A/N: I'm really excited about this story, and I'll try to update as frequently as possible. This takes place in the middle of Season 3, after War of the Coprophages. I'm also working off the assumption that the air date for each episode is the date it occurred canonically. Anyways, enjoy!

Prologue

"Yes, but I... Yes sir, I understand." The male FBI agent returned the phone to the receiver and leaned back in the cheap, motel chair. He sighed and massaged his temples, as if he could somehow rub away the stress of the day. Suddenly feeling very claustrophobic, the man grabbed his coat and headed out into the cold, New England night. The ground was heavily blanketed in snow, and he was grateful he'd decided to bring his snow boots. He followed the path that wound through the tightly-packed pine trees, his standard-issue 9mm SIG-Sauer tucked reassuringly into the waistband of his jeans. He had been walking for a while before he noticed he'd lost the trail. He backtracked for a few minutes until he spotted it through the trees. Relieved, the agent decided he had better head back to the motel before he got lost again. He set off along the path, this time paying closer attention to where he was going. After walking for about 10 minutes he thought he heard something behind him. He whipped his head around and scanned the trees around him, half expecting some manner of Sasquatch to jump out at him, but the woods were silent and dark. He turned back to the trail, chastising himself for allowing such wild ideas to enter his mind. After a few more uneventful minutes of walking, he heard the noise again; a barely-audible rustling coming from the surrounded woods. This time he knew he wasn't just imagining it, and he slid his gun slowly out of his waistband. He hoped he was just being paranoid, and it was probably just a bat, or some other nocturnal animal, but he couldn't suppress the feeling of dread that was growing with each passing minute. He continued back towards the motel, speeding up until he was jogging. The rustling behind him evolved into discernible footsteps, but every time he chanced a glance over his shoulder he saw nothing. The steps were getting closer and he knew he couldn't outrun whatever it was. Fear-fueled adrenaline filled every cell of his body. He was sprinting now, gun swinging wildly at his side. In the darkness his foot caught on a root and sent him sprawling forwards. He landed on his stomach and rolled around, aiming his gun at something he couldn't see. He waited until he could feel its rancid breath on his face, then he fired. He fired as the beast impacted with his chest, breaking ribs and tearing flesh.

###

January 11th, 1996

###

FBI Special Agent Fox Mulder grabbed the two disposable coffee cups from the cupholders and the paper donut bag from the passengers seat and hurried towards the front door of the J. Edgar Hoover building. Inside, he flew past security and raced to catch the elevator that was preparing to depart. The doors slid shut just as he arrived, so he was forced to wait for the next one. In the elevator he pressed the floor button and tapped his foot impatiently as he waited. After an eternity, the elevator stopped at the 6th floor and Mulder rushed out, juggling the coffee and donuts. He arrived in the office of Assistant Director Walter Skinner at exactly 8:23 am, and seated himself one of the two seats facing the AD's desk. The other chair was occupied by his partner of 4 years, Medical Doctor and FBI Special Agent Dana Scully. The petite redhead gave him a small smile as he passed her a coffee and the bag of donuts. The Assistant Director was not so easily bought.

"Mulder, you're 20 minutes late!"

"I brought coffee." He held the cup up hopefully, but Skinner waved it away.

"I was just informing Agent Scully of your latest assignment. You two will be taking over the ongoing investigation into a suspicious string of deaths in the town of Camden, Maine."

"If I may, sir," Scully interjected, "What makes this an FBI case?"

"Last night, one of our agents on vacation up there became victim number five," Skinner said grimly. He handed Scully a thick, manila folder.

"This is the case-file, look it over on the flight. Now, I know this isn't the type of thing you usually handle, but I want this done quickly and cleanly. There's a lot of pressure on me from higher up on this case. I want you on the next plane out."

Scully nodded, gathering the files and her coffee. Mulder grabbed the donuts and followed her out of the office. As they walked back to their basement office, Scully glanced over the files.

"Five mysterious deaths so far, the first one in 1993… Markings on the bodies appear to be a result of animal attacks, and the victims were all eaten to some degree, but two sets of human footprints were found around each of the victims…" she read aloud.

