Title: The Boogeyman (1/1) Author: aka "Jake" Rating: PG (some violence) Classification: X (X-File) Spoilers: None Keywords: Summary: Mulder and Scully find themselves facing an unusual heat wave and an even more unusual killer when they travel to Maine to investigate the mysterious disappearances of several children from neighboring towns. "If you don't watch out, the Boogeyman will get you!" The Boogeyman by aka "Jake" 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. Palmyra, Maine 9:42 PM Twelve-year-old Bobby Tredwell cautiously stepped over the entryway threshold, steadied the roller blades hanging from his shoulder and closed the front door silently behind him. He glanced into the livingroom where his mother sat watching television, her back to him. She hadn't heard him, he realized with relief. He hurried across the hall and started up the stairs. "Robert Andrew Tredwell! Where?have?you?been?" Bobby froze mid-step and grimaced. He turned to face his mother. Connie Tredwell stood looking up at him from the bottom of the stairs with her arms crossed and a deep scowl on her face. "Well? Give me an answer, young man!" "I was skating in the Shop 'n' Save parking lot with Gary and Jason," Bobby mumbled. "You know you were supposed to be home before dark." "But Mom," Bobby's voice rose to a whine, "the lot is full of cars before dark." "Bobby, you are perfectly aware that two children disappeared just a couple of days ago over in St. Albans. I've been worried sick about you!" Connie pulled her arms more tightly across her chest, fear for her son's safety creasing her brow. Her eyes flicked to the top of the stairs where Bobby's younger sister stood in her pajamas. "Caitlin, this doesn't concern you. Go back to bed!" Connie commanded her daughter. Bobby turned and hissed "Nosey!" at his sister. The little girl stuck out her tongue and ran back down the hall. "Bobby, you're grounded. You won't be leaving this house for at least two weeks!" his mother flared. "Awe, Mom!" "That's it, Bobby. Discussion over. Go on up to your room." Bobby spun and walked heavily up the stairs. In his room, he tossed his inline skates carelessly into a corner. Bobby thought with exasperation. He flicked on the light to his aquarium and sprinkled a pinch of freeze-dried flakes onto the water's surface. The goldfish darted and turned, sucking the food into their little round mouths. Bobby donned his headphones and pushed the play button on his stereo. Flopping onto his bed, he closed his eyes. His foot moved to the rhythm of the music in his ears. He never saw the dark hand that reached out from under the bed, grasped his ankle and yanked him to the floor. He never had time to cry out before he disappeared beneath the bed. ---------------------------------------------------- -------------- Interstate 95, North Newport, Maine 3:34 PM Special Agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully sweltered in the front seat of their rental car as they drove south on I-95. "I didn't realize Maine could be so hot," Scully said from the passenger seat. She hung a hand outside the open window hoping the passing air would cool her. "I didn't realize a rental car could come without working air conditioning," grumbled her partner, his sleeves rolled above his elbows, the knot of his tie hanging loose. He was irritable from the heat. His dark hair stuck wetly to his forehead and neck. He leaned forward toward the steering wheel. "Could you pull my shirt away from my back?" he asked. She eyed the sweat-soaked material plastered to his skin. "No." "No?!" his eyes widened with disbelief. "No." He frowned and leaned back into the seat with a loud sigh. The two FBI agents had flown into Bangor International Airport an hour earlier where a July heat wave thickened the air with an afternoon temperature of 98 degrees and relative humidity at 91 percent. It was a forty-minute drive from Bangor to their destination in Palmyra. A creased road map from the car rental agency lay unfolded on Scully's lap. She glanced down at the handwritten directions scrawled in a lower corner. "Five more miles to our exit," she said and squinted out at the bright afternoon. "Have you noticed it's been ten miles since we last saw a house? We've passed nothing but trees." The scent of pine was heavy in the heat. "Could you tell me again why we're here?" she asked at length. Mulder narrowed accusing eyes at her profile. Scully had shown no interest in their current case before now. Rather than discuss the details of their assignment, she had chosen to sleep on the bumpy ComAir flight from Washington, DC, leaving him to review the file notes on his own. Annoyed, he observed the winds from the open window whip her coppery hair around her face. She looked relaxed. Fresh. "How can you not be hot?" he asked incredulously. "I am hot, Mulder. Very hot. Very, very hot." A small smile twitched at the side of his mouth, her unintended innuendo suddenly brightening his mood. "Finally responding to my famous 'Mulder Magnetism,' Scully?" he suggested and raised his eyebrows at her. "Is that what you call the negative charge that's been emanating from your side of the car?" Her cool, blue eyes regarded him evenly. He decided to ignore her reference to his foul mood. Instead he said, "To answer your earlier question, we're here to investigate the disappearances of three children, ages four to twelve, from neighboring towns. All the children went missing within the last three days. The most recent was Bobby Tredwell of Palmyra. We're meeting the Somerset County Sheriff at the Tredwell house later this afternoon." "What exactly makes this an X-file, Mulder? What paranormal or unexplained phenomenon is inherent in this particular case?" Mulder's hazel eyes lit up with eager excitement; frenetic energy animated the features of his face and the posture of his body. "Just like the vanishing tigers in a Siegfried and Roy act, Scully, all three children disappeared without a trace." "Right," she replied flatly and turned back to face the road. Mulder, in Scully's opinion, maintained an annoying habit of racing to the most unlikely conclusions without considering the more mundane alternatives. Her own unyielding demand for scientific evidence often put the two agents at odds whenever Mulder proposed one of his outlandish theories couched in paranormal legends, hearsay or guesswork. Her years of medical training and experience as a forensic pathologist only girded her innate belief in the logic of cause and effect. she remembered telling him when they had first met six years ago, She still believed that, despite bearing personal witness to numerous inexplicable events in their time together as partners. "Don't Siegfried and Roy make the tigers appear, Mulder, not vanish? Here's our exit." Scully pointed toward the highway sign and double-checked the map. Mulder slowed the car and coasted down the off-ramp. "Turn right," Scully told him, "then left, at the light, onto Route 2." They cruised by two gas stations and a donut shop before stopping at the intersection. When the light turned green, Mulder headed west toward Palmyra. "Mulder, that was our motel you just passed." Scully looked over her shoulder out the back window and watched the sign for Landry's Motor Lodge grow small in the distance. "No time to stop now, Scully. We're scheduled to meet the sheriff at four o'clock." "I was really hoping to freshen up a bit first," she said uselessly, knowing he would not turn back. They drove on in silence for several minutes. "Left here, Mulder, onto Grant Road. The Tredwell's should be five miles down on the right." Grant Road was unpaved and Mulder slowed to maneuver around the pot holes. Dust churned out from behind the car, billowing high in the humid, late afternoon air. An old white farm house came into view. ---------------------------------------------------- -------------- Tredwell Residence, Palmyra, Maine 4:05 PM "This must be it." Mulder pulled the car into the driveway and parked beside the Sheriff's cruiser. He reached into the back seat and fished his ID out of his coat pocket. Scully stepped from the car, smoothing her skirt as she stood. The thick air was oppressive. Thunderclouds filled the