TITLE: Snowman
AUTHOR: aka "Jake"
INFO: Written for I Made This Productions Virtual Season 8, my original version of Snowman was changed from MSR to UST at the request of the production crew. What follows is my MSR version.
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 who 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 akajakefanfic@gmail.com.  

SNOWMAN
By aka "Jake" 

PROLOGUE
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Caribou Corners High School
Caribou Corners, Maine
Friday, February 16
2:59 PM

"Heads up," a voice warned. A pencil whizzed like a dart toward the blackboard, just missing the teacher's right shoulder. It ricocheted off the wall and landed at Ms. Spencer's feet.

"Almost nailed her." The class of tenth graders erupted in laughter and jeers. 

At the front of the room, Connie Spencer blinked in surprise. The pencil's broken tip pointed at her like an accusing finger and she struggled to keep her hands from shaking. When had life gotten so out of control? Certainly, before today or even the start of school five months ago. To be honest, Connie Spencer couldn't remember a time when she hadn't felt afraid.

She picked up a piece of chalk and wrote the students' next 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" -- 

Groans rumbled through the room, interrupted only when the bell rang, ending the school day and marking the start of Winter Break. Books slammed shut. Chairs scraped away from desks. Students poured out the door, hurrying to their lockers and their coats. Connie Spencer stared at the empty room and breathed in the silence with a feeling of relief.

"Hi Mommy!" Six-year-old Katie twirled into the classroom, arriving from her afternoon dance lesson. "We practiced pirouettes today." She proudly demonstrated her new skill.

"That's excellent, Katie." Connie watched her daughter whorl around her. "Did your dad drive you?"

"Nope. Miss Tredwell drove." 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, that's what she said!"

Connie was certain Katie told the truth. 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 instructor gave 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 temper knotted her stomach even after two years. Although Tom had been granted visitation rights with Katie, a court order kept him a safe distance away from Connie. 

"You ready, honey?" Connie grabbed her coat from a hook behind the door and put it on.

"I know a song, Mommy. Wanna hear it?" The girl didn't wait for an answer and began singing. "Frosty the snooowmaaan, is a fairytale they SAY. He was made of SNOW but the children KNOW how he came to life one DAY!" 

"That's very good." Connie took hold of Katie's mittened hand and led her into the hall. 

Katie's rubber boots squeaked on the polished tile as they walked to the school's science lab, four doors down. 

"Hi, Uncle Phil!" Katie waved through the open door. 

"Hello, Katie. Hi, Con." Phil Peters smiled and waved back. "Doin' anything special for Winter Break?" He stepped into the hall, sliding his arms into his coat sleeves before pinching Katie's nose and making her giggle. 

"No. No plans. How about you, Philly?" Connie answered, her unease lessening in the presence of her calm older brother, the school's biology teacher.

"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.

The three continued down the hall together. Peters held open the exit 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. 

"No, thanks. We enjoy the walk."

"Okeydoke. Hey, if the weatherman's right about Sunday's snowstorm, I'll be by to shovel your driveway." He smiled and headed to the parking lot.

"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 its neck and two tiny stone eyes appeared to squint back at Connie. A wide line of pebbles dotted its white face, creating a lop-sided grin while skinny stick arms branched out into woody fingers that swayed in the breeze, as if waving hello. Katie rubbed her mittens over the snowman's big round belly.

Connie was about to call her back when three of her students exited the school. Danny Davis, Ricky Hart, and Benjamin Shute. Troublemakers, all three.

"Hey, Ms. Spencer," Danny sniggered as the boys came her way. 

They formed a small circle around her. 

"She looks kinda nervous, Danno. Maybe you scare her," Ricky said. 

All three boys were a head taller than Connie. They moved in closer. She felt trapped.

"Do I scare you, Ms. Spencer? BOO!" Danny was so close, his breath blew a lock of her hair into her eyes. 

"G-go home, boys." She tried to keep her voice steady but it whined from her throat like the wind skimming across the icy school yard. 

The boys laughed. "G-g-g-go home, boys, g-g-go home," they mimicked.  

"Sorry, we're havin' waaaay too much fun right here, Ms. Spencer. Aren't you havin' fun?" Danny asked. 

Connie shook her head. "P-please go..." Unwelcome tears blurred her vision. In her mind's eye she saw her ex-husband's raging face floating between her and Danny. She could almost feel Tom Spencer's brutal fingers crushing her throat. 

A swirl of snow billowed around the group. Connie momentarily lost sight of Katie in the squall. The wind grew stronger. Louder. A row of long icicles cracked loose from the school's overhanging roof and plunged to the sidewalk, one after the next, detonating on impact with the ear-splitting rattle of a Gatling gun. Connie blinked at each explosion. The squall unexpectedly sucked skyward, popping her ears. The air cleared. 

Danny Davis lay at her feet, sprawled on the sidewalk with a four-foot-long icicle stuck through his neck. Blood pumped from the wound, creating a steaming, red halo around his head. His mouth was packed solid with snow. 

*Schht, schht* -- a scraping sound like snow on ice drew Connie's attention away from the dying boy. She turned to see Katie standing safe and sound beside the snowman. Relief flooded through her but it was short-lived. She was certain she saw the snowman's stony smile twitch as 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 an onslaught of stinging sleet that pinged and bounced off the 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 in 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." 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 the Bumble. I identified with the prospector's elusive quest for the unattainable." 

"Silver and gold?" That didn't sound like him.

"Only 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. "Pay dirt, Scully! I may have just struck the mother lode," he chuckled.

"Stop it, Mulder. And tell me about our case."

He withdrew his hand 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 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 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. Get to the point if there is one."

"There is. Ms. Spencer's six-year-old daughter was present, too. She claims a snowman killed Danny."

"A snowman?"

"A snowman."

"This girl is how old?"

"Six. Her name is Katie."

"Explain to me why you think Katie's claim is worth risking our lives driving to Caribou Corners, Maine, in a snowstorm?"

"Katie's version of events 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 sounds?"

