Fade up; it's dark, it's dank, it's the middle of nowhere. Quelle surprise. The camera pans over a weathervane in the shape of what looks like a demonic bat (how quaint! How cozy! How not.) on the top of a ramshackle old house, and pans to the road beyond, where a car is pulling up. The Handy Dandy Timeline tells us that we're in Burley, Idaho, and that it's 3:05 am. I guess that's not Avon calling.
The car rumbles to a halt in front of the house, and a truly creepy looking guy emerges from the driver's side. Or, I guess he's creepy; I suspect that everyone looks creepy in the middle of the night, as thunder rumbles overhead and lightning cracks in the background. Creepy, or, you know, doomed. Or both. Creepy, however, is truly and madly creepy, like the ill-gotten love child of Lurch and one of the Gentlemen from Buffy, with a little bit of BOB thrown in for good creepy measure. Creepy goes inside the house. Slowly.
Creepy stands in the doorway for a second, then walks, in the dark, through the house. Lightning crashes. Thunder booms. Chris Carter sticks his Care Bears bookmark into page 34 of Going Beyond Thunder and Lightning: Weather Clichs for The Artistically Tapped-Out, privately think that it's all bollocks, anyway, and calls cut.
Upstairs, in the ramshackle house, a mousy-looking older woman wakes as the thunder thunders and the lightning lightnings, and there is a creak on the stairway. "Land sakes, George, what are you trying to do?" she calls. George, formerly known as Creepy, opens the door and tells Mousy that he was trying to be quiet. Get it? He's not creepy, he's her husband. Mousy tells him irritably that she smelled him coming up the stairs and exposits helpfully that she's surprised that, after 39 years, his "embalming fluid doesn't wake the dead." She sends him outside to take his grotty embalmers-wear off, so she can get some sleep.
Poor Creepy George drops trou on the front porch. I'm pretty sure that's illegal, but I'm also pretty sure that after 39 years, he would have learned to change at the morgue before driving home to Mousy, so, there you go. At a small sound, George looks above him. "What the hell is that?" he wonders.
It's, yes, what looks like the a man-bat hybrid, just a-hanging there upside down on the porch, trying to get some sleep. ManBat (so called to as avoid the inevitable confusion with Batman, although, trust me, ManBat would not look nearly as nice in a pair of tights, and, as far as I know, ManBat is not involved in some kind of homosexual subtext with his smaller, cape-wearing sidekick) opens his beady ManBat eyes and squeaks maliciously and jumps poor George.
Whatever. Doggett wonders where his desk is going to be. Scully raises her eyebrow and reminds Doggett that they're just temporary residents down in the basement. "This is my partner's office," she says, taking the "Fox Mulder" nameplate and placing it back on the desk with an authoritative thunk. Do you think she's having problems accepting Doggett as her partner? Do you think there's a parallel to the way Mulder felt about her during the early stages of their relationship? Do you think anybody gives a hot damn anymore? Do you think if I start drinking, this will get better?
Scully informs Doggett that they've got a case: two murders, in Idaho. Cue the Obligatory Slide Show and Exposition portion of the show. Naturally, in true The X-Files fashion, the slides in this slide show are gory, off-putting, and extremely bloody. Luckily, the booze has already begun to dull my gag reflex. If you don't think that used to come in handy at frat partiesforget I mentioned that. Moving onScully informs Doggett that the male victim had two of his fingers chewed off in the attack. "By an animal?" asks Doggett. No, by a psychotic pencil sharpener! Tonight, on FOX: When Office Supplies Attack! Scully tells her doubtful partner that the bites on the woman "appear to be human." Doggett makes sure that everyone watching The X-Files knows for absolute CERTAIN that he's "seen some wild stuff in [his] time," but admits that the slides are "extreme." Scully tells him that, according to local PD, there is no apparent motive, and that these murders don't fit into any known cult or serial killer MO. Doggett admits that he's at a bit of a loss. Scully snarks that's "a good place to start."