western sky. The two agents moved together up the front steps, his lanky height a contrast to her petit stature. Scully pressed a dainty thumb to the doorbell. She glanced over at Mulder and quelled a smile. Although he had straightened his tie and rolled down his sleeves, his shirt still clung to his back with sweat. The Tredwell's door swung open. "Don Thibideau, Somerset County Sheriff," a sandy- haired man identified himself and thrust out a beefy hand. "You must be the FBI agents." "Special Agent Fox Mulder. This is my partner, Special Agent Dana Scully." Mulder flashed his ID and gripped the stocky man's hand simultaneously. "Please, come in, Agents." Scully stepped through the door and Mulder followed, his hand pressing lightly at the small of her back. The house was only slightly cooler inside than out. "Thanks for coming up from DC. Sorry about this godawful heat," the sheriff apologized as he led the agents into the livingroom where a nervous woman sat twisting her hands at one end of a couch. A sad-eyed young girl stood nearby. "This is Connie Tredwell," the Sheriff indicated the woman with a wave of his hand. "Connie, these are the agents sent up from DC by the FBI." Connie looked expectantly at each of them in turn. Scully crossed the room to sit on the couch beside the woman. "I'm Dana Scully," she introduced herself with a gentle voice. "This is my partner, Fox Mulder. Can you tell us what happened, Mrs. Tredwell?" "Well, Bobby? that's my son? he came home around 9:30 last night. He's twelve and he wasn't supposed to be out so late. With the kidnappings over in St. Albans a few days ago, I wanted the children in before dark." Her eyes filled with tears as she remembered, "I yelled at him when he came in. Told him he was grounded. I sent him to his room. This morning, when he didn't come down for breakfast, I went up to wake him. He wasn't there. His bed hadn't even been slept in! Agent Scully, I never heard a thing after he went to bed last night. I'm so scared. Where could he be?" "That's what we're here to find out, Mrs. Tredwell," Scully soothed. "May we see Bobby's room?" "Oh, yes. Of course. I'll show you the way." Connie hurried to stand. Before the two women could join the sheriff and Mulder at the stairs, the little girl ran to Scully and took her hand. "Are you going to find my brother?" she asked in a small voice, her fingers gripping hotly to Scully's palm. Scully knelt and looked into the girls frightened eyes. "What's your name, sweetheart?" she asked the girl gently. "Caitlin." "Well, Caitlin, we're going to do everything we can to find your brother." Scully tucked a stray curl behind Caitlin's ear and smiled softly. When the girl hesitantly smiled back, Scully stood and led Caitlin up to the second floor. Upstairs, Mulder ducked beneath the yellow police tape stretched across the open doorway to Bobby's bedroom. He waited for Scully, holding the tape aloft with his index finger. She delicately stepped under the plastic strip and followed him into the room. Mulder withdrew a pair of latex gloves from his pants pocket and snapped them on. The sheriff, Connie and Caitlin remained in the hall, watching the agents move around the bedroom. The room was much like any 12-year-old boy's room: posters tacked to the walls, CD's and comic books scattered across the bureau. Mulder circled the bed, noting the power to the stereo was on and the headphones lay disconnected on the floor. "Has anything been touched in here, Sheriff?" Mulder asked. "No. It been left just as you see it. No one but me's been in here. 'Cept Connie, of course, when she came in to wake Bobby this morning." Mulder moved to the window and studied it. The sash was wide open; the screen was intact. He gingerly pushed against the fine mesh. It held firm in its frame. Mulder noticed a puddle of water on the inside sill. He peered out the window, down into the back yard. The Tredwell home was set into a hill; Bobby's bedroom was essentially three stories up. "Only Sherpas or Spiderman could get in or out this way," observed Mulder, turning back to face the room. He walked to the bed, dropped to his knees and peered under. "Mulder?" "Scully, look at this. The rug is all wet under here." "Wet? How wet?" She took a couple of steps toward him but didn't join him squatting on the floor. "Noah is under here building another ark. Looks like a couple of gallons at least. And it smells faintly like?" he sat up and sniffed his fingertips, "cloves." He looked up at Scully, a puzzled expression on his face. Both agents tilted their gazes toward the ceiling simultaneously, expecting to discover evidence of a leak. The ceiling remained white, however, unmarked by crack or stain. Scully scanned the room for another possible source of the spill. She focused on the ten-gallon aquarium setting beside Bobby's stereo. The tank was unbroken, the water level high. Several goldfish swam in unconcerned circles as a colorful, plastic treasure chest winked opened and closed in hypnotic rhythm. Mulder removed one glove and ran his palm over the bedspread only to find it dry. He crouched low, thrust his hand along the underside of the mattress. "How dry I am?" he sang off-key. "Could something have spilled, Mrs. Tredwell? A soda, perhaps?" Scully asked the woman. "I don't think so. The children aren't allowed to eat or drink in their rooms." "It's not sticky like a soda," Mulder said, shaking his head. "Let's remove a sample of the wet rug and have it analyzed back at the DC lab. There's an evidence kit down in the car. Sheriff, I'd like you to dust for fingerprints around the window and door." Mulder stood and stepped over to the bubbling aquarium before leaving the room. He leaned his face close to the glass and squinted soberly into the lidless eyes of the goldfish. In his most official G- man tone he whispered, "This is the FBI. Tell me what you saw, Sushi. And I don't wanna hear that you missed it 'cause you blinked." ---------------------------------------------------- -------------- Palmyra Post Office, Palmyra, Maine 5:09 PM "You made it just in time," the cheery clerk said to Scully. "I was about to close up." Scully smiled and paid the clerk to Overnight Express the sample of saturated carpet found under Bobby Tredwell's bed to the Washington DC lab for analysis. The small Palmyra Post Office abruptly darkened as the sun disappeared behind a black thundercloud. "Rain's coming. Maybe it'll cool things down a bit," the clerk offered. Scully stepped outside and scanned the ominous sky. Mulder stood leaning against the car waiting for her, absently chewing a sunflower seed. He reached in his pocket and offered her one when she drew near. She took it from his fingers and leaned beside him against the car. "So, waddya think, Scully?" he asked. Together they watched the little clerk rush outside, lower the flag and hurry back in. "I think it's obvious that Bobby Tredwell ran away from home," Scully replied when they were alone in the parking lot once again. "I gotta disagree. I think he was abducted." "Abducted?" she turned to look up at him. "You mean kidnapped, don't you?" "You say tomato, I say tomahto." He placed another sunflower seed in his mouth and rolled it over his tongue a couple of times before biting down on it. "Mulder, what evidence do you have of a kidnapping? There was no blood at the scene. No sign of a struggle. The truth is, Bobby was upset with his mother for grounding him, so he split." "Call it a hunch, Scully. I think the kid was abducted, just like the two children from St. Albans." "We saw no sign of forced entry at the Tredwell's, Mulder. Mrs. Tredwell said she didn't hear anything. Who could take a kid from his bedroom without making a noise or leaving a trace?" Mulder leaned down close to Scully's ear and whispered ominously, "Maybe, it was the Boogeyman." ---------------------------------------------------- -------------- Strout Residence, Hartland, Maine 8:45 PM Amos Strout was at the end of his rope. Exhausted after working a double shift at the tannery, he wanted to put his daughter to bed so he could get some sleep himself. But five-year-old Marissa stubbornly refused to cooperate. She bounced up and down on the livingroom couch, loudly