Peacock residence. The brothers come outside and amble over to the Cadillac. Two of the boys load the truck with what look like sawed-off shotguns. The third sticks a hose in the gas tank and begins to siphon out the fuel with his mouth. Why? I have no idea -- other than to provide the nifty gross-out effect of seeing gasoline sputter from between his black teeth. The car is in their yard. If he wanted to know if it had gas, I don't know why he didn't just try to start it. Maybe crazed inbreds like to drink gas? I don't know.

To the motel! Mulder is still doing strange things to his television with a wire hanger. Scully looks amused, and gets right into his space. "Don't move, don't move!" he tells her as the picture comes in. And then out. "Still planning on making a home here?" she asks. "Not if I can't get the Knicks game," he says, swinging the faux antenna into her face. Scully rolls her eyes. "Well, just as long as a brutal infanticide doesn't rule into your decision. Good night, Mulder," she says, and heads for the door. "Good night, Mom," he snarks. Scully mock-glares at him from the doorjamb and goes. Or tries to. His lock is broken. "Oh, you don't have to lock your doors around here," Mulder tells her. She smirks at him, and manages to get out. Once she's gone, Mulder looks around the room nervously and sticks a chair under the doorknob.

Across town, the brothers Peacock start their car. Johnny Mathis pours smoothly out of the radio. They speed off.

Sheriff Taylor sits on his stoop and thinks about how he's got about five minutes before the Brothers Peacock swing by to smash his head open. Mrs. Taylor sticks her head out on the porch, wondering what he's doing. "Taking one last look around, before it all changes," he says. She smiles and asks him to come up to bed. "It will be here in the morning," she tells him. He looks back at her for a long moment, then gets up and joins her. She closes the door behind them, but doesn't lock it. Bad call, that, by the way.

The Brothers Peacock drive blissfully down the highway. Johnny Mathis thinks it's "wonderful, wonderful." And I notice that not only are the three of them deformed, murdering inbreds, but they all sit in the front seat. All three of them. Together. Freaks!

Elsewhere, Scully sleeps peacefully in her motel room, dreaming of her own sure-to-be-delightful future as a mother. Oh, wait.