Out of the basement and off to Idaho! Land of the corn. Or the wheat. Whatever. Potatoes? Anyway, Scully and Doggett arrive at the crime scene at 11:18 am, and are greeted by "Gale Abbott," the county sheriff, and a big, burly man who immediately starts directing all his commentary to Doggett and ignoring the purty l'il lady. Scully tries unsuccessfully to establish her authority by informing Sheriff Sexist that "their unit" has seen many bizarre and unusual cases, and while Agent Doggett has just been assigned to the X-files, she's plenty experienced. In fact, she's seen a lot of crazy stuff, in her day. Lots of kee-razy stuff.
Sexist rolls his eyes and tells Scully and Doggett that he's not so sure they even need to be there, because he's beginning to think that the victims were killed by an animal after all. He points out a print on the porch, which he claims is "not human," although he pronounces it YOU-man, rather than HUE-man, which reminds me of this crazy English professor I had in college who had the same tick, but who also pronounced "herbs" as "HHHHHHHHerbs." The quarter after I had her, she gave an entire class Ds and told them they disgusted her, as writers and as people, and then she had to go on a vacation for a long, long time.
Anyway, Sexist points out that the print in question only has four toes. Scully muses, "It's not a rare birth defect. No more rare than polydactyly." Sexist gives Doggett a look as if to say, "Get a load of this one. Pretty, but a big mouth." Doggett translates, and says that Scully thinks the perp could very likely be human. Scully stands, hands on hips, and tells Sexist crossly that he's doing shoddy police work, and that he shouldn't be so quick to toss out the print as evidence of a human attacker. Sexist wonders how the bite marks are connected to the foot print, anyway, and Scully admits that she isn't quite sure, yet, although it seems extremely obvious to me that it's possible that whatever bit Creepy George left the print. And I haven't even seen that much crazy shit, in my day. "She's not quite sure yet," Sexist smarms to Doggett. Scully shows remarkable restraint and does not punch Sexist in the jaw, but simply comments that if the print was actually made by an animal, as Sexist so clearly wants to believe, there would be more than one print, both on the porch, and in the yard.
In the yard, at least ten police officers look around guiltily. Holy contamination of the crime scene, Batman! ManBat. Whatever.
Agent Doggett excuses himself to look around the property, as Scully takes a gander at the ceiling of the porch, noticing what looks very much like beige bubble gum stuck to a beam. Sexist reminds her that there isn't a shred of evidence that a man was responsible for these murders, and, therefore, thank you very much, you can go now, you uppity woman. He thumps off the porch and into the yard dramatically. Scully does the patented Scully Brow Raise and tells Sexist that while she's sure his explanation will comfort the townspeople, it will only do so until "this thing strikes again." Sexist sneers. "And another thing," Scully says as her right breast seriously threatens to come bursting out of her admittedly lovely but perhaps too small blue blouse. "I never said that what you're looking for is a man." At this, Sexist just puts his big old CHiPs aviator glasses back on and tromps across the lawn away from her. Scully purses her lips. Patriarchy, it's a bitch. So to speak. Ha, I kill me.
Doggett, from inside the house, calls Scully to come take a look at something -- another four-toed print, this one on the bottom step of the staircase. BoobWatch 2000 Update: Still Popping Out. Now, I think Gillian Anderson is gorgeous, and if I were a girl who likes girls, she'd be one I'd like. However, I think it's uncharacteristic of Scully to all of a sudden start busting out all over the place. ["A pregnant woman's breasts often get larger. She's probably just in denial about that fact. Maybe it's a subtle cue on the part of the costume depa -- oh. Right. My mistake, carry on." -- Sars] Be that as it may, she muses that the second print still doesn't necessarily prove anything. We get it. Okey-dokey. Let's move on. Doggett hypothesizes that perhaps the reason there were no other prints in the yard is because whatever it was that wasted Creepy and Mousy didn't go out through the yard. In other words: The Call Is Coming From Inside The House.
Doggett finds "another partial" inside Mousy's bedroom, and as he and Scully peer at it, he wonders if maybe the killer is just a nutso mental case with a funky foot. Scully looks skeptical (I know, I can hardly contain my shock and surprise either), as Doggett wonders if she's ever heard of something called Occam's Razor, which is, basically, a theory which states that, in order to figure something out, you look at every possible scenario and chose the simplest one. Scully says that Mulder used to call it "Occam's Principle of Limited Imagination," and dryly wonders if Doggett has a simple explanation for how a crazy deformed guy can manage to get around while leaving a foot print only every 25 feet. Doggett looks momentarily nonplussed, but reminds Scully that he's merely trying to figure it all out, just like she is.
