I should’ve known something was wrong before the exam. But nothing really jumped out at me. I’m 21 years old, in good shape, with no aches or pains or ailments. Perfect health, really.
There were the little oddities, though. Like the fact that I hadn’t needed a haircut in six months. Or the little scratches and scrapes that never seemed to quite heal. I’d even had problems with bugs—sometimes I’d wake up itchy, only to notice several ants crawling up and down my body. Other times I’d notice patches of dusty dirt clinging to my elbows and knees. But I loved the outdoors, and hiked a few times a week, so the bugs and the dirt didn’t seem all that strange.
So, I never strung everything together—until I got a biopsy on a suspicious-looking mole.
I knew something was wrong as soon as Dr. Wagner entered the room. After the usual pleasantries, he sat down across from me, a grave look on his face. “We need to discuss the results of your biopsy.”
The panic began. It’s melanoma. I have cancer. No no no. I’m only 21—
“We analyzed the cells, and they did not appear cancerous. However, they were all dead.”
“…Huh?”
“All the cells that we analyzed. They weren’t abnormal in any way. But they also weren’t alive.” He pushed out a sigh. “Necrosis can happen for a number of reasons. Frostbite, for example. But I didn’t see any signs of frostbite… or anything else that would cause necrosis of skin tissue.”
“So what’s wrong, then?”
“We need to do more tests,” he replied, which I knew was doctor-ese for I have no fucking idea.
“What do you think it is, though?”
“I’ll be honest with you, Cate. I just don’t know, at this point.” He offered me a forced smile. “But don’t worry. Whatever it is, I don’t think it’s a big deal.”
He was wrong.
Dr. Wagner removed the entire mole and sent it to the lab. The analysis came back: all the cells were dead.
Then he took skin samples from a few other areas on my body. They were all dead, too.
“Usually when cells die, including skin cells, they undergo apoptosis,” he told me. “As in, they force themselves to implode before they get too old and turn into cancer. But these cells… they’re intact. It’s just that, the cellular processes aren’t happening. It’s almost like they’re… frozen in time.”
“What could cause that?”
A pause. A long pause. “Were you exposed to any radiation, or extreme temperatures, or anything else like that recently?”
I shook my head.
“Any recent infections?”
I shook my head, again.
“I’m going to refer you to a rheumatologist. I’d like to rule out autoimmune disease. I also want to refer you to my colleague, Dr. Menendez. He specializes in rare skin conditions.”
So he had no idea.
I stared down at my skin, my arms, my feet. They all looked perfectly normal. Healthy, even.
What is wrong with me?
***
While waiting for my appointments with those doctors, I decided to tell my friend Melanie.
Melanie was one of the smartest people I knew—and she happened to be majoring in biology. It was a long shot that she’d have any ideas, but what else was I going to do? Just stare at the wall, waiting for more inconclusive tests?
“I think we should take a blood sample,” Melanie said, after I’d told her everything. And then she pulled the drawer open, riffling through various lab supplies.
“What—here? Now?”
She shrugged. “Yeah. Why not?”
“Won’t you get in trouble?”
“Nah. Dr. Thompson is really chill about stuff like this.”
(As it turned out, Dr. Thompson was not really chill about undergrads taking blood samples in her lab, and Melanie almost got kicked out of the school. But that’s a whole ‘nother story.)
She pricked my finger—which really hurt, actually*—*but she was nice enough to make conversation to distract me. She asked me about my leave from school six months ago, and if I was feeling better. “Always take care of yourself,” she said to me, giving me a pat on the shoulder.
Then she squeezed a drop of blood out onto a slide. She dropped the cover slip on, and the blood instantly expanded into a translucent red pool. Then she slid it into the microscope and worked at the dials.
“What are you looking for?” I asked, standing awkwardly behind her.
“Stuff.”
“Stuff?”
“Just wait.”
“Okay.”
I waited patiently as Melanie continued to work at the dials, squinting through the microscope.
Then she gasped.
