kingdom of frozen castles, twisting dragons and sturdy snowmen in the schoolyard. Mulder shut off the engine and practically leapt from the car. He guessed the numinous realm had been created for tomorrow's Winter Carnival sometime after he and Scully had left the school earlier in the day. But the size and number of the sculptures seemed physically impossible considering the short amount of time that had passed since he had visited the school in the afternoon. The sudden appearance of the structures made their presence seem all the more charmed. Drawn like an eager child to Santa's Village, Mulder entered the crystal empire. He ran a gloved hand along an icy wall as he explored one of several castles, walking beneath a toothed parapet and around a barrel-shaped turret. Arched doors punctured the twelve-foot-high walls at regular intervals and he peered through one opening after the next. He couldn't see more than a foot or two into the gloom. Beyond the first castle, an enormous frozen, snow-scaled serpent twisted up out of the ground. Mulder stopped by the dragon's yawning head and touched a finger to one of the mythical beast's sharp icicle teeth. A glossy tongue curved between the creature's gaping jaws. Sticking his head into the monster's maw, Mulder quickly examined the beast's frosty gullet. Withdrawing from the dragon, he paused in front of a phalanx of snowmen lining the imaginary parade ground and blocking his path. Reluctant to cross in front of them, Mulder studied the row of white faces. Grim-mouthed and stony-eyed, the snowmen seemed to ignore the agent's squinty inspection. He pursed his lips and softly whistled the first stanza of Frosty the Snowman. When silence followed his deliberate rendition, he tried a second stanza, picking up the tempo a bit. Nothing stirred except the snowmen's willowy arms, flailed by the chilly wind. "At ease, men," he ordered and marched quickly forward, jingling his keys and whistling the rest of the familiar children's song. *Schht. Schhht.* Mulder froze mid-step, his last note trilling eerily off the icy castle walls. *Schht. Schhht.* He drew his gun. *Schht. Schhht.* Something moved on the far side of the schoolyard. Something white. And tall. "Federal agent!" Mulder called out. "Freeze!" he yelled and then rolled his eyes at the irony of his demand. "Jus' me, Mr. Mulder," Elwood Jenkins hollered back. A fog of air billowed from Mulder's lips as he chuffed his relief. He lowered his weapon and crossed the yard to Jenkins. "Still trackin' your killer?" The janitor leaned on his snow shovel, the school's fluorescent lights tinting his pale skin an icy blue. "You might have a hard time catchin' this one." "Why's that?" "Snow can be an unpredictable thing," he answered, seeming to dodge Mulder's question. The custodian's bobbling head nodded at the crystal kingdom. "Some days somethin' can be made of it. Castles. Or dragons. Other days, it just as likely slips through your fingers. People are like that, too, I've noticed." "Meaning?" "Sometimes people and things are hard to grab onto. They ain't always what they seem." "Including yourself?" "S'pect so." "Katie Spencer said you gave her a magic stone to bring her snowman to life. Did you give her a stone, Mr. Jenkins?" "Yup. Girl needs a friend." "Is the stone magic?" "Like most things, that depends on who you're talkin' to." "I'm talking to you." The white-skinned man smiled, showing his yellow teeth. "You're a smart man, Mr. Mulder, an' you know s'well as I do there ain't no such thing as absolute truth. The storyteller has one truth. The list'ner has 'nother. We pick 'n' choose our own truth based on our point of view." "The truth is the truth." "Yup, it is. But it don't look the same t'everybody. Take you, fr'instance. You believe in magic stones and killer snowmen. Me, too. So does the little girl. But Sheriff Riley, he wouldn't be caught dead believin' such nonsense. Could be he just needs to step a bit closer to change his perspective. Or mebbe you need t'step back t'change yours." "Do you know something about the murders that you're not saying?" "I know somebody's killin' people. An' it'll take lookin' at it from the right angle t'find just who's guilty and who ain't." _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ Aroostook County Morgue Presque Isle, Maine 11:42 PM The body of Tom Spencer gaped below Scully's probing fingers. She searched the frozen lungs for a white stone similar to the one she'd removed from Ricky Hart. She couldn't explain how the rock had become lodged so deeply in the boy's lung, but she was certain she would find one in Tom Spencer as well. For the past couple of hours she'd watched the first stone grow thick with frost where it sat on a stainless steel tray. The snowy coating had increased in circumference by several inches. The rock now resembled a four-inch snowball. And apparently it was still growing, despite the fact that the tray was balanced on top of the room's chugging radiator. "Ah, there you are." Scully pried loose a stone identical to the previous one, careful to use pincers to lift the cold rock from Spencer's lungs. Although Scully had thoroughly searched Ricky Hart's chest for other bits of foreign debris, she had found nothing but the one stone. The same seemed to hold true for Spencer. *Schhht.