"I do. Or I did. But after a little digging, I've changed my mind."

"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 practically vibrated with excitement and Scully marveled at his 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 tale.

"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 story.

"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 hurled 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. Then 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 trench 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 her driveway where Phil leaned on his shovel staring at the strangers, too.

"Ms. Spencer?" the man asked. 

Connie nodded and watched as he offered the red-haired woman his arm and escorted her through the snow to the cleared portion of the walk. He reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a badge. "I'm Special Agent Fox Mulder and this is my partner Dana Scully. We're with the FBI."

"Phil?" Connie called to her brother. 

He 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. You're here about Danny Davis?"

"Yes. May we ask you each a few questions?" Agent Mulder asked.

"Sure." 

Peters started to usher them to the house, when Agent Scully said, "Actually, we'd prefer to interview you separately. The garage, Mr. Peters?" She gestured toward its open door.

"Oh...uh, sure. Whatever you say."

"Shall we go inside, Ms. Spencer?" Agent Mulder asked, guiding Connie with a sweep of his arm.

Connie stabbed her shovel into the snowbank and led him into the house. "How 'bout we sit by the woodstove where it's warm?" she said, thinking he must be cold without a proper coat. 

"Sounds good." He smiled with appreciation when they entered the living room, where the woodstove blazed and put out a welcoming heat. He removed his gloves. 

Connie motioned him to the couch. She sat in the rocker across from him.

"Tell me what happened at the school last Friday, Ms. Spencer," Mulder said. His voice had a calming influence, much like Philly's. Not a trace of annoyance or accusation.

"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 sort of 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 on home, but they wouldn't go." Connie's chest tightened 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 catch her breath, 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 wish now flared in 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, Katie is just a little girl with a big immagination. She imagined it, is all. 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 witness to one terrible bloody encounter after the next. Tom Spencer never hit his daughter, but Connie had suffered his unpredictable rages 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, if you're okay with it," Mulder said. When Connie's eyes widened, he quickly added, "Just about last Friday."

"I'd rather you didn't."

"I 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 practically 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 it, 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?"

"Yes, 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 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 six 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?" Agent Mulder poked his head around the doorframe. "If you're finished here, I'd like to head over to the school. I want to get a look at Frosty."

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Caribou River
2:32 PM

Ricky Hart reset the tip-up on his fishing trap. He used a beat-up skimmer to clear slush from the hole. A fat hornpout lay dying at his feet, its gasping gills moving slower and slower as it simultaneously suffocated and froze. Several yards away, two more traps sat ready to snare a fish or two. 

"Leave it be, Jack!" Ricky snapped at his dog. The shaggy mixed-breed danced around the fishing hole, begging for a handout. To keep the dog away from his catch, Ricky tossed the fish into an Igloo cooler and closed the lid. He aimed a half-hearted kick at the dog. 

A relentless northerly wind blew across the frozen river. Keeping an eye on his traps, Ricky turned his back to the chill. The cold penetrated through the worn fabric of his jeans and jacket, making him shiver. He shoved his hands into his pockets.

Glancing at the high school perched on a rise above the river, he thought back to Friday. Danny's death was all 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, he'd swear on a stack of Bibles 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 up in a loony bin and throw away the key. No way was he going back to her class, even if it meant a suspension.

Jack barked and trotted to the most distant trap. Snout buried in the fishing hole, the dog nearly sprang 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. The hair on his back bristled. He barred his teeth and growled, even as his tail slid between his legs.

"Jack! What's a'matter, boy?" Ricky took a step toward him. 

*Schht. Schhhttt! Schhhhhtttttt!*

A scraping blast of air plowed into Ricky's back, popping his eardrums and propelling him forward. He stumbled. A frosty arm, bitter cold and alarmingly powerful, caught him around the waist. The arm squeezed, tighter and tighter. It forced the air from his lungs. Ricky tried to inhale but couldn't. 

He was blinded when a massive snowy hand folded over his face. The intense cold froze his cheeks and lips. With his lungs hitching for air, his arms flailed like the hornpout's gills, desperate at first, then slower and slower. 

I'm dying, the boy thought as a fist of snow filled his mouth. It plowed coldly across his tongue. Pressed against the back of his throat. It continued to push into him, expanding as it went. Deeper and deeper into his gut. His insides stretched, ungodly painful, until they suddenly split, bursting like a frozen water pipe. Packed solid with icy crystals, Ricky lost consciousness and slipped stiffly to the frozen surface of the river.  

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 girl wrestle with a snowball more than half her size. Unable to budge it another inch, a man they assumed was her father joined her effort, helping her lift it into place atop the bottom half of her snowman.  

"Next we make Frosty's head, Daddy!" Katie squealed and danced a circle around the headless snowman.  

Mulder held out his badge as he and Scully approached Tom Spencer.

"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 dancing. 

"Me?" she asked.

Scully approached her and knelt in the snow, putting her eye-to-eye with the girl. 

"Katie, my name is Dana," she introduced gently. "That's a good looking snowman you're making."

"Yep!" The girl beamed. "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 her ice cream-colored cap and a shallow crescent dimpling her wind-chapped chin, she resembled her mother, but without Connie's undercurrent 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 a snowy mitten and dug into her pocket. When she unfolded her fingers, a snow-white stone rested in her palm.

"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. Worry 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 snowman.

To Scully, the snowman looked like any average snowmen: three giants spheres of snow, one stacked atop the next. The snowman leaned a bit to one side, giving the impression of motion. Small stones defined its eyes and mouth; its expression appeared grim but not necessarily malevolent. 

"Tell me what happened, Katie," Scully asked gently.

The girl chewed on her lower lip. Her brown eyes filled 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?"

"Yes, 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'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 the 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 fishing holes. She dodged a lopsided snowman located halfway between the farthest hole and the body. The snowman leaned toward the corpse like a curious bystander at a car accident. 

"You did right, Anne," Riley assured her, disappointed to see her 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 riverbank 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 he would have had to chisel the boy out of the ice in the morning. "Damn," he swore again.