Snooping around, Scully finds a trapdoor in the closet, leading to the attic. The inside of the closet looks disturbing like the inside of my mother's closet, which also has a trapdoor to the attic of my parent's house, but I'm not going to think about some crazy ManBat feasting on my Mom and Dad. Scully, with a boost from Doggett, climbs into the attic, gun drawn. "It's dark up here," she says, despite the fact that a huge old stream of sunshine pours through the window. "Can you see anything?" Doggett asks. She says that no, she can't, because it's DARK. Dude. Doggett hauls himself up into the attic, as Scully muses that, if anyone or anyTHING had been in the attic, he or she or it might have gone out the window. Doggett removes a small flashlight from his coat pocket and waves it in Scully's face. "You ever carry one of these?" he asks, a little snidely. Scully purses her lips. "Never," she says, dryly. They look around the attic, and what does Doggett find on the edge of an old chest of drawers? Three guesses. A darling blue-and-red, size small, MightyBigTV tee shirt, last seen at the Laundromat on Lincoln Boulevard in Santa Monica and belonging to one ME? Nope. A mint condition Tiffany desk lamp, which Scully plans to take on the Antiques Roadshow, the proceeds from the auction of which will more than cover her alien baby prenatal care? No, no, no. A pair of chawed off and recently regurgitated fingers? Bingo! Looking around, Scully sees more of the beige bubble gum substance on a beam over their heads. Doggett hesitantly offers thatit seems likesomething had been"Hanging there?" Scully finishes for him.
Across town, in yet another musty old attic, another old lady takes out a photo album, sits down, and opens it. It's full of, yes, pictures. She starts to cry and looks upand ManBat attacks her with a squeal.
Morgue. Welcome to what I suspect is the first of many, many, many autopsies performed by one Dana Scully in this upcoming season. BoobWatch 2000 Update: Covered By Lab Coat. Film at 11. Scully tells Doggett that Creepy and Mousy were killed by something with four toes, fangs, and, ah, enzymes in its saliva that are found only in bat spit. "Bats?" says Doggett. Scully says maybe she owes Sheriff Sexist an apology for being so vehement about the possibility of the killer being human. Doggett says he isn't "so sure about that," and whips out -- from where, I don't know -- an old newspaper clipping from the 1956 Montana Press Telegram about a "Human Bat." Yes, indeed. Apparently, back in the day, this ManBat ate at least five men, including the county coroner. And now, Doggett hypothesizes, "it's back and killing again."
Including, as we see in the shot, that poor little grandma. ManBat leaps over Granny's body to stick his ugly, blood-soaked mug in the camera and snarl. ManBat is not very scary. I've seen creepier freaks on my way to work.
God bless the commercial break, yo. By the way, I took an informal poll, and everyone in this room thinks David E. Kelley is a disgusting man who hates women, gay people, and the fat. Or, actually, the not abnormally slender. Of course, "everyone in this room" consists of me, my shrine to a former UCLA football player who shall remain nameless to protect me from possible lawsuits, a picture of my little sister, and three houseplants, but I think we represent a good cross-section of humanity.