* Sheriff Riley pushed his way through the autopsy bay doors. "How's it going, Agent Scully? Find anything to incriminate Connie Spencer?" "No, I haven't." "What's that?" he indicated the stone she held in her pincers. "Good question. It looks like an ordinary rock." "But...?" "But, I can't figure out how it got past the rima glottides to become so deeply embedded in the lung. If inhaled, it should have traveled no further than the bronchus where it would become fixed, occluding the lumen of the tube and causing respiratory failure on that side. However, this stone pushed beyond the physical limitation of the tubes. As did the one I removed from Ricky Hart." Scully pointed at the tray resting on the radiator. "What the hell--?" The Sheriff walked to the tray and reached for the snowball. "Don't touch it!" Scully warned. "It'll burn you like a chunk of dry ice." She dropped the second stone next to the first. "I can't explain it," she said. "Aside from the stones, both victim's lungs were packed with ice and snow. Tom Spencer had several broken ribs. Ricky Hart's larynx was crushed. We'll have to wait for the toxicological to tell us if either or both of the victims were drugged before they died." "Well, I'm gonna hold Connie in custody until you've submitted your final report. I was hoping you'd find something a little less mysterious and a little more incriminating, Agent Scully. I want to keep that crazy woman behind bars." "Sorry to disappoint you, Sheriff." "You heading out?" "After I stitch and wrap the body. I'll be another half hour at least." "You want me to wait? Give you a ride back to your hotel?" "Thanks but I'll call Mulder when I'm through here. I'll be fine." _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ Leaving the morgue behind, Sheriff Riley stepped out into the swirling snow. He fitted his hat more tightly to his head and zipped his jacket against the bluster. It wasn't a fit night for man or beast. And that's exactly why he never expected to see a white figure bending over the hood of his car. Striding the length of the walkway, Riley's hand settled on his gun. The white figure shifted and blurred. It slid and spun at an alarming speed. *Schht. Schhht.* A blast of razor-sharp sleet peppered the Sheriff's face, causing him to momentarily lose sight of the strange figure. The wind whistled past him, whispering in his ears as it went: catch me if yoooou caaaan. Riley checked behind him. Nothing. He turned back to the car; the intruder was gone. "Nerves must be playing tricks on me." Rounding the car's bumper, he gasped when the heel of his boot suddenly skidded out from under him. At first he thought he'd hit a patch of ice, but the ground beneath him wasn't hard or smooth. Or stationary. It dragged strangely beneath the soles of his boots, bucking and pulling, like a rug being yanked out from under him. "Shit!" He lost his balance and toppled backward. He fell with a bone-jarring thump. "Dammit!" Pain sparkled up his spine. *Catch me! Catch me if yoooou caaaan!* Sitting on the icy ground, Sheriff Riley wrenched his gun from his holster. He peered into the blowing snow and aimed into the churning air. His hat flew from his head and twirled wildly away. *Schhht. Schhhht. Schhhhhht.* A snowy fist materialized out of nowhere and smashed into Riley's jaw, whirling him like his hat. His gun spun unfired from his hand and landed somewhere behind the cruiser. Blood spouted from his ear. A second wallop blinded him, smashing coldly into his face, cracking the bridge of his nose. A third strike knocked him flat on his back. Frosty fingers gripped Riley's ankles. He felt himself dragged dizzily across the ground. Thrashing his arms, he uselessly tried to grab onto something solid in an attempt to slow his skidding movement away from his car. "Who are you?" he yelled, unable to see his assailant. "What the hell do you want?" With a pull that nearly tore his legs from his hips, Riley was hurtled several yards through the air. A terrified squeal exploded from his throat when he collided against a slanting bank of snow. The impact emptied his lungs and numbed his legs and arms. Paralyzed and helpless, he blinked in disbelief as a crushing weight of snow dropped and buried him within a tomb of white. Pinned beneath several feet of snow, the Sheriff struggled to move, to breathe. Gasping for non-existent air, his mouth gaped. A blizzard sucked past his lips. Frost expanded across his tongue, inflating like an ice-cold balloon. It rushed down his throat. Gagging him. Suffocating him. Overstuffed...his neck gorged, bursting...he silently cursed that he'd been wrong about Connie Spencer. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ Aroostook County Morgue 1:57 AM Mulder parked his car behind the Sheriff's cruiser. He was surprised to see the Sheriff's vehicle still here. Scully'd told him on the phone that Riley had left at least forty-five minutes ago. Unbuckling his seatbelt, he swung his leg from the car and put his foot down on top of Sheriff Riley's half-buried pistol. He plucked the gun from the ground. "This can't be good." He pocketed the gun and drew his own weapon. Nearby trees pitched and clawed and crackled, flogged by the wind. A hulking snowman stood guard beside the sidewalk, its flinty eyes seemingly directed at Mulder. Wedged tightly atop the snowman's head was the Sheriff's hat. "Nope, not good...at all." Glancing at the morgue's dimly lit entry, Mulder's concern for Scully rolled uneasily in his stomach. Halfway to the steps, he noticed something strange and spiky protruding from the snowbank. Sliding his flashlight from his pocket, he aimed it at the unexpected object. "Shit." The beam of light exposed five fingers curling stiffly from the snow. Mulder clambered up the bank, sinking to his knees in the drift. He exchanged his gun for his cell phone and quickly dialed 911. Cradling the phone under his chin, he pawed at the snow, uncovering a buried wrist, arm, shoulder. He talked and tunneled, spouting directions and shoveling snow with his hands. Recognizing the sheriff's jacket, he let the phone drop and dug faster. He searched for the Sheriff's face, hoping against hope that the buried man was still alive. Scooping and tossing snow, he clawed downward. Sweat striped his face and drenched his neck, chest and back despite the cold. Skating between his parted lips, frantic breathy plumes chugged from his lungs only to be grabbed by the wind and yanked into the blackness somewhere above his head. The pulse of his heart throbbed outward from his ears where it collided with a scream of passing air. *Foooxxxxx!