"Hang on, can I see that?"

Scully handed the file to Mulder and assumed responsibility for the donuts as he read.

"Look at this," he pointed at one of the crime scene photos, "the second set of footprints were made by bare feet."

"Interesting," Scully said as she swallowed a bite of donut, "We could be dealing with something like the Wild Woman in Atlantic City."

"I can't think of anything else that would be wandering around barefoot in Maine in mid-winter. Not anything human, at least."

Scully shot him a look, but he just smiled and relieved her of the donut bag.

###

Two hours later, Mulder pulled up outside of Scully's apartment building. He was about to go up to her apartment to get her when she emerged from the building, toting a suitcase and laptop bag. Mulder jogged up to her and took the suitcase.

"Jeez, Scully, how many pairs of shoes did you bring?" he groaned, hefting the bag in his arms and trying to open the door to the back seat of the car.

"You can never be too prepared, Mulder," Scully said, holding the door open for him, "And knowing you, I'm going to need that first-aid kit before we're through."

###

The car ride to the airport was spent in comfortable silence, and the agents boarded the plane without incident. Scully let Mulder have the aisle seat since his legs were so much longer than hers. She squeezed in between Mulder and an overweight man with a halitosis problem. Mulder immediately pulled out the files and began reviewing them.

"The FBI agent killed was Special Agent John Fillmore of the Organized Crime division. He was working out of the Boston field office, but was taking his vacation time up in Maine. He was found yesterday morning by a park ranger in the Camden Hills State Park. He'd been torn up pretty badly, and it looks like whatever killed him was hungry. The local sheriff is considering it a wild animal attack for now."

"But you don't believe it was a wild animal attack."

It wasn't a question, but Mulder answered, "I don't know what I believe yet, Scully."

They lapsed into silence. Scully pulled out her laptop and Mulder continued to study the case. 20 minutes into the flight, the stewardess came by offering refreshments. Scully gratefully accepted a bottle of water, and Mulder was pleasantly surprised to find the airline offered complimentary packets of sunflower seeds. Mulder read more to her from the casefile. There were no obvious similarities between the victims; an older woman who had pulled over to the side of the road due to engine trouble, a birdwatcher, a young married couple backpacking, and the male FBI agent. All 5 victims were killed in or near the Camden Hills Woods, but the killings spanned over three years. The more she learned, the more convinced Scully became that the sheriff's station was right and there was just a very aggressive bear prowling the woods. As much as she'd like to forget this whole thing and let the local law enforcement handle the rogue animal, she knew it was her duty as an FBI agent and as a human being to look into every detail of the case before coming to a conclusion. She just hoped Mulder wouldn't get too carried away with whatever wild theory he was surely formulating at this very moment. When Mulder had finished reading her the victim profiles, the man sitting to Scully's left leaned over to address her.

"I couldn't help but overhear you two talking about a 'case'. So what are you, FBI?"

Scully tried not to grimace as the man breathed in her face.

"Yeah, we're FBI agents," Mulder said.

"Really?" the man said excitedly, "I was just reading this article about an FBI agent who was abducted by extraterrestrials!"

Mulder sat forward in interest and Scully groaned internally. She was glad Mulder was entertained, but now the man was leaning in even closer to her, talking animatedly to her partner. She spent the remainder of the flight trying not to breathe.

###

The Bureau had booked them two rooms at the Birchwood Motel, a small inn practically in the woods. Scully checked them in while Mulder carried their luggage to their rooms. He was grateful that the motel was only one story, but he it still took him ten minutes to find their rooms; two adjoining one-room, one-bathroom rooms with a view of the ocean. Mulder set down both suitcases and leaned against the wall to wait for Scully to come with the keys. She arrived only a few minutes later and handed him his room key. By the time they were unpacked, it was almost 9:00. Scully checked in with the local sheriff and made plans to examine the bodies as soon as possible, then since there was nothing else they could do, they ordered takeout Chinese food and settled in for the night.