"Is the ambulance coming?" Anne asked.

"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--" Riley 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 Dana 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?" Riley asked, clearly irritated by the agents' appearance and presumption. 

"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 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. 

"He likely fell and drowned," Riley said. He eyed Mulder who had plucked the carrot nose from the snowman's face.

"While it's theoretically feasible to drown in a fishing hole," Scully said, "it wouldn't account for the way this boy's throat and mouth are 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 riverbank with a sweep of her ungloved hand. 

"I was told you witnessed the death of Danny Davis, too. Is that true?" Mulder asked, then 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 sounded 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," Riley cut in. "You've only got Connie's say so on it."

"Then why was Connie granted a restraining order?" Anne asked.

"You know as well as I do why the judge granted that order."

"Why was that?" Mulder asked, his carrot half eaten.

"If it's any of the FBI's 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 pointed the remaining nub of his 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 said. 

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 turned his attention to the now nose-less snowman. 

"Jesus Christ." Riley rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me you believe that foolish old tale." 

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Connie Spencer Residence
4:41 PM

Tom Spencer stood at the end of Connie's walkway 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 that 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 in the late afternoon dark, reflecting the glow of the living room windows. Where the shadows 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 in the 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 his lower back, sending a spiral of pain through his kidneys. His knees buckled and he fell forward. With his hands deep in his pockets, he was unable to stop himself, protect his head. He hit the ground hard. His face bounced against the frozen walk, splitting his lip. He watched a pool of steamy blood form in the snow beneath his throbbing nose. He tried to free his trapped hands, but a crushing weight pressed into his back. It pinned him in place. He thought he heard a rib pop. Then a second. He tried to scream, but couldn't suck in enough air to call for help.

Two icy hands wrapped around his throat and squeezed until his larynx cracked with a painful snap. 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. 

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 the window beside him.

"He's not home, Scully."

"Should we 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 going to--" 

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. 

He spun to face Scully. She looked as surprised as he felt. 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, he marched toward her. 

"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. 

When she glanced over her shoulder to gauge the terrain -- or find an escape route -- he 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..."

Struggling against his bear hug, she managed to slip a hidden fistful of snow down his already chilled neck. He howled at the shocking cold of it and nearly dropped her. Off balance, he tumbled to the ground, taking her with him. He rolled them through the snow until she was trapped firmly beneath him.

"Now what, Scully?" He grinned and scooped up a handful of snow.

"You wouldn't."

"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 warmly against his cold 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, laughing. He paused, hand in the air, snow inches from her face. "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 moved the snow away from her face.

"Are you laying on top of me, Agent Mulder?"

"So I am." He let the snow sift through his fingers and kissed her reddened nose. Combing her wet hair away from her face, he considered kissing her again. 

*Schht. Schht. Schhhht.*

Startled by the scrape of approaching footsteps, Mulder scrambled to his feet. He hauled Scully up after him. 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 man, no more than a silhouette, shuffled to his front door while Mulder and Scully self-consciously dusted 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 man unlocked the door and started to step 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 stare at the Jenkin's appearance. He stood at least an inch or two taller than Mulder, despite his bent posture. Curved like a branch weighted with snow, his head swayed in front of his chest as if blown by the wind. More startling still was Jenkins' complexion; the skin of his face had no pigment whatsoever. His hair, his brows, his lashes were snow-white. Pale lips split a paler face. His eyes were a shocking frosty white-blue. They sparked with irritation.

"Ask your damn questions," Jenkins said. He invited them no farther than the front hall and left the door ajar. 

The temperature in the hall was frigid, at least ten or twenty degrees colder inside than out. The chill raised the hairs on the back of Mulder's neck. 

"Did you witness the death of Danny Davis?" Mulder asked, his breath fogging the air.

"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 shifted impatiently, clearly wanting to be rid of them.

"You believe in the legend?" Mulder aksed.

"'Course. Don't you?" 

"Why would a snowman kill Danny?" Scully asked.

Jenkins stilled for a moment as his white-blue eyes studied Scully. "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 a row of yellowed teeth, the only color in his snow-white face. "Takin' out the trash."

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Caribou Corners Motor Inn
6:57 PM

Mmmmm, Scully hummed with pleasure as she lowered herself into the bathtub. Steamy water and a froth of sweet-smelling bubbles caressed her skin. She sank up to her neck and leaned back. Closing her eyes, she let her hands float freely at her sides.

"Scully?" Mulder's voice came to her from the other side of the bathroom door, sounding hesitant.

"S'open," she said without lifting her lids.

"Pizza's here," he announced, opening the door. 

The smell of oregano wafted through the humid air. She opened one eye.

"Vegetarian?"

"In a manner of speaking." He stepped into the room, pizza box in hand, its lid open.

"What does that mean?"

"It means there were two choices: pepperoni and double cheese. Since there aren't any pepperoni on this one, I'd call it vegetarian."

"Sounds fine. Feed me." She opened her mouth for a bite. 

He hooked a slice from the box and aimed the point at her waiting tongue. 

"Mmmm," she moaned, savoring the cheese and spicy sauce. "You going to join me?" she asked once she'd swallowed her bite.

"Are we talking about the pizza or the bath?"

"Whichever."

He grinned and dropped the pizza slice back in the box, which he set on the floor beside the tub. In one quick, graceful motion, he hauled his shirt and t-shirt up and off over his head. Both landed in a heap beside the pizza box.

"'Nother bite." She watched him through slitted eyes. 

"Yes, Your Highness." He bowed before retrieving the slice and holding it up to her mouth again. 

As she chewed, he toed off his shoes and yanked the socks from his feet. He unbuckled his belt and let his pants slide to the floor.

Scully lazily raised an eyebrow. "Keep going." 

He pushed his boxers to his feet and stepped out of them. 

She boldly surveyed his lean body, allowing her gaze to travel slowly up from his toes to the tousled hair on the top of his head. No doubt about it, he was a good looking man. Especially without clothes.  

"Nice." She expected him to strike a goofy body-builder pose but he surprised her when he blushed.

