The Thinning Of New England
An Original "X-Files" Story
Nothing could have prepared agents Mulder and Scully for what was to transpire in the sleepy New England community of Bracetown. A small, clean place, devoid of violent crime and where people knew and interacted with their neighbours, this little slice of heaven-on-earth was perfect for raising children and settling down after retirement. Bracetown belonged to a long-forgotten period of time in American history when nobody locked their doors at night and young women could walk alone after dark without fearing theft, rape or murder. Was it all too good to be true? Well, up until mid-January of this year, it actually was. It was, until THEY came and from that point on, life in beautiful Bracetown would never be the same again.
Late one night, Ben Higgins was awakened by a loud and urgent rapping on his front door. Without a second thought, he jumped quickly out of bed, donned a robe and made his way to the door, calling out, "Just hold on. I'm coming." Ben, a middle-aged factory worker who'd been recently widowed when his wife contracted a rare blood disease, didn't entertain any thoughts of impending danger to himself. He was simply reacting as anyone in Bracetown would---someone obviously needed help and he would most assuredly be there to do what he could.
Thrusting open the heavy, oaken door, Ben Higgins was greeted by a ghasty sight, one that caused the blood to drain quickly from his face and a frantic gasp of fear. For there, standing in front of him, was an extremely thin man. In fact, he was nearly skeletal in appearance, like those pictures Ben had seen in a magazine article about anorexia nervosa. There was literally no fat whatsoever on this person, whose skull-like face was pinched with pain. He looked as if he'd been dead for awhile and was just wasting away----his skin hung in loose folds, his hipbones protruded sharply and the man's clothes simply hung on him, as if they were on a wire hanger.
Since the skeleton man appeared to be in great pain, Ben helped him inside and over to a couch. "You just lie there for awhile. When was the last time you had anything to eat? Let me fix you and sandwich with some milk. I won't be long."
Ben Higgins' hands shook violently as he tried to open a package of bologne and some cheese slices. His mind spun in wild circles as he tried to decypher what on earth could have happened to that poor devil out there in the living room. Sweat sprang onto Ben's forehead and rained warm salt water down his rather scruffy face. Upon making the sandwich, he returned to the mysterious man, only to find him sprawled, apparently lifeless, on the floor.
Thinking quickly, Ben dialed 911, while his fingers felt numb and as if they were foreign to his hands. It was comperable to tying to type with mittens---he couldn't get the digits to work. Finally, he got hold of the police and an ambulance was sent out immediately to Ben's address.
However, by the time the paramedics arrived, the skeleton man had ceased to breathe. Efforts to revive him were ultimately unsuccessful, but he was still hooked up to a heart monitor and given oxygen, in the vain hope that he could be revived at the hospital.
"Friend or relative of yours?" one of the paramedics asked Ben.
"No, uh, neither. He just came to my door looking like the walking dead. I fixed him some food but he keeled over before he had a chance to eat it. What's wrong with him anyway?"
"I'm not completely sure, but my guess would be that this man starved to death. He looks exactly like a holocaust survivor. You don't see anorexia in a man very often, but we'll do what we can for him. Just between you and me, he hasn't got a prayer."
Ben went to the hospital and waited while doctors and nurses tried frantically to bring the horribly depleted man back to life. It wasn't to happen, however and was pronounced dead at five minutes past midnight. Asked if he knew anyone that could be called, some family member or friend, Ben responded in a low voice. "Unless there's something in his pockets, I have no idea who knows him. You would think if someone did, they wouldn't let him get into that terrible state.
Ben soon left the hospital and returned home. Sleep would not come, however, so he sat up reading, trying hard to erase the ghastly face of the dead man. Whatever could have caused this? The doctor who'd tried to save the man told Ben that if they discovered something unusual in the autopsy, he would be notified.
The next day, Ben Higgins received a call from Dr. Bruce Hanover, telling him that the only thing that could possibly have caused the man to waste away as he had was a small amount of an undisclosed drug---perhaps an antihistimine. Other than that, the official cause of death was starvation. "The guy was probably engaging in a hunger strike to protest something," Hanover said. "I honestly can find no other reason why he died. Like all victims of severe starvation, the dead man's liver had become non-fuctioning, his bilirubin levels were way off the map and his kidneys were flooded with ketones, which build up in the body when a person's body eats fat. Too high a ketone level and the results could be fatal. There was absolutely no trace of any body fat---zero per cent, according to the autopsy. It was a miracle that he lived as long as he did.
* * * * *
Several hundred miles away, in a small fishing town in Maine, there was a strange, sylph-like young woman who walked the streets, cloaked in heavy, black clothes, never speaking to anyone. Her name was Lucy Laird and was a twenty-six-year-old graduate student of the nearby University of Kettle Harbor. Like Bracetown, Kettle Harbor was a small, friendly place, which reminded visitors of the fictional town of Cabot Cove on the series, "Murder, She Wrote."
