A/N: This story is a product of many, many hours riding a train to get to and from New York Comic Con...and my excitement from meeting David and Gillian. Needless to say, it was produced on a post-fangasm high and probably reads that way as well. However, I hope you enjoy reading it at least a fraction of how much I enjoyed writing it.

"The wild hills are before us, where song and witchery lurk"

-HP Lovecraft, Vermont: A First Impression

"Hey, Scully, Check this out."

Scully looked up in time to see a file landing on her desk. Reaching for it, she asked, "What's this about, Mulder?"

"We've got a case. In Woodscraft, Vermont. Multiple deaths and missing persons."

"Mulder, surely missing persons and homicide can be handled by the local PD and field office."

Mulder grinned. "In a town in the middle of Nowhere, Vermont, the only crime being committed is stoned teenagers. The local police are in over their heads. The FBI field office in Vermont is more of a park ranger service. And," he added, nodding toward the open case file, "I'm sure you'll find something a little weird is going on with the victims. We're being called in"

He reached for his coat. "I'm going to call it a day. The plane tickets are in the file. I'll pick you up for the airport at six, okay?"

Scully forced herself to look up from the folder to answer him. "Yeah, six O'Clock."

When Mulder left, she gazed back down at the contents in her hands.

A man stared blankly up from a photograph, half his face buried in the ground. From his facial orifices, small vines and budding leaves protruded, working their way towards the earth, entwining themselves over his still features.

Mulder was right. Nowhere, Vermont perfectly described Woodscraft. The fall foliage was beautiful, but that was simply a product of being in New England. Aside from the few attractive houses that spoke of old railroad money and design, the rest of the town was an example of living on the brink of poverty.

The Main Street itself was only a few open shops and restaurants. The rest of the buildings, though potentially beautiful from a historical context, were empty or impersonal law offices. The rest of the "City," as the people called it, were cheap houses built during the 70's for families or subsidized apartments for recently paroled ex cons.

Charming small town, indeed.

Scully sighed as they drove past a woman screaming profanity at her five children, who were all dressed in pajamas.

She hoped that the case would wrap up soon.

The small town wasn't difficult to navigate, and as the police department and the fire station occupied the same large building, it was easy to find. It was a two story brown building with a large, fire truck size garage. Like the rest of the town, it had nondescript features and, as Mulder noted ironically, made of wood.

Good thing there was always a firetruck around.

Surprisingly, they finally got their first taste of Northern Vermont hospitality at the hands of the local police- something that rarely happened when they impinged on the cases of small town police departments.

"Yeah, I'm real glad you guys could make it all the way from DC," the Sheriff glanced over his shoulder at the agents as he led them through a series of small corridors. "We don' see much activity outside of drug busts out here and even that is mostly just goin' through the motions." He stopped in front of a door and faced them. "Not to say that we don' keep up with the crime, Agents. But in a small town like this, sometimes it's easier to let the young people smoke their dope instead of just looting an' resorting to violence an' the like." Mulder nodded, and gave a subtle gesture towards the door as Scully grimaced, hoping that she could pass on a noncommittal noise of the throat. But the Sheriff seemed to sense her lack of acceptance. Unlocking the door, he continued.

"Look, I know we mus' seem pretty backwoods up here, an' for the mos' part, we are. An' I know your idear of upholding the law is a bit diff'rent than ours, but we do hold our own. An' quite frankly, Agents, the prison has been trying to get a hold of run down apartment buildings for years. He sat down with a sigh behind his desk. "Won' be long before the ex cons and gang members are running the show. Might as well enjoy the peace an' tranquility now."

"Sheriff Ambler," Scully gave an internal sigh of relief when Mulder finally broke in. "We're here to solve this case. Unless this becomes an issue of narcotics then we will be focusing on finding whoever is committing these murders-if there is, in fact, a murderer."

Ambler shot him a look. "You mean you don' think these are murders?"

Mulder shrugged. "All of these victims are in their sixties or seventies. It is quite possible that they've died of natural causes- or something else."

"But Agent Mulder, the bodies-"

Mulder held up his hand and responded amicably, "Agent Scully is also a pathologist. She can do the autopsies and discover what has happened to these people. Until we know for sure, we can't make any assumptions." He waited a beat as the information sunk in and Ambler looked at Scully, impressed. "Well, if that's the case, folks, we bes' get movin'. Tell you what, the town closes up after five so you won't be able to get much done anyhow. The hospital is still open, though, so you can do Dmitri's autopsy. And I can help Agent Mulder here check in to the hotel."

Scully nodded. "Thank you. Can you recommend a place to stay?"

The Sheriff grinned. "Sure thing, Agent Scully. The Back Inn Time Bed And Breakfast. They're the only place in town an' I can talk to Amie and Jeff about extending your stay for more than jus' a few nights."

The Agents thanked him and went to do what they did best.

A/N: Yes, some Vermonters actually cut off their "t's" and add the letter "r" at the end of "idea." Don't ask me why, that's just the way that they talk. If you need help translatin', just shoot me a message :)