Ducking his head to hide his embarrassment, he patted her shoulder and urged her to the middle of the tub. "Lean forward. I'll wash your back." 

Water splashed as he stepped in behind her and settled into place. His knees rose up out of the suds on either side of hers. His feet vied for the space beyond her toes.

"Does this mean you're not going to feed me any more?" she asked, purposely trying to sound petulant.

He stretched a long arm over the rim of the tub and snagged her partially-eaten slice from the box. He aimed it 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. 

She ate and leaned into his palms as he slathered her with soap. 

"Still think Danny's death was an accident?" He scooped warm water over her shoulders to rinse them.

"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 to him until she was leaning 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? Have any theories?" She propped her arms on his knees.

"Oh, you know me. 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 limp fingers. He put his lips to her ear and whispered, "It was the snowman."

"With a 'magic' rock in his head?"

"Mm-hm."

"Then who put the rock in his head, Mulder? And why?" She rolled against his shoulder and he kissed her ear. "Jenkins maybe? You have to admit he's strange." 

"True. But I checked his background before we left DC. As a matter of fact, I checked all the witnesses' backgrounds. None of them have criminal records. Not so much as a parking ticket."

"That could just mean the killer is clever." She ran her palms down Mulder's calves, dipping her fingers beneath the water to skim his ankles before reversing direction and caressing her way back up to his knees. "Connie Spencer had motive and opportunity." 

"Anne Tredwell swears Connie wouldn't kill a fly."

"Sheriff Riley disagrees with Tredwell about Connie's emotional state."

"I don't think she did it. For now I'm sticking with my snowman theory." He slipped his arms around her waist and rested his chin on the crown of her head. "Scully, can I confess something to you?"

She felt his Adam's apple glide against the back of her skull.

"Yes. Of course. What is it?"

"I hate snowmen. I'm not afraid of them. I just hate them."

"There's something very familiar about this confession. You aren't going to describe a wacko childhood snowman epiphany, are you?"

"Well...I wouldn't call it 'wacko' necessarily."

"No? Does it end with a girlie scream?"

"No. Well. Okay, maybe a little scream. But a very manly one."

Scully smiled. "Tell me your snowman story, Mulder."

He shifted behind her as if settling in for a long tale. "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?"

"More like a fort. Or 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 support to hold 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?" She couldn't help but chuckle.

"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?"

"Yes. 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 judgement on this case, is it? You sound like you might be harboring an anti-snowman bias."

"I'm trying to keep an open mind. I--"  

Out in the bedroom, the phone rang. Mulder heaved himself from the tub. Water cascaded from his arms and legs as he hurried to the phone. Scully sank into the waves and listened to his one-sided conversation, not much more than a series of "uh-huhs."

"Well?" she called out after hearing him say "Thanks, we'll be right there."

He returned to the bathroom and grabbed a towel. He passed one to her, too. "There's been another death. Sheriff's decided to call this one a murder."

"Who's been killed?"

"Tom Spencer. Connie's been brought in for questioning."  

ACT III
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Interrogation Room 1
Aroostook County Sheriffs Office
Houlton, Maine
7:47 PM

Connie slumped in her chair, her arms hugging her sides, her head bowed. Sheriff Riley paced angry circles around the room while he fired off questions. Mulder and Scully, still wearing their coats, leaned against a wall beside the closed door. 

The Sheriff was becoming visibly irritated by Connie's refusal to cooperate. "Did you kill your husband?" He pounded his fist on the table in front of her.

She jumped, clearly startled. Staring at her lap, she whispered, "Ex-husband."

"Fine. Did you kill your *ex*-husband?" 

Connie wagged her head. 

"But you wanted him dead, didn't you?"

"No." She shrank in her seat. A tear slid 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!" She looked up for the first time. "I swear I didn't."

Mulder wanted to interrupt, stop the Sheriff's badgering. Connie wasn't guilty, he was sure. But Scully was watching him. On the drive over, she'd reminded him of his counterproductive habit of antagonizing local law officials, which more often than not ended badly. He had no patience for pretense and he certainly didn't have her ability to play well with others. He was pretty sure he'd flunked that subject in kindergarten. But for now, he kept his mouth shut. As difficult as it was.

The Sheriff loomed over Connie. "What happened three years ago?"

She shook her head. 

"You know what I'm talking about," he said. "You pointed a gun at a student."

Mulder exchanged glances with Scully.

"T-that's not t-true!" Connie insisted. "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-no! 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, was it?"

"Yes--"

"You killed Danny. You killed Ricky. And you killed Tom. Now you're going to prison -- for the rest of your life."

"No, please--"

*Schhht-scht.*

The inward swing of the door interrupted them. 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. Mulder displayed his badge and the lawyer's eyebrows climbed higher. "FBI?" she asked.

"I didn't call them, Vick," the Sheriff said.

"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 said. "Katie's with Anne. She's fine."

Connie sagged with obvious relief.

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 happy to perform those autopsies right now," Scully said.

"By all means. The sooner we know the cause of death, the sooner Connie Spencer will begin her life sentence."

"Connie Spencer didn't murder anyone," Mulder said. 

"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."

The Sheriff bristled. "I've changed my mind. Tom's murder convinced me she'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.

"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 Fucking Christ! Don't tell me you believe that crap about a storybook snowman. That's a fairytale, for godsake. The idea is ridiculous. Our killer is right here."

Before Mulder could say anything more, Scully placed a hand on his arm. "You check on Ben, Mulder. I'll perform the autopsies. Maybe we can solve this case before morning." 

Giving her a quick nod, Mulder brushed past the Sheriff and headed for the exit.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Shute Residence
Caribou Corners
9:07 PM

Mulder mounted the Shute's front steps, taking care not to slip on the ice. He rapped loudly on the storm door and waited.

*Schht. Schht.* Frozen tree branches rasped overhead. Mulder raised his collar against the wind. He knocked again.

*Schhht. Schhht.* Peering over his shoulder into the dark, Mulder watched the wind blow fine snow over the driveway. Ice-covered branches waved at the starless sky.