* The bridge of a nose and the wells of two eyes came into view. For a brief instant, Mulder thought the face was Sam's, her mouth opened in a terrified cry. He struggled to keep the evening's pizza in his stomach. Beneath his palm, a bulging wad of snow plugged the Sheriff's mouth. Riley was dead. Mulder abandoned the body and ran to find Scully. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ Aroostook County Morgue Two Hours Later In an effort to control his adrenaline pumped limbs, Mulder hugged his arms to his chest and jammed his jittery fingers into his armpits while he watched Scully dig into Sheriff Riley's frozen chest. The Sheriff's body lay split up the middle on a steel table in the morgue where the Deputy and the ambulance crew had placed him earlier. The crew had preferred not to stick around for the autopsy and the Deputy excused himself to see to the release of Connie Spencer. With the perfect alibi this time, it seemed Connie was innocent after all and the Deputy saw no reason to hold her any longer. Hanging over Scully's shoulder, Mulder peered into the open cadaver. "Find it yet, Scully?" "Give me a minute. I'm checking the bronchus now. Yep, here it is." She held up a small white stone, trapped between the prongs of her pincers. The stone immediately developed a bristly coat of frost. "Abracadabra." Mulder waggled his fingers over the changing stone. "I refuse to believe this rock is magic, Mulder." "Then why is it growing fur like some freaky arctic Chia Pet?" "I couldn't say." "And how did it get inside the victim's lungs, past those...those tiny little tubey thingies." He waved at the Sheriff's exposed bronchus. "I can't explain that either. But just because I can't explain it doesn't mean anything mystical or supernatural is going on." "Oh, come on, Scully. You think an ordinary person did this? Killed these people?" "Well, what's your theory, Mulder?" Scully dropped the frosty stone onto a tray. "Do you think the magic stone of Maledeneige is responsible for bringing to life a murdering snowman, whose mission is to right the world's injustices and avenge the cruelties of man, and in order to do so, he shoves a frosty fist into the lungs of his victims thereby simultaneously suffocating and freezing them to death?" "Sounds kinda unlikely when you say it, but it does give new meaning to the term 'cold-blooded,' huh?" "A person is responsible for these deaths, Mulder, not a snowman." "I'm inclined to agree," he said, surprising her. "The snowman is simply the murder weapon." "Wonderful. That'll look great in our report." "In the legend, the magic stone is imbued with protective powers that turn an enemy into a victim. All the victims here could be considered a threat to Connie Spencer. The boys, her ex-husband, even Sheriff Riley might be viewed as her enemies." "So who would be most interested in protecting her? Her brother?" "Possibly. Or Anne Tredwell. She's been supportive of Connie. Actually, Elwood Jenkins has been sympathetic as well. He was the one who gave Katie her magic stone and he's been outspoken in his opinion that the victims got what they deserved." "But the victims never posed any real danger to Connie. Would Jenkins or Tredwell or even Peters kill four people based on an imagined threat?" "It's a matter of perspective, Scully. Jenkins said something about that earlier today. He said, 'we pick 'n' choose our own truth based on our point of view. There ain't no such thing as absolute truth.'" Mulder mimicked Jenkins, bobbling his head and hunching his back. "You're quoting a janitor, Mulder." "A man who takes out the garbage may know a thing or two about the truth of life. Besides, he's right. You're choosing your own truth right now, Scully. You're looking at this case through your highly polished scientist's lenses. And although I'm willing to admit that your logical point of view often serves us well, it also blinds you to less rigorous conclusions." "Mulder, after seven years with you, sometimes I am willing to accept a less-than-scientific explanation for the things we encounter." "When?" He smiled. "Once in a blue moon?" "Hopefully not that often. But need I remind you of Ansen Stokes, the Invisible Man from Olivette, Missouri?" "Rendered imperceptible by a magic genie." "Mm. I was open to extreme possibilities in that case. Too bad my proof went poof." Mulder chuckled. "The invisible man disappeared -- there's a nice irony to that." "Not nice at all, Mulder. The whole thing was very embarrassing." "Awww, but you were so cute believing the unbelievable." He touched his finger to the tip of her nose. "My point is, Mulder, I put my biases -- my scientist's lenses, as you call them -- aside," she batted his hand away. "And if we're going to be honest and admit our biases here, let's not overlook your own preconceived fear of snowmen." "I'm not afraid of them, Scully. I told you, I just hate them." "Whatever." "Besides, I'm willing to agree that *in this case*, the snowmen are probably not acting on their own. Someone is using them to protect Connie. And I'm not sure we can rule out Connie herself." "You said