repeating the same tuneless rhyme over and over again. Amos wished he made enough money so his wife didn't have to work the counter five nights a week at the donut shop. Janice had no trouble getting Marissa to behave. "Marissa! Get in bed now," Amos bellowed. "If you don't get in your bed and go to sleep, the Boogeyman is going to come and take you away." Marissa abruptly stopped her bouncing. Amos felt a brief pang of guilt when a look of fear settled on his daughter's face. "NOW!" he shouted. The little girl flinched and ran down the dark hall to her room. She scrambled onto her bed, pulling her teddy bear to her chest. She sat rigidly in the blackness, eyes wide. Several slow minutes passed. The curtain at her open window billowed inward. Marissa turned to stare. She held her breath. "Shhhhh," sighed the curtain as it dropped back to the window. The quiet sound made Marissa hiccup and tighten her grip on her doll. "SHHHHHH," she suddenly heard more loudly from beneath her bed, causing her to jump. "Daddy," she whimpered. Her throat tightened around the word. Mutely she mouthed "Please help me." A movement by the floor caught her eye and she watched a dark hand glide smoothly out from beneath her bed. She squeezed her eyes shut and shivered despite the heat. In a blur, the dark hand reached Marissa, grabbed her arm and yanked her under the bed. Before she could cry out, a dark mouth covered hers. Marissa struggled for air. She gagged as a thick substance slid across her tongue, filled her mouth and pushed its way down her throat. It expanded quickly and deeply into her lungs and stomach, bursting its way through her insides as it grew. The black form rapidly squeezed itself into and around the little girl, enveloping her completely, crushing her quickly from inside and out. It compressed itself and her, shrinking smaller and smaller, gathering speed as it decreased in mass. In less than a minute, the girl was gone and the tiny black spot that remained began to spread and dissipated into a fine, dark mist. The mist drifted casually up from the floor and eventually out the open window. Beneath the bed, only a puddle of water smelling faintly of cloves was left behind. ---------------------------------------------------- -------------- Landry's Motor Lodge, Palmyra, Maine 6:40 AM Scully wasn't sure if the knocking sound was part of a dream or was real. She lifted her head from her pillow to listen. The knock came again and she groaned, knowing for certain that she wasn't dreaming. "Scully? Are you awake?" Mulder's muffled voice called from the other side of her door. "Can I come in?" Scully pressed her lips together and closed her eyes for a moment. She threw back the covers and shrugged into her robe. Crossing the room, Scully unlocked and opened the door. "Good morning, Sunshine," Mulder grinned brightly and offered her a large cup of coffee. He appeared infuriatingly refreshed this morning, so recently come from his shower, she could faintly smell his shampoo. She glared at him. "I didn't wake you, did I?" he asked in feigned innocence and stepped in past her. He squinted at the red tangles framing her face and smiled again. "Doing something new with your hair?" Her frown deepened. "There had better be a very good reason for you to be here right now, Mulder." "Donut?" he held out a bag. She rolled her eyes and headed into the bathroom. "Sheriff Thibideau phoned," he said to her through the door. She poked her head out and looked at him, her toothbrush sticking out of her mouth. "Wha' 'id he 'ay?" she asked before leaning to spit in the sink. "There's been another disappearance." ---------------------------------------------------- -------------- Strout Residence, Hartland, Maine 7:10 AM Mulder and Scully moved through the small Strout home toward little Marissa's bedroom. Amos and Janice Strout followed behind, trailed by Sheriff Thibideau. Janice was crying openly, although quietly. An hour earlier, Janice had returned from working the night shift to find her husband asleep on the couch with the television on. Surprised that Marissa wasn't up to greet her, Janice headed to her daughter's room to check on her, hoping the little girl wasn't ill. Finding Marissa's bed empty, Janice considered her daughter might be playing a game of hide-and-seek. The young mother hunted quickly through one room after another, calling out in a singsong voice "Where is Marissa hiding?" The house wasn't large and it didn't take long before Janice exhausted all of Marissa's favorite hiding places. The fretting woman woke her husband. Together they searched the yard, hastily circling the house and calling out Marissa's name. Aware that several local children had disappeared recently, Amos Strout phoned the sheriff. "When did you last see your daughter?" Scully asked the Strouts who stood crowded beside the sheriff at the threshold of Marissa's room trying to stay out of the agents' way. The entire house was hot as an oven. Last evening's promise of a cooling thundershower had never materialized. "That would be when I put her to bed last night. Around nine o'clock, I think it was," Amos answered, glancing nervously at his wife, then down at the floor. Guilt washed over his face as he recalled "I...uh?I'm afraid I yelled at her. Told her, if she didn't quiet down and get into bed, the 'Boogeyman' would get her." Mulder's head snapped up. He gave Scully a pointed stare. She cleared her throat softly, plainly indicating to him that she disagreed with his obvious line of thinking. Mulder crossed the room and pushed lightly against the open window's screen, causing Scully to experience a strange sense of dej=E0 vu. She vividly recalled his identical gesture at the Tredwell's only yesterday afternoon. She watched his latex- gloved fingers trace along the sill. He lifted them to his nose and sniffed lightly. His brow creased. "What is it, Mulder?" "Cloves. It smells like cloves. Just like at the Tredwell's." "What do you think it means?" the sheriff asked. Mulder shrugged and moved to the bed, knelt and looked under. "Well, waddaya know, Scully, the animals are lining up two-by-two. This one's missing a partner." Mulder pulled a dripping teddy bear out from a large puddle under Marissa's bed and held it up for everyone to see. "That's Marissa's favorite doll!" Janice's voice quavered. "It's soaked with whatever is on the floor." Mulder's long reach offered the stuffed toy over to Scully. She detected the spicy scent of cloves as she dropped the spongy bear into an open evidence bag. Mulder got to his feet. "Sheriff, we'll need the names and addresses of the other two missing children. We'll talk to the parents and investigate the scenes. In the meantime, I'd like you to fingerprint this room and run the results against the prints from the Tredwell residence. 'Teddy,'" Mulder indicated the stuffed bear in Scully's hand, "will be taking a trip to the crime lab in DC for analysis." ---------------------------------------------------- -------------- Ouellette Residence, St. Albans, Maine 11:45 AM Squinting into the fierce mid-day sun, Mulder and Scully exited the home of Jim and Sarah Ouellette. "Over there," Mulder tilted his head, indicating a shady location about twenty yards away from the house. He guided Scully down the driveway, his hand at her back. Pea-sized gravel crunched beneath their shoes and, high in the trees, cicadas loudly hummed in the intense heat. The two agents stepped into the shadows at the yard's edge. The deep shade offered them no respite from the thick, hot air, but it provided some privacy where they could discuss their most recent findings. Scully flipped open her small notepad and read back to Mulder what she had written there. "Jenna Ouellette, 11-year-old daughter of Jim and Sarah Ouellette, disappeared four days ago after being reprimanded by her parents for stealing three cassette tapes, several candy bars and a scrunchie from the local Wal-Mart." "What is a 'scrunchie,' Scully?" "It's a fabric hair ornament used to hold a ponytail, Mulder." He nodded and she continued. "Jenna's partner-in-crime was one Tommy Ballard, 11- year-old son of Alan and Tammy Ballard, who live next door to the Ouellettes. Not only are Tommy