Inside the house, someone shuffled toward him. The door swung open to reveal a beer-bellied man with an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. He frowned when Mulder presented his badge. He scratched at his unshaved chin, then grunted with clear displeasure as he waved Mulder in.

"What the hell do you want?" the man asked. 

"I'm looking for Benjamin Shute. Is he your son, sir?"

"Christ almighty, what's the boy done now?"

"He hasn't done anything, Mr. Shute. I'm only concerned about his safety. Is he at home?"

"Up in his room. As usual."

"You're certain?"

"Course I'm certain. I can hear his friggin' rock 'n' roll blastin' all the way down here."

It was true. Mulder could clearly hear the thrum of drums and a bass guitar. 

"Mind if we check, sir, just to make sure?"

"For chrissake." The man turned and lumbered toward the back of the house. Mulder followed him down a dark hall and up a steep staircase. 

"What makes you think my son ain't safe?" 

"Ricky Hart was killed today, sir. I think your son may be the killer's next target."

Shute was genuinely shocked. He pounded a beefy fist against his son's bedroom door. "Benjy! Benjy, open this fuckin' door!" he shouted to be heard above the blare of music.

The door slapped open, intensifying the screams of the Pajama Slave Dancers. The boy's father bumped past his skinny son and shut off the boom box.

"Christ, Benjy, you're gonna go deaf listenin' to that shit."

The boy ignored his father's warning and thrust his chin at Mulder. "Who's he?"

"FBI agent. Claims your life's in danger. Says Ricky's dead." 

"Rick's dead?" Benjy's eyes rounded. "Holy shit. I just saw him 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 fuck are you talkin' about?"

"Benjy, watch your goddamn 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. I look like a baby to you?"

Mulder disregarded the question. "Why were you at Miss Tredwell's?" 

"She pays me to shovel her driveway."

"You see anything strange while you were there?"

"Strange like what?"

"Strange like out of the ordinary."

The boy shook his head, then blushed with embarrassment. "Uh...yeah, there was somethin' I guess. While I was shovelin', I...uh...thought I heard...well, a voice. A whisper, kinda. I-I thought at first it was just the wind."

"What did it say?"

"It said, 'Catch me if you can.' Does that 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 owned the place. He raised a shovel at us once."

"Why did he do that?"

"I dunno. He's a freak." Ben shrugged and stared down at the worn floorboards.

"Boys'll be boys, Agent Mulder." A nervous laugh shook Mr. Shute.

"Ben, I want you to stay inside for the next day or two," Mulder told the boy, "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." Mr. Shute thrust a finger at his son'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. The sternum with its attached cartilage resembled a giant, bony spider when she removed it from the chest. She set it in a tray beside the corpse. Folding back the boy's skin like a pair of bloody wings, she exposed the lungs and liver, the burst trachea, the overstretched esophagus. 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 exhibited blistering from 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 were severely distended. She prodded the right bronchus. It was hard. Frozen. As was the external serous coat of the lungs. Using a scalpel, she cut carefully 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 an icy cylinder from the right bronchus, a barrel of frozen snow. At its center, she discovered a small, white stone. She used her index finger to dig it out.  

"Ouch!" She dropped the stone. Even through her latex glove, the rock was so cold it hurt. Using steel pincers this time, she lifted it to inspect it more closely. 

Her eyes widened as a coat of frosty crystals formed thickly around the rock, expanding it until it resembled a miniature snowball.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Caribou Corners High School
10:06 PM

"What in hell...?" Mulder hit the car's brakes and skidded to a stop. He threw the car into reverse and floored the gas, spinning the tires on the snow-covered street. All the lights were on at the school. Their glow illuminated an astonishing fairytale kingdom of frozen castles, an immense dragon, an army of snowmen in the schoolyard. Mulder shut off the engine and exited the car.

The sculptures must've been created sometime after he and Scully had left earlier in the day in preparation for tomorrow's Winter Carnival. But the size and number of them seemed physically impossible considering the short amount of time since he was last there. Their sudden appearance made them seem all the more mystical.

Drawn like a child to Santa's Village, Mulder entered the first of several castles, walking beneath a toothed parapet and around a barrel-shaped turret. He ran his gloved hand along its icy wall as he walked. Arched doors led through twelve-foot-high walls at regular intervals. He peered through one after the next but could see little inside the castle's dark rooms. 

Beyond the first castle, Mulder came upon a gargantuan snow-scaled serpent. He stopped at the dragon's yawning head to touch a finger to one of its sharp icicle teeth. A glossy tongue curved inside its gaping jaws.

Moving on, he found a phalanx of snowmen lining an imaginary parade ground. Grim-mouthed and stony-eyed, they blocked his path. He studied their white faces. Nothing stirred except their willowy arms, flailed by the chilly wind.

"At ease, men." 

Shit, he hated snowmen. 

Nervously, he started whistling Frosty the Snowman and headed back to the car.

*Schht. Schhht.*

He stopped whistling.

*Schht. Schhht.*

He drew his gun.

*Schht. Schhht.*

Something moved on the far side of the schoolyard. Something white. And tall. 

"Federal agent!" Mulder shouted. "Freeze!" The irony of the demand wasn't lost on him. 

"Jus' me, Mr. Mulder," Elwood Jenkins hollered back.

Mulder chuffed with relief. He holstered his weapon and crossed the schoolyard to Jenkins.

"Still trackin' your killer?" The janitor leaned on a snow shovel. The school's fluorescent lights tinted his pale skin an icy blue. "You might have a hard time catchin' this one."

"Why's that?"

"Snow can be an unpredictable thing. 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 ghostly 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
11:42 PM

The body of Tom Spencer lay on Scully's autopsy table, split open with a Y-incison. 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 suspected she would find one in Tom Spencer as well. For the past hour she'd watched the first stone grow thick with frost where it sat on a stainless steel tray. It had increased in circumference by several inches until it now resembled a four-inch snowball. And apparently it was still growing, despite the fact that Scully had set the tray 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 this time. Although she had thoroughly searched Ricky Hart's chest for any 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."

