Chapter Three:

"What was that all about?" asked Sam, rubbing his hands along his jeans in an effort to thaw them.


"Yeah, right."
"Ok, he asked for our help."

"Wait. Really?"

Dean started the car and turned on the radio. Metallica blasted through the impala's antiquated speakers.

"More like demanded it, but yeah."

"So what are you gonna do?" said Sam.

Dean drew the crumpled business card out of his pocket and tossed it to Sam. "Call 'em when we get news."

"Ok, just a few minutes ago you were saying we should get out of town. Now you want to help these guys?"

Dean shrugged. "Can't man change his mind?"

Sam rolled his eyes and finished the last chilled drops of his coffee.

"So, you got another witness or what?" said Dean.

"Not quite. Turn at that light up there," said Sam, pointing. "Katharine gave me the address of Elie's home."

Scully slumped in the the passenger's seat of the black rental and rubbed her forehead.

"This had better be good, Mulder."

"Have you ever read anything by an author called-"

"Come on, Mulder, you know what I'm talking about. You made a deal back there."

Mulder shrugged, started the car. "Dean will call me if they come up with anything."

Scully scowled. "I hope you know what you're doing."
Mulder put the car in reverse and turned the car back south, back where they had come from.

"Where are we going, Mulder? I thought I told you I need to be to the morgue by three."

"You did tell me and you will be there," said Mulder. "But first, the library."

"This is the place?" Dean slammed the car door and slid across the street, trying not to topple over.

"Should I get the EMF meter?" said Sam, still in the car.

"MIght as well, but I don't think we'll need it," said Dean. "I have a hunch we're not dealing with something strictly supernatural here."

"What, then?" said Sam. "A regular monster? Were-octopus? Hyper-intelligent swarm of bees?"

"Not sure."

Sam shrugged and scooped up the EMF then skidded after Dean. "This is just suicide waiting to happen," he said. "Don't they de-ice or something?"

Dean scanned the street before vaulting the fence and Sam followed, dragging the EMF meter and a camera with him.

Half way across the yard Dean jerked back, as if he had almost stepped on a nail. He knelt by a clear patch in the snow.

Sam came closer, trying to keep the snow from accumulating in the tops of his shoes. The EMF in his hand oscillated violently-it maxed out, then plunged to zero, and then finally flew back to red and hovered there, refusing to budge.

"I've never seen it do this before. Here, come look."

Dean gestured to Sam without turning around. "No, me first."

The snow was nearly eight inches thick across the rest of the yard, but here was a perfect circle of melted snow. Instead of the ever-green New England grass, the spot was black and muddy and reeked of...


"And something dead."

Sam brought the EMF closer, and again it flew from deep in the red to zero and then back to red again. "That one's brand new," said Dean.

"You try it, then." Dean fumbled around with the little machine, fingers stiff from the cold. He smacked it against his palm, tried flicking it on and off again, but the anomalous readings continued.

"I don't think it's a bug," said Dean. "Maybe it's finally met its match."

"Let's come back later," said Sam, caution in his eyes. Dean scanned the yard, trying to spot what what made Sam edgy, but the white-covered suburban street was peaceful and nothing moved in the deep snow.

Three blocks away and safe in the Impala's shotgun seat, Sam still seemed nervous.

"What's wrong, Sam?"
"You've heard of the Bermuda Triangle, right?"

"Sure. Why?"

"Heard of the Bridgewater triangle?" Sam jerked upright and pointed right. "That's the turn," he said. The Impala skidded around the curve like a drunken ice skater.

"Bridgewater triangle? Nope. What's that?"

"Same idea, and we're in it. UFO's, bigfoot, ghost lights, Satanic rituals, ancient curses, H. P. Lovecraft settings, the whole shabang."

"That stuff was real?"

"Some of it, yeah," said Sam.

"So...what? How does this help us?" Dean turned a hard left, barely missing a garbage truck in the other lane.

"It doesn't," said Sam. "It makes it harder. It means there's something big here."