and Jenna accomplices in the Wal-Mart theft, they are best friends. Tommy went missing four days ago also, sometime after his parents remanded him to his room for an unspecified duration of time. Apparently, according to both sets of parents, nothing was missing from either of the children's rooms, with the obvious exception of the children themselves. All four adults claim to have seen or heard nothing out of the ordinary in the hours between pronouncement of punishment and the discovery that the children were missing. An inspection of the children's bedrooms by us turned up nothing conclusive, both scenes being compromised by the length of time between the event in question and the subsequent investigation. You got anything to add to that, Mulder?" she queried and looked up at him. He thoughtfully chewed his lower lip. "I have a theory. Wanna hear it?" "I don't know, Mulder. Do I?" she asked uncertainly. He gave her a lop-sided grin. "Well?Mr. Strout's mention of 'the Boogeyman' this morning got me thinking." She groaned. "Hear me out, Scully," he stipulated, his expression serious. "The etymology of the word 'boogeyman' is uncertain. It may have come from the word 'boggle' which first appeared in English around 1598 and is thought to have evolved from the Scottish word 'bogill,' meaning 'goblin.'" Mulder recited from his photographic memory. Although Scully was keenly aware of her partner's eidetic mind, he could still sometimes stagger her when he recited detailed minutia from his vast internal library of information. The number of facts he had stored in his head was astounding. "Or," he continued, "and this is the interesting part, Scully, 'boogeyman' may have derived from the Bogis people of Bogor, Indonesia." "Indonesia?" "Yeah. In 1756, the Bugis attacked the VOC at Melaka." "What's 'the VOC,' Mulder?" "Vereenigde Oostindische Compagnie, or Dutch East India Company." Scully raised her eyebrows, indicating for him to continue. "Dutch traders sailed the Indonesian seas in search of the spice trade. Scully," he emphasized the word to remind her of the faint odor they had detected at both the Tredwell and Strout homes. "They found cloves and nutmeg in Indonesia. The Dutch were often escorted by their men of war to protect them against daring raids by Bugis sailors who viewed the Dutch as intruders." "Mulder, where are you going with this?" "The Bugis raiders gained the reputation of being pirates, attacking unexpectedly in the dark, violently murdering their victims and vanishing without leaving a trace. Thus came about the phrase 'If you don't watch out, the Bugis man, or Boogeyman, will get you.'" Scully rolled her eyes. "Mulder, you don't really believe that the missing children of Palmyra, Hartland and St. Albans were murdered by an Indonesian pirate?" "No, I don't. But think about this, Scully. Many current cultures have urban myths which speak of a boogeyman as a senseless murderer who hides under the beds of young children who misbehave." "Urban legends make good storytelling, but I don't need to remind you that most are false." "But not all are false, Scully. It's possible that this legend is based in fact. It's also possible that the Bugis of Indonesia were not the original boogeymen at all, but only took the rap for acts perpetrated by the real boogeymen." Scully held up her hand to stop him. "Mulder, there are no real boogeymen! You're spouting childhood fairytales of goblins, phantoms and bugaboos, all of which are imaginary figures of terror and dread told to kids as a means of scaring them into obedience! It's a lot more likely that these missing children were either kidnapped by a living person or they ran away from home." "Ran away from home?" "Why not? All four children had misbehaved and were being reprimanded by their parents. They all had motive to run away." "You're saying that within three days, four children from neighboring towns decided independently to run away from home? Isn't that a bit of a coincidental stretch?" "Mulder, the Ballard boy and the Ouelette girl were good friends. Perhaps they decided to run away together. And Bobby Tredwell may have learned about them in the news and was influenced by their actions." "What about Marissa, Scully? She's only five years old! Do you think she was influenced by the six- o'clock evening report?" Scully paused to briefly massage the crease that had formed between her brows at the bridge of her nose. "No. Marissa may have been kidnapped. By a living, breathing human being." Scully looked at him pointedly. She paused and sighed. "What do you say we drop this conversation for now, Mulder, and get some lunch?" "Yes!" he pumped his arm, relief spreading across his features. "I've been hungry for two hours. I hi --hosie the driver's seat!" ---------------------------------------------------- -------------- Sunshine Cafe, St. Albans, Maine 12:17 PM Mulder and Scully sat waiting for their lunch at a corner table in the Sunshine Cafe. Even with the air conditioner running at maximum, the bright little restaurant was stiflingly hot. A bead of sweat inched its way down Mulder's cheek. He watched as Scully lifted her coppery hair off the back of her neck in an effort to cool her skin. Her graceful gesture sent a sudden shiver across his own shoulders. "Here you go, Honey," piped their waitress, causing Mulder to blink and look away from Scully. He noticed the tag pinned to the waitress's bosom read Brenda lifted a large iced tea off her tray and set it in front of Scully. "You, too, Dear," she smiled a motherly smile and placed an identical glass on the table at Mulder's elbow. Before she could pull the straws from her apron pocket, Mulder had raised his glass and drained the entire contents in three huge gulps. "I guess you'll be wanting another!" Brenda laughed, heading toward the kitchen. Mulder smiled sheepishly. As if to make a point, Scully carefully unwrapped her straw, slid it idly into her drink and daintily took a sip. He stared as she languidly withdrew the straw from her lipsticked mouth. When her little pink tongue appeared and briefly slicked across her lower lip, it knocked the wind from his chest. He cleared his throat, gawking frankly at her glossy mouth. She arched an eyebrow at him. The movement drew his gaze away from her lips, up to her watching blue eyes. He cleared his throat again, defenseless against the room's confining heat that abruptly pressed against his face and neck, down through his torso to his groin. Nervously his eyes flickered toward the cafe door. With obvious relief and a little too loudly, Mulder blurted "Here comes the sheriff!" Sheriff Thibideau, newspaper tucked under his arm, pulled an empty chair from a nearby table, placed it beside the two agents, and straddled it. "Won't you have lunch with us, Sheriff?" Scully asked politely as Brenda arrived at the table with a tray of food. "Already ate, thanks. But you two go ahead. Hi, Brenda." "Hey there, Don. Chef salad, lite dressing on the side for the lady and a double-bacon cheese burger with a side of onion rings?and another iced tea?for the gentleman." Brenda unloaded her tray. "Can I get you folks anything else?" "Just save me a big slice of peanut butter pie," Mulder smiled and rubbed his hands together. Scully blanched and jabbed her fork into her salad. "I came by to give you the report on the fingerprints we lifted at the Tredwell's yesterday," the sheriff told them once Brenda had gone. "How'd you know we were here?" Mulder asked around his cheeseburger. "Well, the Sunshine Cafe is the only place to eat in St. Albans. And your rental car is parked out front." "So, what did you find out, Sheriff, about the fingerprints?" Scully asked him. "Nothing, I'm sorry to say. The only prints we pulled were Bobby's, his sister Caitlin's and Connie's." "Is it possible that Bobby could be with his father?" Scully hoped that would explain at least one of the disappearances. "Not likely," the sheriff grimaced. "Bobby's dad died three years ago. Drown in a boating accident over on Big Indian Lake." "Oh." Scully hesitated before taking another bite of her salad. "Sheriff, is there anyone you can think of who has had contact with all of the missing children?" The sheriff considered