earlier that Connie wasn't a murderer." "I don't think she is...consciously." "Uh oh. Is that another theory I hear knocking at the door?" "Yes, but it's a familiar one. Remember Holman Hardt?" "The weatherman from Kansas. Mulder, Holman may have tossed a cow at you, but he never killed anyone with a snowman." "But he could have. His repressed feelings of love for Sheila erupted in tornadoes, snowstorms and even a flying cow. The point is, he was doing it unconsciously. Why couldn't Connie's fears, real or imagined, be responsible for a similar phenomenon?" "You're giving up on your magic stone theory?" "I didn't say that." "Well, if what you're saying about Connie is true -- and I'm not saying that it is -- then there's someone else we need to consider as the murderer." "Who's that, Scully?" "Katie." Continued in SNOWMAN 4/4 SNOWMAN (4/4) ACT IV _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ Caribou Corners High School Next Morning Unable to penetrate the deep overcast, the mid-morning sun glowed like a nickel coin in a pewter sky, slurred low on the horizon despite the early hour. The schoolyard joggled with sherbet-colored knit hats, fluttering scarves and ballooning down-filled coats. Screechy kids' voices vibrated across the glittering ice sculptures. "Crowded," Scully commented, arm linked with Mulder's, more for the windbreak of his body than from any romantic notion. "Hearty souls, must be used to the cold." He glanced at her reddened nose and flailing hair. "You need a hat, Scully." "I'm not the hat type." "Who exactly is the 'hat type'?" "Cowboys, astronauts, magic-hat-wearing snowmen named Frosty," she paused, looking around. "Jesus." "Jesus? He wore a crown of thorns, but not a hat per se." "No, Mulder, I was just commenting on...all this." She waved a gloved hand at the ice castles, the snowmen, the dragon. "Oooh. I--" "Miss Dana, Miss Dana!" Katie skipped breathless and smiling toward Scully. "Com'ere! See my snowman!" The little girl tugged excitedly on Scully's hand. Scully grabbed Mulder's arm and allowed herself to be pulled along by the girl, feeling like a link in a very short chain of Crack the Whip. Anne Tredwell waited for Katie beside a crooked line of Snowmen; more than three-dozen entries stood ready for the judges' consideration later in the day. "Good morning, Agents. When Katie saw you arrive, she insisted on showing you her snowman." Anne's eyes never left Katie. Fatigue grayed the dance teacher's face but she forced a smile. "She barely slept at all last night," Anne confided. "Not until Phil called and said he'd brought Connie home from..." She glanced at Katie to gauge whether or not the girl was listening, "J-A-I-L." "Is Mommy 'n' Uncle Phil comin' t'see Frosty?" Katie asked her dance teacher. "Yes, sweetie. They'll be here soon." "Yippee!" Katie pranced a circle around the snowman. "Do you like my snowman, Miss Dana?" Scully inspected Katie's entry. The snowman looked as if it smirked with a broad stone-studded grin wrapped from one nonexistent ear to the other. Instead of a traditional carrot nose, Katie had stuck a pencil above the wide mouth, giving the snowman a beaky, bird-like appearance. Two pennies served as eyes and slanting twig brows lent an expression of worry to the bloodless face. One of Katie's ice cream-colored hats topped the stack of snowy spheres; the pompom jittered in the nervous breeze. "Very nice, Katie. What do you think, Mulder?" "I think there are a heck of a lot more snowmen here this morning than there were last night. And there were a lot of snowmen here last night. How...?" Mulder gazed down the long line. The number of snowmen had practically doubled in the last few hours. "Mulder, what do you think of *Katie's* snowman?" He turned his attention to the girl's entry. Taking his time, he scrutinized the snowman from all sides. Finally, nose to pencil, he stared into the snowman's penny eyes. "Looks like a prize winner to me," he announced. "Really?" Katie squealed with delight and clapped her mittened hands. "Definitely." Giving the neighboring snowmen a suspicious glance, Mulder adjusted the knit hat on Frosty's broad skull. "Agent Mulder knows what he's talking about, Katie. He's a snowman expert." "Let's not brag," Mulder suggested, not amused by Scully's subtle jibe. "Did you put your magic stone inside your snowman, Katie?" "Nope." She pawed through her pocket and produced the white stone. She held it up high for Mulder to see before showing it to Scully and then to Anne. "I'm saving it for later. I dint want Frosty to run away before the contest!" she giggled. "Good plan." "Mulder." Scully's face had become serious. "By the school door." She pointed. Across the schoolyard, Elwood Jenkins posed with one long white hand on the school's open door, staring directly at Mulder. Jenkins' pale head bobbed as if nodding agreement to Mulder's unspoken intent to follow the janitor into the school. With a yellow smile, Jenkins disappeared behind the closing door. "I'll be back," Mulder murmured and trailed after the vanishing janitor. * * * Stepping inside the school, Mulder found the hall dark and empty. Jenkins was nowhere in sight. Jesus, it was cold. He guessed the building's heat had been lowered for winter break, but it seemed unlikely the school would be left cold enough to allow the water pipes to freeze. "There're igloos pumping out more BTUs than this place," he muttered, starting down the hall in search of Jenkins. Joggling the handle of each door he passed, Mulder found one classroom after the next locked tight. Further down the hall, however, he could see a shaft of fluorescent light spilling out across the floor and he hurried to the small