Lucy had, a short time ago, a promising and full life. An honour student, she'd received a grant so that she would be able to finish her PhD thesis, was an avid basketball player, a strong swimmer and who worked part-time as a waitress in a small restaurant in the downtown area. She loved the summer, when tourists arrived in droves and Kettle Harbor sprang to life. A friendly and outgoing girl, Lucy Laird was the girl that parents wanted their sons to date.
But that life now seemed eons away. Lucy, who had never exhibited any feelings of insecurity or self-doubt, began to ask all her friends whether or not she was too fat. The reaction was one of mirth, as one friend, Anna George exclaimed, "Lucy! You're a bone rack! Don't be so crazy."
But for reasons unknown, Lucy didn't believe her, or any other friend and classmate either. But then, after a couple of weeks, she stopped talking about wanting to be smaller and began isolating herself from everyone. Then her weight began to seemingly "just fall from her body." That was schoolmate Darlene Patton's reaction when, in the short period of fifteen days, Lucy looked as if she had lost over twenty-five pounds.
She then began wearing concealing clothes to put an end to all the chatter about her shrinking body. Tired of being coaxed to eat, she would consume gargantuan meals and was still losing. But, contrary to public opinion, Lucy was not bulimic---she hadn't used self-induced vomiting even once. Nobody believed that anyone could eat as much as she did without barfing it up right afterward, so Lucy Laird cut the ties from her friends and a frantic mother, who feared her daughter was caught in the frightening grip of eating disorders.
One morning, twenty days after Lucy's dramatic weight loss began, her mother, Sylvia, went over to her daugher's apartment when Lucy failed to answer the phone for an entire day. What she discovered caused the woman to suffer a fatal heart attack. Lucy's body was completely stripped of any trace of fat. When autopsied, the results were exactly the same as the mysterious shrinking man's, miles away in another state. The distraught and hysterical Sylvia could actually see her daughter's skull----there was just a very thin, transparent layer of skin stretched over it. Lucy looked frightening, her mouth frozen in a sardonic grin, a skeletal leer that remained stamped on Sylvia Laird's memory for the rest of her life.
* * * * *
Agent Dana Scully awakened one morning in early spring with an odd feeling of dread. This usually only occurred when she and her partner, Fox Mulder, were working on a particularly disturbing case, but never after a week off. Unable to shake her sensation of dread, she phoned Mulder. Her hands were sticky with sweat and she hadn't even brushed her hair or teeth yet. She was far too upset to engage in such mundane activities.
Mulder answered right away, as if knowing about Scully's state of mind. Actually, he was afraid he was late for work, since his untrustworthy alarm clock had an annoying habit of not going off when it was supposed to. "Scully? What time is it? Am I running late?"
Scully began twisting the phone cord and bit her lower lip so hard that it produced blood. "No, no you're not late. It's only 5:30 AM. Wait--now before you berate me for calling you at this ungodly hour, let me just explain something to you."
"Now who's paranoid?" Mulder asked, jokingly. "I wanted to be up early anyway, to go for a run. So what's up?"
"Mulder, I can't block out these terrifying images that keep creeping into my subconscious mind and won't let me sleep. I have no idea why this is happening and don't know how to stop it. Has this ever happened to you?"
"Only if I happen to miss your birthday," Mulder joked, trying to ease his partner's anxiety.
"It's about my friend, Jenna Kendricks. You know---we went to high school together, then college, followed by medical school. I was the maid of honour at her wedding and I was invited to her first child's christening. She's a good person, Mulder, but I just have this awful feeling that something's wrong with her."
"I'm not big on interpreting dreams, Scully, but I guess I'd have to say that you're anxious about something and it's coming out as feelings about your friend. I'm sure she's just fine. If you want, give her a phone call---but not now, it's way too early."
Scully ran her fingers through her thick mane of red hair. "You're absolutely right, Mulder. I'm sure it's because we've had it so easy and today's my first day back at work. I'm sorry I bothered you."
"I'm getting up now anyway, so don't sweat it. So I'll see you at 8:30?"
Scully hung up the phone, but still felt that odd and heavy sense of impending doom for a friend she'd not seen in several years. What had happened that two friends who were so incredibly close for so long had just drifted apart? Does it always have to be that way with people from your past? Scully made up her mind that she would call Jenna and find out if everything was alright. Meanwhile, since she knew that no more sleep would come for her, Scully took a quick shower and began working on a manuscript she'd begun a year ago and was hoping it would eventually metamorphosize into a novel. This was a little secret she kept from Mulder, lest he make fun of her.