her question. "Benny Blanchard, maybe. He's the school bus driver for this S.A.D. I find it hard to believe he'd kidnap anybody though. If you want to question him?" The sheriff stopped mid-sentence to watch Mulder reach across the table and wipe a trace of salad dressing from Scully's lip with his thumb. "You two been partners long?" He gave them a quizzical stare. "Six years," they answered in unison. The sheriff smiled. "You must be very close." "Don't get the wrong impression, Sheriff. I've managed to keep my virtue intact," Mulder deadpanned. "Despite the fact that Scully routinely makes passes at me." The sheriff snorted and stood to leave. "By the way," he said, pulling the newspaper out from under his arm and plopping it noisily on the table between the two agents. "Thought you might like to read about yourselves in today's Bangor Daily News. I'll catch up with you both later after I check on the prints we pulled at the Strout's this morning. " Scully turned the paper toward her and read the headline above a short article in the lower corner of the front page. "FBI Joins Search for Missing Children." Before she could continue, Mulder jerked the newspaper across to his side of the table. "Well, whadaya know. Look at this, Scully," he said excitedly. He held up the paper so she could see and tapped his finger beside the lead story. In bold print the headline read "Heat Wave Continues for Fourth Day -- No Rain in Sight." Flipping the front page back around, he read "'Relief from the intense heat and humidity continues to elude the sweltering communities of central and southern Maine. Temperatures climbed to 100 degrees for the fourth consecutive day.'" "So what, Mulder? We know it's hot." "Yeah, but get this. 'Nearly three weeks without rain, combined with extremely high temperatures, have local farmers concerned about the success of this season's corn and potato crops.'" "That's a shame, but I wasn't expecting to pick up any produce while in Maine." "Don't you see, Scully? If there hasn't been a drop of rain in at least twenty-one days, how did the inside sills of the open windows in both Bobby's and Marissa's bedrooms get wet?" She thought for a moment, then shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe the Tredwells and the Strouts had watered their lawns and the spray inadvertently went through the windows." "Scully, Bobby Tredwell's bedroom is three stories up. That's quite a lawn sprinkler." "Well, perhaps it was condensation," she suggested. "It hasn't been cool enough for condensation, Scully, not even at night. Besides, the amount of water was too great And how do you explain the scent of cloves?" "I can't, not with the evidence we have at this time. The lab report from DC might provide an explanation." She eyed him warily before asking, "How do you explain it, Mulder?" "I'm workin' on that, Scully. I'm workin' on that. In the meantime, let's go talk with Benny Blanchard, our friendly neighborhood school bus driver." ---------------------------------------------------- -------------- Public Landing, Big Indian Lake St. Albans, Maine 8:15 PM It had taken Mulder and Scully the entire afternoon to track down Benny Blanchard. The old man, who drove the school bus for SAD 48 in the winter, drove the local honeywagon in the summer. Today, he had a full schedule, pumping septic tanks at several residences scattered across Somerset County. The two agents finally caught up with him at the dumping station in Skowhegan, where the potent stench of raw sewage pervaded the muggy air. "Welcome to the bowels of the earth, Scully," Mulder told her, stepping from the car and wrinkling his nose. After an hour of questioning the old man, the two agents decided he was a dead-end. Benny had airtight alibis and had had no contact with any of the four missing children since the last day of school in June. To expunge the smell of human waste from their sinuses, Mulder drove them back to St. Albans and parked at the Big Indian Lake public boat landing. They strolled down to the deserted shore to breathe in the clean lake air. "Whadaya say, Scully? Wanna go skinny-dipping?" he asked her, waggling his eyebrows. She stared at him, stony-faced. He hastily changed tactics and put on his best puppy-dog look. "Pleeeease?" he urged. Scully's rigid gaze didn't waver. Mulder's eyes grew serious. Without breaking eye contact, he yanked loose the knot of his tie, pulled the strip of silk through his collar and dropped it to the ground. He reached for the buttons at his wrists and undid them. He unbuttoned the front of his shirt and shrugged out of the sleeves. Bare-chested, he let go of the shirt, depositing it on top of the tie. He continued to meet her gaze while toeing off his shoes, then pulling off his socks one at a time and adding them to the pile of clothes growing beside his now bare feet. He hesitated before going further. She crossed her arms and raised a warning eyebrow. That was enough to spread a mischievous grin across his face. He dropped his pants. With satisfaction he watched her mouth pop open in shocked surprise as he stood before her wearing only a pair of undershorts. He turned on his heel, jogged the length of the dock and cannonballed off the end. His boisterous splash was followed by a jubilant whoop of delight. "Scully! You've gotta come in. The water feels great!" he shouted to her. She walked deliberately out to the end of the dock. He backstroked away from her, turned around and leisurely swam back. The sun was setting, casting a purple-pink hue on the inky water. Ripples fanned in a wide arc out around Mulder. His arms moved lazily back and forth as he rhythmically tread water. He dipped his head backward, soaking his hair. When he straightened upright again, he snapped his head hard to the side, sending a spray of water at Scully. "Come on in, Scully. It's nice." He looked up at her from below the dock's edge. Ducking his lips below the water line, he took in a mouthful of water. He forced a long, arching spout out through his teeth, aiming playfully at Scully. She stepped back to keep her shoes dry. "I'm not coming in, Mulder. Now get out so we can go." "Come on, Scully. No one will see," he said in a low, persuasive tone. "It's almost dark." It was. The sun had already set behind the trees and the sky glowed red along the horizon. She shook her head, then wondering if he could see her gesture, spoke aloud, "No. Please come out of the lake." "Scully, I won't look," he said earnestly and swiveled to face away from her. She vacillated. It was so hot and the lake promised such relief. She could feel a droplet of sweat roll down between her breasts and settle at her already soaked waistband. Glancing over her shoulder to be certain they were alone, she considered joining him. "Scully?" he asked without turning around. "Okay," she said softly, already unbuttoning her blouse. She stepped out of her shoes, slid her skirt from her hips and quickly removed her hose. Wearing nothing but her bra and panties, she rose up on her toes and dove neatly off the end of the dock. Mulder smiled when he heard the small splash she made as she gracefully entered the water. When her head popped up a few feet from him, he laughed out loud. She chuckled back at him. "Satisfied?" she asked. "Well, I'm one step closer." She floated in the near dark, the cool water extracting the heat from her skin, her nerves. He swam lazy circles around her. She could no longer see him clearly, but could feel the small waves he caused rolling softly over her arms. She rocked gently on the ripples he created. Relaxation swallowed her. Remission from the onerous heat came at last and she sighed her contentment. They searched hard for the truth everyday, these two agents. They were different in most ways, but their quest for the truth was the exception. Truth. An amorphous end to a means that constantly eluded them, always leaving them a desperate step or two behind. The desire to find truth, look upon it, know it, burned in them, defined them. Perhaps their search was a waste of precious time, Scully wondered idly. Perhaps the truth was impossible to uncover. Or, to the contrary, maybe they searched too hard for it. Maybe truth, the only real truth, was