He gestured to the stone she held in her pincers. "What's that?"

"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 in hell is that?" 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. "Aside from the stones, both victims' 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 have to admit, 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 hour."

"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." 

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


Sheriff Riley stepped out of the morgue into a gust of swirling snow. He fitted his hat more tightly to his head and zipped his jacket. It wasn't a night fit for man or beast. And that's exactly why he never expected to see a tall, white figure bending over the hood of his cruiser.

He strode down the walkway toward the stranger, hand resting on the gun at his hip. 

"Hey! What are you doing there?" Riley shouted.

The stranger spun and charged at him, moving at an alarming speed. *Schht. Schhht.* A blast of razor-sharp sleet peppered Riley's face. He was momentarily blinded. A gust of wind whistled past his ears. It seemed to say: "Catch me if yoooou caaaan." When his vision cleared, there was nothing to see. The stranger was gone.

"Nerves must be playing tricks on me." 

He hurried to the cruiser. At the driver's door, the heel of his boot hit a patch of ice and he started to slip. "Shit!" He lost his balance and toppled backward. He fell with a bone-jarring thump. "Dammit!" Pain sparked up his spine.  

*Catch me! Catch me if yoooou caaaan!*

Sitting on the snowy ground, ass aching, Sheriff Riley drew his gun and peered into the blowing snow. His hat flew from his head and whirled wildly away.

*Schhht. Schhhht. Schhhhhht.*

Seemingly out of nowhere, a snowy fist slammed into his jaw. He yelped. Dropped his gun. It slid out of reach. A second wallop hit him on the bridge of his nose, drawing blood. A third strike knocked him flat on his back. 

He felt frosty fingers grip his ankles. He was dragged dizzily through the snow. Thrashing his arms, he tried to grab onto something solid. 

"Who are you?" he yelled, unable to make out the identity of his assailant. "What the hell do you want?"

With a pull that nearly tore his legs from his hips, Riley felt himself hurled through the air. He collided into the morgue's granite steps. The impact emptied his lungs and numbed his legs and arms. He blinked in disbelief when a seeming truckload of snow plowed straight at him. He tried to roll out of its way but it came too quickly. Pinned him in place. The weight was ungodly. The snow hard-packed and immovable. He struggled to free himself, to breathe. He felt paralyzed. Helpless. He gasped, tried to fill his lungs. An unlikely blizzard of wind rushed past his lips but brought no relief. It rushed down his throat like a freight train. Inflated his lungs beyond their capacity. In a matter of seconds, his chest exploded.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Aroostook County Morgue
1:57 AM

Mulder parked his car beside the Sheriff's cruiser. He was surprised to see it still here. Scully had told him on the phone that Riley left at least forty-five minutes ago. He stepped from the car and put his foot down on top of a pistol, half-buried in snow.

"This can't be good." He picked up the gun and pocketed it, then drew his own 
weapon. 

Nearby trees pitched and crackled in the wind. A hulking snowman stood guard beside the sidewalk. Its flinty eyes seemed directed straight at Mulder. Wedged tightly atop the snowman's head was the Sheriff's hat. 

"Nope, not good...at all."

Concern for Scully rolled uneasily through Mulder's gut. He ignored the snowman and headed up the walk. Near the steps, he noticed something strange and spiky protruding from the top of a tall snowbank. He slid his flashlight from his pocket and panned its beam over the bank.  

"Shit."

Five fingers curled stiffly out of the snow.

Mulder clambered up the bank, sinking into the drift. He exchanged his gun for his cell phone and dialed 911. Cradling the phone under his chin, he pawed at the snow, uncovering a buried wrist, an arm, a shoulder. He talked and tunneled, spouting directions and shoveling snow. 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 man was still alive. Scooping and tossing snow, he clawed downward. Sweat dripped from his chin and drenched his neck, chest, and back despite the cold. Frantic breathy plumes chugged from his lungs only to be snatched by the wind and whisked away. A scream of passing air seemed to shout *Foooxxxxx!* 

The bridge of a nose and the wells of two eyes came into view. Then a gaping mouth, packed with snow. For a brief instant, Mulder thought the face was Sam's, buried inside their long-ago fort. He struggled to keep the evening's pizza in his stomach. 

The mirage passed. The face was Riley's. He was dead. Mulder rose to find Scully.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Aroostook County Morgue
Two Hours Later

Adrenaline still pumping through him, Mulder hugged his arms to his chest, hands trapped in his armpits. He stood a short distance away from the autopsy table where the Deputy and the ambulance crew had placed Sheriff Riley earlier, close enough to watch Scully slice and dice, but far enough to stay out of her way. The crew and the Deputy preferred not to stick around and watch their colleague cut open and taken apart. 

"Find it yet, Scully?" Mulder asked, referring to a frozen stone like the ones she'd found during her earlier autopsies.

"Give me a minute. I'm checking the bronchus now. Yes, 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 as the stone expanded.

"I refuse to believe this rock is magic, Mulder."

"Then why is it growing fur like some kind of 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 insides.

"I can't explain that either. But just because I can't explain it doesn't mean anything mystical or supernatural is going on."

"Come on, Scully. You think an ordinary person did this? Killed these people?"

Scully dropped the frosty stone onto a tray. "Mulder, do you really 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 'wacko' 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, clearly 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 an enemy."

"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?"

"Maybe 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 head and hunched back.  

"You're quoting a janitor, Mulder."

"A man who takes out the garbage may know a thing or two about the life's truths. 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 more extreme possibilities."

"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?"

"Rendered so 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 -- that's a nice bit of irony."

"Not nice at all, Mulder. The whole thing was very embarrassing."

"Aw, but you were so cute believing the unbelievable." He touched his finger to the tip of her nose.

She batted his hand away. "My point is, I put my biases -- my scientist's lenses, as you call them -- aside. And if we're going to be honest and admit to our biases here, let's not overlook your 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."