Before she knew it, Scully had to race to get to work. She hadn't even had time to read the newspaper and nearly had an accident by losing her concentration momentarily on her way to work. That was something else that she wouldn't tell Mulder. She met with Mulder in Skinner's office, with no idea of the nightmare that was about to be unleashed.
One look at Skinner's stern, tight face was enough to let the two agents know that something ominous and foreboding was looming on the horizon. He began right away, after welcoming Scully back from her vacation. "Listen. There's something going on that warrants our investigation. There have been two mysterious cases of people starving themselves to death. One lived in Maine and the other in Rhode Island. Now, before you say that two dead anorexics is not exactly groundbreaking news, let me tell you that neither of these people could have depleted every single molecule of fat on their bodies in the short time that this happened. Within two weeks, both the man and the young woman wasted completely away. Even if a person eats nothing at all, it would take at least two months to die of starvation. Remember Bobby Sands, the Irish rebel who went on what would be a fatal hunger strike for his beliefs?"
Mulder found this incredulous and responded, "Are you positive that their bodies lost every bit of fat in only two weeks? Excuse me for being rather skeptical, but this sounds a hell of a lot like a Stephen King novel. Ever read "Thinner"?
"Yes, Mulder, but that was fiction--pure, unadulterated fiction. What happened in two New England states was NOT imaginary. Doesn't this sound like a quintessential X file to you guys?"
Scully, who'd been silent up until now, said quietly, "Are people afraid that this is some kind of epidemic? That those two people had been exposed to a strange virus that causes bodies to waste away?"
"If it is an epidemic, we could be talking about a plague of some description. Now, if you two would find out everything there is to know about Ben Higgins and Jenna Kendricks, from Rhode Island and Maine, respectively, we just might at least get an idea of what is happening and why."
Both Mulder and Scully were perplexed and hoped that these were just two isolated incidents that wouldn't show up again anywhere else. But they knew, from past experiences, that if something feels suspeicous, it probably was.
They pored over Higgins' and Kendricks' charts in an effort to determine exactly what had killed them. Was a mutant virus to blame? Was it something they had both ingested? Scully, with her medical experience, couldn't put her finger on a single reason that two previously healthy people literally turned into living skeletons before dying.
Before they decided to visit the two New England towns to uncover the mystery, there was an urgent news message, talking about a teenage girl in Boston, Massachusettes who had been found dead in bed that very morning. As with Ben Higgins and Jenna Kendricks, seventeen-year-old Sara Schultz hadn't even a molecule of fat on her body. Apparently, she'd been happy and healthy right up until fifteen days ago, when she could literally see her weight dropping from her body. The girl's diary had been found by the police and was handed over to the FBI.
Scully began reading and grew increasingly alarmed when she learned, from Sara herself, what had gone so terribly wrong and killed her in what most likely was one of the worst ways to die. Here are a sample of the diary entries---each sounding more terrified and pain-wracked:
Dear Diary,
This morning I awakened to find that the jeans I'd worn less than three days ago were too big for me! I was totally floored. I'd been losing a little weight lately, but when I stepped on the scales, the number was just ninety-nine pounds! Can you believe it? Only five days ago I was one hundred eighteen. This is so cool---I don't even have to diet. I bet Tommy Farmer won't give me the cold shoulder now that I look like Calista Flockhart.
Then, soon after Sara wrote those words, this entry was made:
Dear Diary,
This started out great but now I'm scared shitless. My weight is down to eighty-five pounds already! Geez, it's been two freaking days and I've lost fourteen pounds. My ribs all stick out--as a matter of fact, EVERY bone does---I look like the poster child for anorexia! But I'm eating like a pig! My muscles have all atrophied, I didn't get my period and I have to wear four layers of clothes to stay warm. I want this to stop! Help me, diary!
The last entry was disturbing and sad:
Dear Diary,
I can't write much because I am so very, very weak. It hurts to sit...it hurts to lie down.....Mom and Dad are going bananas and they've called an ambulance. I'm so tired.....tired...I don't want to die, I-----"The diary ended there and there were no more to come.
"Where do we begin, Mulder?" Scully asked, feeling sorry for poor Sara. "Somehow, we've got to find answers before more people die this awful way."
Scully decided that she would compare the three persons' autopsy records and see if anything was consistent in each. While she did this, Mulder had the unfortunate task of interviewing Sara's grieving mother, a task that he hated above all others. There was just nothing adequate to say when a child dies before a parent. When he arrived in the small, Boston townhouse that afternoon, the experience was even more depressing than he'd imagined.
Mrs. Schultz sat on an overstuffed couch, crying bitterly. She could barely speak and when she did, it was more of a loud, incomprehensible wailing---it was the cry of a mother who'd just buried her only child. Finally, the poor woman pulled herself together enough to answer some of Mulder's questions.