suite of lit offices. The outer room was clearly home to the school's secretary. Squeezed between a bookcase and a photocopier, her desk was cluttered with family photos, porcelain knick-knacks and a snowglobe that cheerily begged "Let it snow! Let it snow! Let it snow!" Behind her desk, two open doors led to twin offices. A lamp illuminated only one. Mulder edged toward the lit room. Careful. Tense. He drew his gun and paused at the inner door. Leaning cautiously over the threshold he saw that the office was vacant and Jenkins was nowhere to be found. But against the far wall, a single drawer in a bank of dusty file cabinets gaped open. Mulder felt certain the drawer had been purposely left ajar just for him. Glancing over his shoulder to double-check for Jenkins, he crossed to the file cabinet. He peered into the open drawer where he found hundreds of file folders bearing the names of students who had attended Caribou Corners High School more than a decade ago. Troubled students. These were the guidance counselor's files. One folder peaked above the rest as if recently removed. He read the folder's handwritten tab: PETERS, CONNIE T -- Connie Spencer's maiden name. Mulder pulled the folder from the drawer and spread it open on the desk. * * * "Mommeeeee!" Katie shrieked when she noticed Connie and Phil Peters approaching. The girl plowed into her mother's outstretched arms. Peters playfully tugged his niece's swinging hair. "Hi Uncle Phil! Mommy's here!" Katie bounced with delight, announcing the obvious. "Yep. No way she'd miss seeing your snowman take first prize. Where's Miss Tredwell?" "With Miss Dana and Frosty. Over there." Katie pointed a mittened finger. Peters excused himself and crossed the yard to the line of snowmen where Anne and Scully stood watching Katie's reunion with her mother. "Hi Anne. Thanks for taking Katie last night." "My pleasure, Phil. You know the girl's always an angel. Uh...have you met Agent Scully?" "Yes, we've met." Phil nodded at Scully. "Where's your partner this morning?" "Inside." Scully tilted her head at the school. "With Jenkins." * * * Mulder's index finger traced a handwritten message scrawled in red ink across the bottom of Connie's first grade report card: 2/19/71: Connie Peters admitted to Caribou Corners Memorial Hospital -- nervous collapse. Connie hadn't missed a single day in the first two reporting periods of her year in Grade 1. Her marks indicated she was a good student. But the report card remained blank for the third and fourth quarters. Mulder studied the tiny class photo taped to the back of the report card. Connie looked just like her daughter Katie, right down to the shallow crescent dimpling her chin when she smiled at the photographer. A second report card was clipped to the first. The attached photo showed an almost unrecognizable girl hollowed by grief. And fear? She looked frightened. Scared to death. Evidently Connie had been readmitted to school in the fall of '71 to repeat the first grade. Mulder scanned the marks on the second report card, looking for clues that might reveal something about her emotional state. U's representing unsatisfactory behavior filled the report. Connie no longer took part in group activities or paid attention during class. Her work was often late. She wasted time daydreaming. The teacher noted the seven- year-old appeared to be overtired and often wore the same clothes to school for several days in a row. The report card was signed by a Mr. H. Tredwell, not Connie's parents. Returning to the file cabinet, Mulder retrieved Phil Peters' records in hopes of finding more information about Connie's first grade decline. What would cause the seven-year-old to suffer a nervous breakdown? And why didn't Connie's parents sign her card? He flipped quickly through Peters' folder. In 1971, Phil Peters also attended Caribou Corners Elementary School, but as a third grader. His marks indicated he was a good student, like his sister before her hospitalization. Satisfactory grades filled his card. His entire card. Evidently whatever had bothered Connie hadn't altered her brother's study habits. Peters had missed only one day of school the entire year. February 19. The day Connie was admitted to Caribou Corners Memorial. That didn't tell Mulder much. Whatever had pitched Connie off an emotional cliff evidently hadn't affected her brother Phil. Ruffling through the folder of papers, notes and report cards, Mulder stopped when he came to a letter from a Presque Isle physician. Gentlemen, Our psychiatric review indicates that the patient (Philip K. Peters, 9 years old) is mentally and emotionally sound, despite the recent loss of both parents (Robert and Janet Peters, d. February 16, 1971). The patient is communicative, even ebullient, and presents no symptoms of depression. He worries about his sister (Connie T. Peters, age 7, currently at CCMH) but demonstrates no emotional impediment. We are confident Philip can successfully finish out the year at Caribou Corners Elementary School. Sincerely, James Miller, MD "Ebullient? With two dead parents and a sister in the loony bin? Dr. Miller needs to take his head out of his ass." Mulder flipped the doctor's letter over. He arched an eyebrow at a big red question mark drawn on the back of the sheet. Taped to the lower half of the page was a yellowed newspaper clipping -- Robert and Janet Peters' obituary. "Shit," Mulder hissed, reading the obit. The clipping reported that Connie and Phil Peters' parents had died when a roof-full of snow slid from their home, crushing them both to death on their front steps. The two children had the misfortune to witness the bizarre accident. And coincidentally, or perhaps not, Janet Peters' maiden name was Desjardins -- the same name as Georges and Catherine in the tale about the legendary killer snowman. Mulder felt the hair on his neck prickle. *Schht. Schht.