a moment like this one. A moment in which a man and a woman could experience quiet peace of mind, floating separately yet together in the cool waters of a Maine lake on a hot July night. It startled her to hear his husky voice unexpectedly close to her ear. "We should go," he whispered. "So soon?" "Yeah." His fingers glided silkily down her arm and curled around her hand. He tugged her gently toward the dock. She let herself be pulled along. she realized without rancor or discontent. He ascended the ladder, water streaming from his hair, his arms, and his long legs. He reached back to help her climb up. She gathered her clothes and he guided her through the dark along the wooden decking. He lifted his shirt from the ground and draped it modestly over her shoulders. It carried his scent. She slid her arms into the long sleeves and buttoned the front closed. He pulled on his trousers over his wet boxers. They walked at a leisurely pace to the car and climbed in. Tomorrow they would probably regret the wet imprints they were creating on the car's upholstery, but tonight they felt satisfied, their heat cooled, if for only awhile. ---------------------------------------------------- -------------- Landry's Motor Lodge, Palmyra, Maine 9:12 PM Scully emerged from the motel bathroom, her robe cinched at her tiny waist and a towel coiled around her head. The skin from her forehead to her cleavage appeared pink, flushed from her shower. The room was chilly, raising gooseflesh along her arms. With a shiver, she drew her robe more tightly around herself and checked the air conditioner. Mulder had turned it to its highest setting, blasting the room with icy air while she showered. She flicked the off switch. Reaching behind the heavy motel drapes, she cranked the window open a crack. Mulder sat at a small table by the curtained window. He aimed a triangle of pizza at his mouth and nearly missed it, his attention focused so intently on the fax in front of him. Scully padded barefoot across the room to stand behind him. "Did you save me any pizza?" "Uh?yeah," he replied absently, not taking his eyes from the page. "What are you reading?" Scully leaned over his shoulder and lifted a slice of pizza from the open box at his elbow. "Results from the DC Crime Lab. This fax was waiting for us at the front desk." Curious, she bent closer in an effort to bring the small type into focus. Her breast grazed his back, abruptly distracting him from the report. His concentration broken, he handed her the fax. He experienced a combination of relief and regret when he felt her body break contact and move away from him. She daintily sat in the chair opposite him and studied the results described in the fax. "The liquid from Bobby's room is water," she said with mild disappointment. "With trace elements of clove and nutmeg oil," he emphasized. "Yes. That's odd." "It is, but I think I can explain it." "You're not going to tell me your boogeyman theory again, are you?" "As a matter of fact?" She leveled her gaze at him and carefully set down her slice of pizza. "?I've been trying to figure out how the Boogeyman actually got inside the children's rooms. Scully, try to imagine that the Boogeyman isn't really a man at all." "Well, that shouldn't be too difficult to do." He ignored her comment and continued. "Suppose the Boogeyman exists as a collection of particles, cells maybe, that are physically separated from one another but act conjointly as a single organism." "That's not possible, Mulder." "It might be," he said. "Termites, ants, bees and some wasps live cooperatively in homeostatic colonies. Apiculturists describe a social insect colony as a superorganism, a multicellular animal, where individual members of the colony are similar to individual cells in an animal. Social insects achieve effective global coordination from simple local behavior." "Let me get this straight. You're saying this man?creature?entity?whatever, is made up of particles or cells that can fly apart and come back together at will, like a colony of bees? That's a leap, Mulder. Do each of these cells you're describing have itsy bitsy wings?" "Nooo. I think each cell is very, very small?" "How small, Mulder?" "Microscopically small." "So?what? How is this related to the water left on the inside sills of Bobby's and Marissa's windows?" she asked, exasperated. "I'm getting to that. I think each cell is small enough to ride on water vapor." "Water vapor? Like steam, fog, clouds?what?" "Like clouds, Scully. Clouds form when water vapor resulting from evaporation rises into the atmosphere, cools and condenses on some form of particulate matter such as dust, ash, smoke?or even cells, if they're small enough. With the high humidity in this region over the past several days, there is ample moisture available for the creation of clouds. I think the creature uses clouds as a mode of transportation, each of its cells riding in a droplet of water vapor. When the creature and the cloud pass through the mesh of a window screen, some moisture is left behind, producing a puddle on the sill. The scent of cloves comes from the creatures cells." Scully shook her head. "But clouds are uncontrollable, Mulder. If a creature such as your Boogeyman existed, with each of its separate parts traveling on minute droplets of water vapor, eventually the entity would aimlessly disjoin in the upper atmosphere. Or, more likely, it would end up in a thousand different locations on the ground as the result of a rain shower or snowstorm. Are you telling me that your Boogeyman can steer a cloud like some kind of?cloud car?" "I don't know, Scully." "How does it lift its victims? Any human being, even a small child, would be too heavy for such an entity to carry away." "I don't know, Scully." "And, Mulder, why would such a creature take a human child?" "Sculleeee?I?don't?know! Maybe it doesn't need a reason. Motive is a human concept, after all. Maybe its behavior is random and purposeless. Maybe it possesses no behavior at all but is more of a chaotic phenomenon than a creature." "I disagree," she said firmly. "I believe it has a reason for doing what it does. I believe it targets its victims with intent and precision." "Scully! Are you admitting to the existence of a boogeyman?" Mulder asked incredulously. An embarrassed expression crossed Scully's face. "Well?not really?I?uh, just?" her voice trailed off. "Sculleeee," he growled her name low in his chest, "You're turning me on." "Mulllderrr," she echoed back to him, her tone warning. "Anyway?what do you make of the last paragraph in the Crime Lab report? They say that the fibers on the carpet sample we took from under Bobby's bed are stretched out, thin and elongated. Some are even broken or ripped off at the ends. Isn't that the opposite of what you'd expect? Shouldn't they be matted from the water?" "Maybe Connie Tredwell is obsessive-compulsive, the Martha Stewart of cleanliness, and vacuums under the beds every day. Now that I think about it, there were no dust bunnies floating around under there." Mulder grabbed the last slice of pizza and took a bite. ---------------------------------------------------- -------------- Tredwell Residence, Newport, Maine 10:22 PM Seven-year-old Caitlin Tredwell lay sleeping soundly outside the covers of her bed. A small oscillating fan spun quietly on her bureau across the room. Curls of her dark hair flitted and tangled across Caitlin's pillow, stirred by hot puffs of air from the fan. Several damp strands stuck to the little girl's flushed cheek. Caitlin's mother Connie had closed her daughter's window and installed the fan earlier in the evening, soon after Benny Blanchard had finished pumping the next door neighbor's septic tank. Connie knew it would take a couple of hours for the odor in the yard to dissipate. She closed up the house and hoped the fan would cool Caitlin enough to allow the child to doze off. An unfamiliar noise at the bedroom window caused Caitlin to roll uneasily in her sleep. Her eyes fluttered open when the sound came again, vibrating across the outside screen. When she heard the insistent reverberation once more, she sat upright. She peered through the dark at her closed window. "Bobby?" she whispered, hoping