"Wait--" She cocked her head. "Is that a new theory I hear knocking at the door?"

"Not so new. Remember Holman Hardt?"

"The weatherman who controlled the weather. How could I forget. And in case you've forgotten, 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, 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 is true, that someone is trying to protect Connie by killing off her enemies, invertantly or not, then there's someone else we need to consider as the murderer."

"Who's that, Scully?"

"Katie." 


ACT IV
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Caribou Corners High School
Next Morning

A heavy overcast hung over the schoolyard, which was packed with Winter Carnival revelers wearing sherbet-colored knit hats, fluttering scarves, and ballooning down-filled coats. Kids' shrieky voices echoed off a veritable kingdom of glittering ice sculptures.

"Crowded," Scully commented, arm linked with Mulder's, more for the windbreak of his body than any romantic reason.

"Hearty souls, must be used to the cold." He glanced at her 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 massive dragon.

"Oh. I--"

"Miss Dana, Miss Dana!" Katie skipped red-cheeked and smiling toward Scully. "Com'ere! See my snowman!" She tugged excitedly on Scully's hand. Scully kept hold of Mulder's arm as she allowed herself to be pulled along by Katie, making her feel like a link in a very short chain of Crack the Whip. 

Anne Tredwell waited for Katie beside a long, 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." Fatigue etched the dance teacher's face but she forced a smile. "She barely slept at all last night. 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," she mouthed silently.

"Connie was released?" Mulder asked.

"Yes, Deputy Rogers felt under the circumstances...with the Sheriff, you know...Connie's alibi was pretty foolproof. He released her."

"So the Deputy assumes whoever killed the Sheriff also killed Danny and Ricky?" Scully asked. "That's a leap."

Anne shrugged. 

"I happen to agree with him," Mulder said.

Before Scully could respond, Katie interrupted, tugging on Anne's hand and asking, "Are Mommy 'n' Uncle Phil comin' t'see Frosty?"

"Yes, hon. They'll be here soon." 

"Yippee!" Katie pranced a circle around her snowman. "Do you like him, Miss Dana?" 

Scully inspected it closely. Its wide stone-studded grin wrapped crookedly from one nonexistent ear to the other. Instead of a traditional carrot nose, Katie had stuck a pencil above its mouth, giving it a beaky, bird-like appearance. Two pennies served as eyes and slanting twig brows lent an expression of worry to its lopsided face. One of Katie's colorful knit hats topped its head, the pompom jittering in the 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.

"Mulder, what do you think of *Katie's* snowman?"

Taking his time, Mulder checked "Frosty" from all sides. Finally, nose to pencil, he stared into its penny eyes. "Looks like a prize winner to me," he announced.

"Really?" Katie squealed with delight and clapped her mittened hands.

"Agent Mulder knows what he's talking about, Katie. He's a snowman expert." 

"Let's not brag," Mulder said, clearly not amused by Scully's ribbing. "Did you put your magic stone inside it, Katie?"

"Nope." She pawed through her pocket and produced a white stone. "I'm saving it for later. I dint want Frosty to run away before the contest!" She giggled.

"Good plan."

"Mulder." Scully pointed to the school's front door. 

Elwood Jenkins stood there with one long white hand on the knob. He stared directly at them, his head bobbing as if nodding in agreement with something they'd said. He flashed them a yellow smile before disappearing inside the school and closing the door after him.

"I'll be right back," Mulder said and beelined after Jenkins.

*          *          *

Stepping inside, Mulder found the hall dark and empty. And unnaturally cold. Jenkins was nowhere in sight. 

"There're igloos pumping out more BTUs than this place," he muttered and started down the hall in search of Jenkins. 

Joggling the handle of each door he passed, Mulder found one classroom after the next locked up tight. At the end of the hall, however, a shaft of light spilled out beneath a partially open door. He pushed the door silently inward. Beyond the threshold was a small outer office. It appeared to belong 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!" 

At the back of the room were twin doors, one closed, one open. A light burned inside the office with the open door.

Mulder edged toward it. Careful. Tense. He drew his gun. Leaning cautiously over the threshold he discovered the office was vacant. Against the far wall stood a bank of dusty file cabinets, one with a drawer left open. 

Mulder crossed to the cabinet and peered into the drawer. It contained dozens, if not hundreds, of file folders bearing the names of students who had attended Caribou Corners High School, some more than a decade ago. Troubled students, apparently. These were the guidance counselor's files. 

One folder stuck up slightly above the rest. On its tab was the name "PETERS, CONNIE T" -- Connie Spencer's maiden name. Mulder pulled the folder from the drawer and spread it open on the nearby 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.

"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 where Anne and Agent Scully stood watching Katie's reunion with her mother.

"Hi Anne. Thanks for watching 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 flipped through Connie's file. He stopped at a handwritten message scrawled in red ink across the bottom of her First Grade report card: 

2/19/71: Connie Peters admitted to Caribou Corners Memorial Hospital -- nervous collapse.

According to the document, Connie hadn't missed a single day of school 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. In a tiny class photo taped to the back of the card, Connie looked exactly like her daughter Katie, right down to the shallow crescent dimpling her chin as she smiled for the photographer. 

A second report card was clipped to the first. The attached photo showed an almost unrecognizable girl hollowed by grief and fear. According to the notes on the card, Connie had been readmitted to school in the fall of '71 to repeat First Grade. Scanning her marks, Mulder looked for clues that might explain Connie's 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 girl appeared to be overtired and often wore the same clothes to school for several days in a row. The report was signed by a Mr. H. Tredwell, not Connie's parents. 

Mulder returned to the file cabinet, where he searched for and found Phil Peters' records. He hoped they'd provide corroborating information about Connie's decline. What would cause the six-year-old to suffer a nervous breakdown? And why didn't Connie's parents sign her card? He skimmed Peters' records. 

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 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 clearly hadn't affected her brother Phil. Riffling through the various papers, notes, and report cards, he found a letter from a Presque Isle physician.