* Mulder spun to see Phil Peters glaring at him from the outer office, feet scuffling the floor. Despite the distance, Peters recognized the newspaper clipping. "How exactly did your parents die, Phil?" Mulder asked, closing the folder and setting it on the desk, freeing his hands. "It was an accident." Peters nervously swayed, rocking side to side in the doorframe. "Was it? Or is that just the story you've been telling yourself...and everyone else...all these years?" "No!" An overcast of rage darkened Peters' folding features. "No? Are you sure? Are you sure you didn't cause the deaths of your mother and father? Using a magic stone, perhaps?" "NOOO!" * * * "Nooooo!" Connie moaned, lurching as the schoolyard's snow suddenly shifted and pulled beneath her feet. The white ground rippled. Billowed. Scully snatched at the air in an effort to keep her balance. She felt as though she stood on the bloated back of a waking giant. Surging. Swelling. Quaking the line of snowmen beside her with a shivery squeal of sliding ice. *Schhht. Schhhht. Schhhht!* Katie's eyes widened and filled with tears. A swirl of stinging sleet blew across the schoolyard. Connie dropped to her knees. She groaned again and covered her head. The howling gale sliced over the yard and zigzagged through the castle doors with a series of piercing shrieks. When a snapping fissure split the castle's wall, fracturing the frozen turret and causing the parapets to teeter and fall, Anne screamed. Her cry was lost among the startled shouts of the panicked crowd. Scully snagged Katie's hand and lifted the frightened girl into her arms. * * * "What happened thirty years ago, Peters? What really happened?" Mulder inched closer to Peters and the door. **God damn it! I just shoveled that walkway!** Peters flinched at the anger in his father's imagined voice. "What is it, Peters? What?" Mulder asked. **What...what the hell would possess you to build a snowman right in the middle of the walk, Philly?** Peters blinked, trying to bring Mulder's face back into focus. **Don't talk back to me, young man. Just get rid of it! Connie, stop your bawling!** "No. No, no, no," Peters hummed, staring at an invisible shovel thrust into his hands by a memory. He could see his sister's crying face, looking so much like Katie. His father's fist gripping the tiny girl's arm. Lifting her. Setting her down roughly, impatiently, in the front hall. Returning to stand next to their mother. Fists on his hips. Just outside the door. Below the overhanging roof. The snowman...the snowman... **Catch me if you can!** Mulder took another step forward. Peters' head snapped up. "Stay where you are!" he screamed, halting Mulder. Stumbling backward toward the hall, Peters broke into a run. Mulder sprinted after him. * * * "Nononononono," Connie keened, her face buried in her coat sleeves. Anne Tredwell, despite her own fear, tried to calm Connie. *Catch meeeee! Catch meeeee if you caaaaaaan!* The wind spiraled around the line of wobbling snowmen. Katie gripped Scully. "It's happening again, Miss Dana!" the girl warned, tears spilling from widened eyes. She buried her face in Scully's neck when one of the castles collapsed with an earsplitting explosion. Chunks of ice hurtled toward the crowd, scattering the screaming visitors. Scully hunched protectively over Katie as a blizzard of icy needles detonated from each crashing block. The pummel of hail raised a sudden, blinding veil of snow. The wind tossed the haze across the schoolyard like a snow-white blanket thrown over a bed. Scully caught a glimpse of Phil Peters. Like a ghost, he materialized out of the maelstrom and raced to the phalanx of snowmen, calling Connie's name. He spotted his collapsed sister at the end of the row, crumpled on the ground and crying. Lurching his way toward Connie, Phil raised his arms to protect his face from the churning snow and pitched himself into the blasting wind. Appearing behind Peters, Mulder also raised his arms to protect his face from the gale. Hair flailing and eyes squinting, he hurried past the procession of snowmen in pursuit of Peters. When Peters reached Connie, he shoved Anne Tredwell roughly out of his way. Hauling Connie to her feet, he shouted something at her and although Scully was only a few feet away, she couldn't hear him over the wind's deafening howl. The blast was so loud, it was almost as if there were no sound at all. A vacuum of noise sucked painfully on Scully's overloaded eardrums. Peters gripped Connie's shoulder, keeping her upright. Together, they turned to face Mulder. *Schhht. Schhht.* Several snowmen slid out of line. "Oh, nooo," Katie whimpered against Scully's cheek. *Schhhhhht!