her missing brother had returned and was simply trying to scare her. She climbed from her bed and took a tentative step toward the window. "SHHHHHH," resonated loudly outside the pane and Caitlin's eyes widened. "Who's there?" she demanded. She cautiously stepped closer to the disturbance and laid her tiny palms against the glass. A black mass shifted abruptly outside; Caitlin recoiled, a tremor of fear quaking her small body. She unsuccessfully gasped for air. Horrified, she watched the broad, dark mass rapidly condense and solidify. A malevolent figure emerged as the black mist coalesced. Malignant, ebon eyes, filled with fury and animus, blinked at her. A great, glossy maw appeared as the inky creature's mouth gaped open; its fluid tongue extended shockingly toward the girl, sliding through the screen and spreading across the glass. Caitlin screamed. ---------------------------------------------------- -------------- Tredwell Residence, Palmyra, Maine 10:47 PM Mulder and Scully arrived at the Tredwell's twenty minutes after receiving a frantic call from Caitlin Tredwell's mother. Mulder parked the car in the familiar drive and they hurried up the front steps. Connie Tredwell stood silhouetted in the door of the lighted entry waiting for them. "Thank you for coming so quickly. I wasn't sure if I should call you or the sheriff, but when Caitlin told me what she saw, it scared the life out of me and I had your card by the phone so I just dialed without really thinking," Connie babbled at the two agents. "It's all right, Mrs. Tredwell," Scully assured her. "We're glad you called us. Can we come in and speak with Caitlin about what she thinks she saw?" "Oh, of course. I'm sorry. I'm such a nervous wreck. Please, come in," Connie ushered the agents inside. Caitlin came running from the livingroom, plowed into Scully and wrapped her short arms around the surprised agent's waist. "Mrs. Scully! Mrs. Scully! It tried to get me!" Caitlin's tears bubbled over. Scully didn't correct the girl's mistaken assumption about her marital status. Instead, she smoothed the girl's hair and murmured, "It's okay, sweetie." "Caitlin, could you tell me and 'Mrs.' Scully exactly what you saw?" Mulder knelt beside the little girl. She unburied her tear-stained face from Scully and nodded solemnly at him. "A monster!" she said. "What kind of monster?" he prodded gently. "A mean, ugly one." "Will you show us where you saw the monster?" he asked her. "No!" she said vehemently and hid her face back in Scully's skirt. "You don't need to be afraid," Scully calmly reassured her. "I'll be with you the whole time. We can hold hands, if you'd like?" she suggested. Meekly, the girl squeaked, "Okay." Caitlin released her iron grip around Scully's waist and promptly grasped the agent's hand. The girl looked nervously up the stairs. "It was in my bedroom," she whispered. Mulder and Connie followed as Scully led the reluctant child up the stairs. "Turn to your right, Agent Scully. Caitlin's room is two doors down," Connie supplied. Caitlin held back at the threshold to her room, even after Scully flicked on the bright overhead light. Scully gave the little girl's hand a gentle squeeze to encourage her and asked, "Where did you see the monster?" "In the window," Caitlin pointed a shaking finger. Mulder strode to the window to investigate. The pane appeared wet on the outside, a smear across the lower half. The lock was secure at the top of the casement. Mulder unlatched it and raised the frame. Leaning close to the screen, he sniffed. "Cloves. Smells like cloves. Pretty strong this time." "Tell us exactly what happened tonight, Caitlin," Scully encouraged the girl. Caitlin swallowed hard. "Well?I?I heard a noise, like a scrape. It came from the window. So I got out of bed to see. It was very big at first but squished itself not so big. It had mean, scary eyes. An' a big mouth. An' a long, long, LONG tongue. It licked the window. An' made a bumping noise." She finished. "It looked like a man?" Mulder asked. "No. It looked like a big, black cloud an' then it looked like a monster," Caitlin explained. "I'm not sleeping in here any more. It might come back," she whispered. Mulder eyes met Scully's, wordlessly telling her they needed to talk somewhere away from the girl and her mother. "Thank you, Caitlin," Scully told the girl, "and you, too, Mrs. Tredwell. This has been very helpful." "Do you think this thing Caitlin saw had anything to do with Bobby's disappearance? Do you think it will come back?" Fear was evident in Connie's voice. "We'll inform you as soon as we know anything certain," Mulder assured Connie. "In the meantime, keep your doors and windows shut and locked, just to be on the safe side. Call us immediately if you see anything you consider suspicious. We'll be in touch." Mulder reached for Scully's elbow and hurried her down the stairs and out to the car. He drove in silence for the first mile. "She saw it, Scully! She saw the Boogeyman!" "Caitlin Tredwell is a frightened little girl with a missing brother. She imagined she saw it, Mulder." "But she described it to us, Scully!" "What she described can be found in any number of children's fairy tales." "A cloud that turns into a man!? I don't remember reading that in any kid's story." "She didn't say 'man,' Mulder, she said 'monster.'" "Tomato, tomahto," he reminded her. "It exists, Scully. I know it. She saw it and I believe her. And I think it's responsible for the kidnappings of all four missing children. If it can solidify into a substantial mass, it could carry away a child. What I can't quite figure out is how a cloud-carrying form can organize into a solid creature." "I have a theory," Scully reluctantly offered in a quiet voice. Mulder's eyebrows shot up his forehead. "Go, Girl!" Scully took a deep breath. "Okay. We've all heard that a dying star can collapsed in upon itself to form an incredibly dense mass, possibly resulting in a black hole that exerts a gravitational pull on objects close by. Right?" "Right on." "Well, according to the work of Roger Penrose and Stephen Hawking?" "Penrose and Hawking? Scully, I'm impressed." "?Penrose and Hawking claim that a black hole has one point, called singularity, that has an endless density and an endless distortion of space-time. In this point of singularity, all known rules of science don't exist anymore." "Ooooo. You'd hate that place." She arched an eyebrow at him. "You're losing me, Scully. What does this have to do with the creature Caitlin described?" "Penrose and Hawking go on to say that the border of a black hole, called the event horizon?" "I think I saw that movie." "Are you going to keep interrupting me or can I finish?" "Sorry." "As I was saying, the event horizon works like a one way door: things may come inside, but may not go back outside. Maybe your so-called-boogeyman works on a similar principle. I think this creature or phenomenon may somehow create and control a gravitational pull strong enough to collapse its separate cells inward, condensing like a contracting star. And like a collapsing star that eventually becomes a black hole, the Boogeyman doesn't carry its victims away, it sucks them into itself?permanently." "How come the creature doesn't suck up everything around it?" Scully thought for a moment. "Mulder, do you remember in the DC lab report the part about the carpet fibers being stretched?" "Yeah. You think the creature's gravitational pull turned the Berber into a shag?" "Could have." "How could it stop with just the victim and a few dust bunnies?" "When a star collapses, it moves more and more rapidly, losing energy, and after a quite short time it stabilizes. Maybe the Boogeyman can achieve stabilization at will. Did I mention that at the point of singularity, all known rules of science don't exist anymore?" "Sounds like a cop-out to me." They had arrived at the motel and Mulder pulled the car into an empty parking space. He shut off the engine. "Well, I don't have all the answers, Mulder. I'm a damn good pathologist but a lousy astrophysicist." "Okay. We'll assume that the Boogeyman begins as a collection of separate cells that travel on water vapor, and is somehow able to control gravity enough to contract its