He did his best to be gentle and compassionate. "Mrs. Schultz, did your daughter start on a diet of some sort? Was she unhappy about her body and, maybe, thought that if she lost a few pounds---"
"My baby was perfect!!" The woman cried out, her voice laced with anger. "She had a beautiful body. She was petite and she played all kinds of sports. Sara would never go on a diet and if she had, I would have known about it. Sara told me everything."
Mulder squirmed uncomfortably, wishing he were anywhere else but in that Boston townhouse. "Well, I don't mean any disrespect here, but children don't always tell their parents everything."
"Do you have a child?" Mrs. Schultz demanded, growing more enraged. "I'm willing to bet you don't. So how dare you sit there and try to tell me about kids. You've got a hell of a lot of nerve, young man and I think you should leave now."
Mulder knew that there was no sense trying to calm the woman down---it was too soon after Sara's death. He could only hope that Scully would uncover something in the medical field that would help solve the mystery. As he stood up to leave, Mrs. Schultz apologized, saying sadly, "Please forgive me. I--I just don't know how I can go on without my baby. She was everything to me. Listen, if it will help to look through Sara's things, then you have my permission. I can't go into her room, though. It's just too much."
"Thank you," Mulder replied, heading toward the staircase where the girl's room was located. He felt awkward and intrusive, but if he and Scully were to figure out what had killed three formely healthy people, it was necessary to uncover every stone. They had read Sara's diary---perhaps something in her room could lead the agents to an answer to the disturbing puzzle.
Mulder tried to be as careful as possible while examining Sara's belongings. Everything looked to be the items that a seventeen-year-old high school senior would have on hand: A portable CD player, many popular CD's, R.E.M. posters on her wall, clothes everywhere but on their hangers and stuffed animals covering most of the bed. Then, while rummaging through Sara's dresser drawers, Mulder came across a small container that looked as if it was hiding something. Sara had placed it in with her socks, stuffed right at the back of the drawer. Picking up the object, Mulder shook it and determined that there was some kind of liquid inside it.
After forcing the lid off, he smelled the contents. There was either no scent at all, or one that was practically undetectable. Curious, Mulder poured a little of the liquid into his left palm and was surprised to see that it immediately evaporated into his skin, leaving absolutely no trace. Was this some new designer drug that kids were experimenting with? Just to make certain, he would take the rest of the substance with him so that Scully could analyze it. Mulder thanked Sara's mother and gave her a hug before leaving the townhouse. He wasn't really big on hugging, but this poor woman was so completely devastated that she touched him deeply. Mulder knew that she would never get over her daughter's death, no matter how much time elapsed.
* * * * *
Upon returning home, Mulder was somewhat relieved when he heard that Scully was making some headway in figuring out what had taken three lives in such a short period of time. Scully sat down with her partner and went over her findings, which had taken twenty-four straight hours to decipher.
"What seems to be an identical ingredient in all three deaths is the presence of strange substance that was found in the tissues of all of the victims."
Mulder squirmed uneasily and replied, "You mean the liquid stuff has something to do with them wasting away like that?" He refused to jump the gun, as it were, until everything had been gone over.
"Yes, I believe so. If we can analyze this, we will most likely be well on the way to solving this case." She turned toward Mulder and asked, "Is everything okay? You look pretty stressed."
Mulder shrugged it off. "It's just that I found this vial in Sara's room, filled with a strange and unknown liquid. When I poured some of it into my hand, it evaporated right away and left no trace of it behind. Do you think it's the same stuff?"
Scully frowned in conern. "I wish you hadn't touched it with your bare hand," she responded. "But we won't jump to conclusions until I've checked out what you found in the girl's room."
The next few hours would be the longest in Mulder's life, but he kept himself busy going over Sara's diary again and using the Internet to communicate with some friends and family members of Ben Higgins and Jenna Kendricks. Surely the answers to the desperate questions would soon be found before anyone else died. After spending two hours online with Douglas Kendricks, Jenna's older brother, Mulder decided to take a quick nap.
He was awakened by a frantic Scully and discovered that he'd been in a deep sleep for over four hours. Struggling to awaken, he knew that something had gone terribly wrong. "Mulder," she asked, her voice quavering a bit, "Did those clothes fit you earlier today?"
Mulder was surprised at such an odd question. "What are you talking about, Scully? Yes, I try to wear clothes that fit. What's the big deal?"
He didn't have to wonder long. Standing up, Mulder was shocked to find that he was literally swimming in his clothes. "Well, at least we have the answer----the liquid I found in Sara's room must be responsible for this." Mulder's bravado masked a genuine fear of dying as those three others had.
"We're running out of time," said Scully, trying not to look at her partner. "I'm calling Skinner. This has hit home now and I don't know where to go from here."