* One of the snowmen blocked Mulder's path, separating him from Connie and Peters. Another loomed into place behind the agent. Mulder swiveled, realizing too late he was trapped. Scully set Katie down. "Stay here, sweetie," she shouted into the girl's ear. "No!" the girl screamed, gripping the fabric of Scully's coat. "Yes!" Scully insisted. Already she'd lost sight of Mulder. He was completely surrounded by a shiver of rolling, tumbling snow. "No!" Katie cried again. Several snowmen toppled, appearing to come unglued. The rolling spheres separated. Spun. Slid. "I have to help Agent Mulder." Katie shook her head. "He's gonna die," she whimpered. "No. No he's not," Scully told the girl firmly. Looking over Katie's head for Mulder, Scully knew he must be buried somewhere beneath the trembling jumble of broken snowmen. "Use my magic stone, Miss Dana." Katie dug into her pocket and produced the tiny, white stone. "Katie, I don't think--" "Please, Miss Dana. Hurry," Katie urged, pressing the stone into Scully's palm. The memory of Sheriff Riley's packed lungs flashed into Scully's mind. Was Mulder already dead, his chest plugged and his gullet split wide open by a frozen fist of ice and snow? Desperate, Scully took Katie's stone and ducked into the bluster, brushing past Connie and Peters. Two more steps and she stood beside the massive sculpted dragon. With a frantic look in Mulder's direction, she embedded the stone deeply into the serpent's frozen forehead. Pop. Pop, pop. Ice sputtered and snapped like a volley of firecrackers, causing Scully to flinch at each blast. The ground rumbled, shook. Vibrated her teeth. The serpent's icy scales bulged and bucked along the dragon's rippling crystal skin. Grinding and scraping, the serpent's head shifted and unfolded, rising ten, fifteen, twenty feet into the blowing air. Its jaws snapped shut, clapping like a rifle shot. It slid onto its clawed feet, heaving its hulking belly from the ground, lashing its great tail and leveling an expanse of ground around it more than forty feet wide. A storm ruptured from the dragon's gaping maw when it bellowed. The monster's head swung downward, plummeting until its frosty nostrils stopped within an inch or two of Phil Peters' shocked face. Its glassy eyes rolled, focusing on the frightened man. The crystal lids slowly blinked. Peters trembled and the snowy serpent huffed, spewing a blizzard of snowflakes at the shaken man. Peters released his hold on Connie and, unsupported, the stunned woman slipped to the ground. The serpent's head lifted, peered over Peters to where Mulder lay buried, pinned beneath a shifting bank of ice. Flicking out its tongue between icicle teeth, the dragon tested the flavor of the air. Then with a sudden snap, the serpent struck, clamping its jaws tightly over Phil Peters' head. The wind stalled. The ground stopped trembling. The snowmen stood motionless. The icy dragon shattered like a broken mirror. Scully hurried around Phil Peters' bleeding body to dig Mulder from the snow. EPILOGUE _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ Caribou Corners High School The Next Day 10:12 AM "We don't have to do this," Mulder trailed Scully across the parking lot to the schoolyard where sections of shattered snowmen lay scattered like wounded soldiers on a battlefield. The skin on his face appeared frostbitten and a nasty scrape blazed his left cheek. Even so, he looked pretty good for a man who'd been attacked by an army of snowmen not twenty-four hours earlier. "Do we?" "Yes, Mulder. It's time you faced your snowman phobia." "I told you, I'm not afraid of them--" "I know, you just don't like them." She offered him a sympathetic smile but his creased brow remained creased. "It'll be fun, I promise," she said, giving his arm a squeeze of encouragement. Still, he looked doubtful. "I'll start," she suggested, scooping up a handful of snow. She patted it into a perfectly round snowball and rolled the tiny sphere along the ground. The ball quickly grew in size, picking up snow until it was as large as a human head. "What did the hospital report say?" he asked, content to let Scully push the head-sized snowball into something the size of a beach ball. "Connie told the staff psychiatrist everything." She grunted as she shoved the snowball, now at least three feet in diameter. "She gave her doctor permission to share the story with us." "So what happened in 1971? How did Robert and Janet Peters die?" Mulder reached out to steady Scully as she rocked back and forth trying to jostle the overgrown orb another foot or two. The giant snowball already outweighed her. "You gonna help me or not, Mulder?" She swiped a damp lock of hair from her face. "Doncha think it's big enough? Start the next one. When it's ready, I'll lift it on top of this one." Frowning at him, she began a second snowball. "You were saying? Robert and Janet Peters...?" Mulder prompted. "Connie said she and Phil found a bag of white stones in the garage during the winter of '71. After finding the stones, Phil told Connie the legend of Maledeneige. He claimed the stones were a secret stash given to the descendants of Catherine Desjardins." "But the legend said Catherine died soon after her husband Georges was killed. She didn't have any descendants. Did she?" "Like most stories, years of telling the tale have spawned several interpretations. In the version Phil relayed to Connie, Catherine Desjardins didn't die of grief over the death of her husband but died in childbirth and the Snowman supposedly returns to Caribou Corners each winter to protect Catherine's descendants." "Janet Peters' maiden name was Desjardins," Mulder said. "Exactly. Phil knew that. So, seven-year-old Connie and nine-year-old Phil believed they were descendants of Catherine Desjardins and they also believed they had discovered the legendary stones of Maledeneige. So they built a snowman in their walkway to test the magic." "What happened?" Scully pointed to the second fat snowball. "This one's ready, Mulder." "Uh...couldn't you have rolled it a little closer to the first one?" He eyed the original boulder several yards away. Hefting the massive snowball from the ground, he groaned with aching effort. "Are we havin' fun yet?" "You're not having a good time?" Scully sounded honestly surprised. While he struggled with the enormous ball, wrestling the weighty sphere into position, she continued her story. "Connie remembers her father being furious when he saw the children had built a snowman in