Gentlemen, our psychiatric review indicates that the patient (Philip K. Peters, 8 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 6, 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. Someone had drawn a big red question mark on the back. Taped to the lower half of the page was a yellowed newspaper clipping -- Robert and Janet Peters' obituary. 

The clipping reported that Connie and Phil Peters' parents had died when a winter's worth of snow slid from the roof of their home and crushed them to death on their front steps. The two children had the misfortune of witnessing the 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 a prickle of apprehension on the back of his neck.

*Schht. Schht.*

Mulder glanced up at the noise. Phil Peters glared at him from the outer office, his feet scuffing the floor as he shifted nervously from foot to foot. 

"How exactly did your parents die, Phil?" Mulder closed the folder and set it on the desk.

"It was an accident."

"Was it? Or is that just the story you've been telling yourself...and everyone else...all these years?"

"No!" Rage darkened Peters' eyes. 

"Are you sure? Are you certain you didn't cause the deaths of your mother and father? Using a magic stone?"

"NOOO!"

*          *          * 

A quake ran through the schoolyard. Scully felt the snow shift beneath her feet. The ground surged and swelled. It was as if she stood on the back of a waking giant. She struggled to keep her balance. 

"Nooooo!" Connie moaned, wobbling on unsteady legs.

The line of snowmen quivered. Inched out of formation. They moved with the shivery squeal of sliding ice.

*Schhht. Schhhht. Schhhht!*

Katie's eyes widened and filled with tears.

Stinging sleet swirled across the schoolyard. Connie dropped to her knees. She groaned again and covered her head.

The gale grew louder, stronger. Wind zigzagged around the castles, making an terrible shrieking sound. Ice snapped and cracked. One castle's wall split. Parapets teetered. A turret collapsed. Anne screamed. Her cry was lost among the startled shouts of the panicking crowd. 

Scully snagged Katie's hand and lifted the girl into her arms.

*          *          * 

**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 a step forward. Peters' head snapped up. "Stay where you are!" he screamed, halting Mulder. Stumbling backward into the hall, Peters broke into a run.

Mulder sprinted after him.

*          *          *

"Nononononono," Connie keened, her face buried in her coat sleeves. Anne Tredwell tried to calm her.

*Catch meeeee! Catch meeeee if you caaaaaaan!* The wind spiraled around the snowmen, making them tremble. 

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 the castle nearest them collapsed with an earsplitting crash. Chunks of ice hurtled into the crowd. Screaming visitors scattered. Scully hunched protectively over Katie. 

A blinding squall swirled through the schoolyard. Scully caught a glimpse of Phil Peters, materializing out of the maelstrom like a ghost. Arms raised to protect his face, he pitched himself into the churning wind. He raced past the phalanx of snowmen to Connie. 

Mulder charged after him, arms also raised his arms to protect his face.

When Peters reached Connie, he shoved Anne Tredwell roughly aside. He hauled Connie to her feet and shouted something at her that Scully couldn't hear. The howl of the wind was so loud, it was almost as if there were no sound at all.

Peters gripped Connie's shoulders, held 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 him. Mulder swiveled. He was trapped.

Scully set Katie down. "Stay here, sweetie," she shouted into the girl's ear.

"No!" the girl screamed, gripping Scully's coat. 

"Yes!" Scully insisted. 

Several snowmen toppled, appearing to come unglued. The spheres separated. Spun. Slid. 

Scully lost sight of Mulder. He was surrounded by rolling, tumbling snow. 

"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, she knew he must be buried somewhere beneath the growing pile of snow.  

"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 open by a frozen fist of ice and snow? Desperate to get to him, Scully took Katie's stone. She pushed past Connie and Peters. A few 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 forehead.
 
Pop. Pop, pop. Ice sputtered and snapped like firecrackers, causing Scully to flinch at each blast. The ground rumbled and shook. Vibrated her teeth. The serpent's icy scales bulged along the dragon's rippling crystal skin. Grinding and scraping, the serpent's head unfolded, rising ten, fifteen, twenty feet into the 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 the snow around it more than forty feet. A storm ruptured from its mouth 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. Crystal lids slowly blinked. Peters trembled and the serpent huffed, spewing a blizzard of snowflakes at the shaken man. Peters released his hold on Connie and, unsupported, she slipped to the ground. 

The serpent's head lifted, peered over Peters to where Mulder lay buried, pinned beneath a bank of shifting snow. Flicking out its tongue between icicle teeth, the dragon appeared to test the flavor of the air. Then with a sudden snap, the serpent struck, clamping its jaws tightly over Phil Peters' head.

The ground stopped trembling. The wind ceased blowing. The icy dragon shattered like a broken mirror. 

Scully hurried past 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 it along the ground. It quickly grew in size, picking up snow until it was the size of a human head.

"What did the hospital report say?" he asked, apparently content to let her push the head-sized snowball into something the size of a beach ball.

"Connie told the staff psychiatrist everything." She grunted as she rolled 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 shove the snowball another foot or two. Already it outweighed her.

She swiped a damp lock of hair from her face. "You going to help me or not?" 

"Don't you 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, six-year-old Connie and eight-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 her second snowball. "This one's ready, Mulder."

"Uh...couldn't you have rolled it a little closer to the first one?" He eyed the original several yards away. Hefting the snowball, he groaned with the effort. "Are we havin' fun yet?" 

"You're not having a good time?" Scully was honestly surprised. While he struggled with the snowball, wrestling it 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 it destroyed. So she started crying. Impatient with her tears, Robert Peters carried her into the house." Scully tilted her head and eyed the headless snowman. "It's crooked, Mulder."

Mulder adjusted it. 

"Connie remembers being set on the floor just inside the door," Scully went on. "Her father and mother stood outside on the front steps. The ground started shaking. There was a terrible roar when 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 felt guilty 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, he 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 of 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. Yesterday you said you saw that dragon come to life. 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. More or less." 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, after I found his and Connie's records. 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 gave her a squeeze. 

"Hmmmm. You gonna make good on that, 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 and pressed his thighs against her 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."

"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 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