separate parts into a solid mass. The mass becomes dense enough to pull in and crush a child, who may or may not disappear into the creature's 'point of singularity.' Other nearby objects that are located outside the creature's 'event horizon,' are not sucked in. After?swallowing?its victim, the creature stabilizes and disjoins. So how do we capture it, Scully? I kinda doubt the handcuffs will work." "Maybe we can't capture it. But we might be able to figure out how to preclude it. It seems to travel only at night. Maybe it has a problem with daylight." "Like a vampire?" "Vampires don't exist, Mulder." Mulder laughed out loud. "Scully, you don't believe in vampires, but you do believe in the Boogeyman?" "Mulder?," she sighed, "I don't know about you, but I'm tired. I'm going to bed." "Be sure to check underneath it before you get in." ---------------------------------------------------- -------------- Landry's Motor Lodge, Palmyra, Maine 1:02 AM Scully shut her book and set it on the nightstand. She clicked off the lamp. Sliding her bare legs between the bed sheets, she pressed her head lazily into the pillow and let her eyes close. She could faintly hear Mulder's TV in the next room. She could tell he wasn't watching a particular program, but was flipping channels. Low voices, soft music, muffled gunfire followed one after the other in even rotation. The indistinct noise didn't annoy her. To the contrary, she found it a comforting reminder that her partner was nearby. The sound lulled her and became part of her dreams. Her breathing steadied, slowed. She drifted into a relieving sleep. Across the room, the heavy window drape pouched inward. Lifting, falling, lifting again, the fabric billowed. A dark, cottony fog rolled out from beneath the curtain's hem, curling and advancing across the carpeted floor. An endless tide of gray gauze, heavy with humidity, poured silently into the room. The rug disappeared beneath a deep blanket of moist air. A dark cloud filled the horizontal limits of the room and continued to seep inward through the window Scully had opened just a crack earlier in the evening. Pounding like water at the base of a falls, the cloud suddenly gathered and contracted, rushing beneath the bed. The room was silent again. Scully stirred groggily in half sleep. she thought. She rolled onto her side, her hot skin searching for respite on the cool sheets. She let her arm drop over the side of the bed. She drifted back into an easy slumber. A glossy black finger slid wetly out from under the bed and grazed her dangling palm. Gliding smoothly across her fiery skin, the slick creature caressed its way across the back of her hand. It twined damply between her fingers. Scully's hand flexed and she sighed dreamily. An ebony tendril curled around her delicate wrist, exploring its way up her arm. Slipping under her thin nightgown, the silky substance spread across her shoulder. It stroked the flesh of her neck, her breast, her belly. It tightened, tugged, and violently pulled her from the bed. As she tumbled over the edge of the mattress, she awoke with a confused start. Scully struggled against the creature's confining grip. It swirled around her, binding her arms to her sides, restraining her legs. A new mass stretched and bubbled up, inches away from her face. Two inky eyes and a long slash of a mouth coalesced upon the smooth, growing dome. Its gruesome mouth cracked open, splitting its face nearly in half to expose a massive, writhing tongue. The syrupy tip extended out toward Scully. She felt the thick slime press against her chin and slide its way up to the edge of her lower lip. She could smell the strong scent of cloves. She screamed, crying out Mulder's name once before the black ooze rolled into her mouth, across her tongue. She could taste its spiciness. Mulder heard Scully's desperate call and hurled himself from his room, grabbing his weapon from the nightstand on his way. In seconds, he reached her door only to find it locked. He aimed his gun and fired, splitting the lockset from the doorframe. He thrust himself across the threshold and froze at the sight of Scully wrapped in a blanket of glossy black, struggling for air and freedom. "NO!" he yelled and straddled her, roughly hauling her into a sitting position. Her eyes were wide with terror. He brought his arm heavily down through the bloated tongue that bridged the creature to Scully. The connection severed and Mulder swiped his palm across her face, pulling away a handful of gooey slime from her nose and lips. He dug his fingers into her mouth, frantically scooping the muddy substance out of her throat in an effort to help her breathe. She gagged on his fingers as he cleared her windpipe. Coughing, she finally sucked in a desperate lungful of air. Then, the creature turned itself on Mulder, flowing up his arms, covering his chest, wrapping around his neck and shoulders. It quickly slid from Scully, leaving her alone in order to envelop her partner. She watched horrified as the creature tightened around Mulder's neck. Shakily she stood and with all her weight, she tackled Mulder, plowing him and the creature into the bathroom. The creature flowed over Mulder's head, through his hair, across his closed eyes and lips. It forced itself up Mulder's nostrils and painfully filled his sinuses. He opened his mouth to cry out and, in an instant, the monster expanded into him, across his teeth and against his tongue. Scully stumbled past them and grabbed her hair drier from the vanity. She aimed it at the creature and turned it on full blast. The effect was immediate. The black creature shrank and hardened, dropping away from Mulder in tarry chunks. Mulder sat up on the bathroom floor, catching his breath. Free of the monster, he looked down around him to see that he was surrounded by several dozen pieces of rock-hard, glassy lumps. Scully turned off the hair drier and with trembling hands, set it down beside the sink. She stepped out of the bathroom. In a moment, she returned with several evidence bags. The agents collected the scattered chunks and bagged them in silence. When they were finished, Mulder turned to Scully. "How'd you know the hair drier would kill it, Scully?" he asked her seriously. "I didn't. I just guessed. The Boogeyman seemed to need water vapor in order to move about, even in its condensed state. I just figured that if my hair drier could get the water out of my hair everyday, maybe it could dry out the creature, too." "Good figuring, Scully." He paused. "Uh?thanks?for saving my life." "Just part of the job, Mulder." ---------------------------------------------------- -------------- Hoover Building, Washington, DC 2:12 PM For the last two hours, Scully had been sitting at her computer typing up her report on the case in Maine. It was due on the Assistant Director's desk at three o'clock. She chewed her lower lip, hands hovering above the keyboard, and tried to think of another word for 'boogeyman.' Mulder waggled an envelope in front of her. "What's that?" She took it from him, lifted the flap and peeked in. "Lab analysis on the creature." "What does it say?" "'Inconclusive.'" "Wonderful. That's not going to help my report." "Well, my own scientific studies show that most Mulders prefer their boogeyman chunky style, not smooth." "You making a sandwich or helping me with my report, Mulder?" She looked back at her computer screen. "Without corroborating evidence, no one is going to believe this report. I was there and I don't believe it." "What's not to believe?" he asked her with a half- smile. "You turned a kid-crushing, cloud-car driving, gravity defying killer entity monster into a lump of coal with your hair drier. Sounds like typical FBI work to me." "Right, Mulder. I'm sure the AD will see it that way, too." "You could always try diverting his attention with a couple of racy paragraphs about skinny-dipping in Big Indian Lake." She raised her eyebrows at him and considered. "You think that would work?" He grinned, reached across her keyboard and typed. THE END Feedback is welcome. This is my first attempt at X-File Fan Fiction, so any comments or suggestions, good or bad, will be appreciated. Send your thoughts to: nejake@tds.net. Thanks!