the middle of his recently shoveled walkway. He insisted Phil remove the snowman and clear the walk. Connie was sure the snowman was magical and she didn't want to destroy it. So she started crying. Impatient with her tears, Robert Peters carried his daughter into the house." Scully tilted her head and eyed the headless snowman. "It's crooked, Mulder." Mulder adjusted the snowman's belly. "Connie remembers being set on the floor just inside the door," Scully went on. "Her father and mother stood outside on the front step. The ground started shaking. There was a terrible roar and then snow and ice slid from the roof, burying and killing Janet and Robert Peters." "I'll bet the snowman was laughing." "I don't think so, Mulder." Scully formed a new snowball for her snowman's head. "Well, obviously the snowman viewed Robert Peters' anger as an attack on the children, so it protected them by killing the parents. The magic stone worked." "Mulder, the stones weren't magic. Connie found out later that the stones had been purchased by her father to improve drainage beneath the front steps. He'd bought three 75- pound bags of crushed white rock and stored them in the garage for the winter." "But the snow on the roof..." "It was an accident, Mulder. Caribou Corners had over eighty inches of snowfall by February of '71. I checked. It's no wonder Robert Peters was angry about shoveling his walk. He'd probably done it a million times by then." Mulder didn't look satisfied. He leaned an elbow on the shoulders of the headless snowman and surveyed the results of yesterday's mayhem. "But, Scully..." "Mulder, Connie and Phil believed the stones were magic the day their parents were killed. They blamed themselves for their parents' deaths. That's why Connie had a nervous breakdown. Phil went into a state of denial. Even after they found out the truth, they couldn't shake the emotional effect. They always felt somehow to blame for building that snowman and placing their parents in harm's way that day. With their parents gone, Phil became overprotective of his sister...to the extreme. Keeping his guilt bottled up for thirty years, Phil finally snapped. He saw Connie's students, Tom Spencer, even Sheriff Riley as a threat to Connie. Phil killed them, Mulder. There was no magic snowman." "I don't know, Scully. How do you explain the stones you removed from the victim's lungs? How do you explain all this?" Mulder waved his hand at the cracked castles, the broken dragon, the smashed snowmen. "Don't tell me this was caused by a freakish earthquake or something. You saw that dragon come to life, Scully. You put Katie's stone into its head -- to save me. You must've believed it was magic." Scully tossed Mulder the finished snowman's head and he twisted it into place. "Mulder, I...I was desperate. 'Desperate times call for desperate measures.' 'Necessity is the mother of invention.' 'A magic stone in the dragon's head is worth two in the bush.'" "Hmm. Hackneyed and hacked at cliches aside, Scully, you obviously acted on the belief the stone was magic." "I didn't really think about it, Mulder. I just did it." "Very unscientific of you." "Well, maybe there was a blue moon last night." "Scully, you saw what happened. I saw it. We both saw it." He eyed the faceless snowman. "Maybe Janet and Robert Peters' deaths were no more than the result of a tragic accident. But what happened here yesterday was no accident. Phil Peters used the snowmen to protect Connie. He wanted the snowmen to kill the boys, Tom Spencer and Sheriff Riley. He wanted me dead, too. And he used magic stones like Katie's to bring the snowmen to life." Mulder left the snowman to wrap his arms around Scully's waist. "Like Jenkins said, you're choosing your own truth, Scully. Take off your scientist's lenses," he murmured into her ear. "Only if you promise to try wearing them for awhile." "Only if you promise to give up on this horrible snowman building activity." "You're really not having fun?" "I can think of plenty of things to do that would be more fun than this." He waggled his brows. "Hmmmm. You gonna make good on that intimation right now, Agent Mulder, or are you all talk and no action?" "I'm action." He ran his index finger along her cheek. "Really? Then how about you stop flappin' that handsome jaw and start...um, performing. Action Boy." She nudged her knee between his legs. "Well, I didn't mean right here, Scully," he grinned, feeling the heat of her thigh pressing seductively against his own. "Ah huh. Exactly what did you mean, Mulder? I'd hate to be thinking one thing while you mean another. As a janitor once pointed out, we each derive our own truth based on our perspective. Maybe we should get your story straight." "Scully, I just meant...that we might enjoy...y'know." He nuzzled her neck. "Another pizza in the bubble bath?" "There you go!" He kissed her nose. "You see? We're seeing things exactly the same way." Linking her fingers through his, she drew him away from the Snowman and led him toward the car. He twisted to look over his shoulder at the faceless snowman one last time. "Um...Scully, is that snowman smiling?" "Who cares, Mulder. I'm smiling and at this moment, that's all that should concern you." THE END Authors notes: Thank you, VS8, for allowing me to participate in this project. Feedback, good or bad, is welcome on "Snowman" or any of my stories. I don't even pretend to be a professional writer, so any pearls of wisdom are very welcome. Send comments to nejake@tds.net. Illustrations for Snowman, as well as my other fanfic can be found at my website, http://www.crosswinds.net/~bluefroggie/aka "Jake".html, generously maintained by the wonderful bluefroggie.