Welcome to the McKesson residence, 5:51 pm. Yes, yes, we know: ManBat strikes again. Sheriff Sexist directs Doggett's attention to some claw marks on, yes, a beam overhead. He snarks that whatever killed Granny, "it wasn't yoooooou-man." Doggett says that he and Scully are beginning to come around to that way of thinking. He's getting ready to show Sexist Ye Olde ManBat Clipping, but is interrupted by Scully, who has found the photo album. She exposits that the pictures in the album are of a woman who had been pulled, dead and burned, from the lake last week. Sexist knows all about that situation, and wonders what the connection is. Scully points out that Granny hadn't seen Lake Lady since 1956 (how does she know this? You got me) -- the exact same time the original ManBat killings started. Sexist and Doggett don't really get where Scully is going with this, but she says, very slooooowly, to them that obviously Lake Lady is the connection, somehow, because this newest batch of horrific maulings didn't begin until her body was discovered. She shortly suggests that Sexist exhume the Lake Lady's body, because, after all, "it was burned for a reason." Sexist self-righteously wonders where, exactly, Scully gets off suggesting that he exhume anything while he's got real live people to worry about. She glares at him. I wonder if I ought to make my margaritas one at a time, or just make a pitcher and be done with it. Doggett looks from one to the other, takes Sexist into the corner, and comes back alone as Sexist tromps downstairs. Doggett informs Scully that he told Sexist to just dig up the body, and that he also took it upon himself to inform Sexist that Scully is an expert on paranormal phenomena, and who are they, after all, to argue with an expert? Scully snaps that she is NOT an expert, but that she is a SCIENTIST who has SEEN A LOT. Let it go, Dana. Like, oh, my God, we TOTALLY GET IT. Scully angrily wonders why Doggett is going along with the exhumation of the body if he doesn't agree with her theories. Doggett calmly explains that he spent the whole weekend looking through the X-files, and he saw that "almost every case broke with a leap." He explains that he's "a cop," and cops don't make leaps, because leaps get people killed. Which totally doesn't answer the question, but whatever. I think he just means that he can understand the need to take a leap of faith in this instance. Or something. Oh, nobody really cares anyway, do they? Because I don't. And I'm writing this. And so we're moving on. Scully snarks that, for a cop, Doggett is making a pretty big leap in believing in "an article about a HUMAN BAAAAAT." Score one for the lady. Doggett stomps off. Scully purses her lips and sighs. Sing it, sister.
Gratuitous shot of a real, actual bat. Pan over tothe door of somewhere (where are those handy titles when you need them?), which opens, revealing a guy with his face all covered up by a bandanna, and big ole sunglasses. He grabs a little, real bat from off the beam of wherever he is, puts it in a cage, and leaves, taking the bat into the house and closing the doorwhich has a taxidermied bat as a door knocker. Cool, now I know what to get my Mom for Christmas!
Cassia County Cemetery, 10:23 pm. It's a beautiful night to be exhuming a grave, which is exactly what is going on. God, I can't remember the last time we had a moonlit night around these parts that was mild enough for me to exhume a grave. Sigh. I miss those grave-robbing days of yore. Sir Sexist, the Sexist Sheriff, compliments the Mortuary Dudes on getting the coffin out of the earth so promptly. He's told that it's easy "when someone's done most of the work." Apparently, the coffin had already been mostly dug up when the Mortuary Dudes arrived. Mortuary Dude Number One comments that whatever did the digging "scratched up the wood real bad." Sexist tells them to get the body to the morgue as soon as possible, and, as he heads toward his car, hears a little curious squeak. Investigating the source of the noise, his attention is drawn toward a tree. Inside of which, naturally, dwells ManBat. When Sexist sees ManBat's big beady batty eyes open and glare at him, he hisses and begins to run. But ManBat takes a flying leap (literally, y'all), and knocks Sexist down and sets to noshing. Sexist manages to shake ManBat off, struggle to his feet, and stagger a few steps away. Flying Leap Number Two, however, and he's ManBat Meat, the Official Lunchmeat of the Big 12.
Okay, I'm pretty sure these "California Cheese" commercials are local, but I love love love the one where the cows are all singing "Sunshine Day" in the front yard of their farmhouse.
Memo to Jessica Alba: I know Buffy. I've watched Buffy since the first episode. And you, Dark Angel, are no Buffy.
1:07 am. The mutilated body of Sheriff Sexist is rolled into the morgue. A little pre-Christmas gift for one Ms. Dana Scully (BoobWatch 2000: Covered In Scrubs), who does the Gillian Anderson Eyebrow Raise as she and Doggett look at the body in silence. She turns to Doggett just as the door to the morgue opens and one of Sexist's men asks to speak to Doggett, ASAP. He and Scully exchange A Look Of Great Portent.
In the other room, Doggett is confronted with all of Sexist's Minions (which, by the way, is a bitchin' garage band). The spokesperson spits that they don't need the FBI in town anymore, telling them what to do, and that they a) don't want Scully touching Sexist's body (like that'll be a blow), b) don't care for her farfetched crazy talk, and c) want her to leave town. The minions stomp out en masse, as Doggett looks thoughtful. I like my margaritas. If you say "margaritas" enough, it ceases to mean anything and just becomes nonsense syllables. Have you ever noticed that?