“What—what is it?”
“See for yourself.”
I put my eye to the microscope.
I don’t really know much about biology. I’m a history major, and I hadn’t used a microscope since 9th grade. But I could tell what was going on, sort of: the small reddish blobs floating around were probably red blood cells, and the sea of yellowish liquid was plasma.
“I don’t see anything weird.”
“Do you see the white blood cells?”
“I have no idea.”
She let out a condescending sigh. “The clearish ones?”
I squinted—and then I did see one. It was clear, spotted, and sort of prickly on the edges instead of round. “Yeah, I think so.”
“It isn’t moving. None of them are.” I heard her footsteps on the floor, as she began to pace. “Usually, white blood cells are moving all around, trying to neutralize threats, get rid of infections, that kind of thing. But yours aren’t. I think… I think they’re dead.”
I turned away from the microscope, my heart dropping.
“It makes no sense. If all your white blood cells were dead, you’d be dead. You wouldn’t be able to fight off the mildest illness or infection. Even the smallest papercut would get infected. But you… you’re fine. Alive.”
Melanie paced back and forth across the lab, her voice growing excited, frenetic.
“There are so many genetic diseases and disorders we haven’t classified yet. So many medical miracles that are still mysteries. What if you’re one of them?” She sucked in a breath. “How did life begin? We still don’t know, exactly. Can something be alive, while its cells are dead? Before, we didn’t think so. But you’re sitting there. Alive.” She began pacing faster, back and forth, back and forth.
A chill crept down my spine. I didn’t like the way Melanie seemed so… excited. So obsessed. I nearly jumped as she stopped pacing and turned to face me, a huge grin on her face.
“We’ll show Dr. Thompson. That’s what we’ll do. We can keep taking samples here, in the lab. Figure out what’s going on. It could change the world, Cate. Don’t you see? It could change everything we’ve ever known about life itself.”
I got up and, slowly, backed towards the door. “I think I’m gonna go. I have a class early tomorrow.”
“No, stay! We have so much to talk about!”
I grabbed the doorknob and ran out.
I expected her to follow me. Maybe chase me down, inject me with horse tranquilizer, and start ‘experimenting’ on me. But she didn’t. When I turned around, the hallway was completely empty.
***
Every cell in my body is dead.
I’ve been visiting random doctors, conducting random tests. Covering my tracks by using a different doctor for each test. But everything has come up the same. From cheek cells to skin cells to blood, everything in my body is dead.
It doesn’t make sense. My organs are working. My kidneys are still filtering my blood, my eyes are still able to see. My muscles contract and extend as I move around. Yet, no matter what tests I run—biopsies, samples, blood—I don’t find a single living cell in my body.
I’ve been avoiding Melanie. But about three weeks after she took my blood sample, she showed up at my door.
I only answered because I thought she was my grocery delivery. “Melanie,” I started. “I’m in the middle of—”
She pushed past me, into my apartment. “I have to tell you something. Please, just, sit.”
She looked upset. No longer excited and fascinated by me, but disturbed. I finally sat down, my heart beginning to pound.
“I sent your blood sample to a lab,” she breathed, finally sitting down across from me. “They do really in-depth analysis. And I thought—I thought it’d be a good thing, that it would shed light on everything. But… but…” Her voice wavered. She looked like she was about to cry.
“What? What’s wrong?”
“They didn’t just look at your cells. They looked at the molecular makeup of them. The proteins, the molecules, the atoms, the elements, that sort of thing,” she said, her voice shaking again. “And it’s all wrong, Cate. It’s not any of the molecules you’d see in a normal human cell.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“It’s dirt,” she said, her voice shaking. “Dirt and mud and clay. When they ran the mass spectrometer, and analyzed the molecular makeup of your cells, it matched the profile of dirt. Not organic molecules you’d find in a human body.”
“What? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever—”
“Have you ever heard of a golem?” she asked, her voice a high-pitched screech now.
A golem. The word sunk into me. Right—the beings in Jewish folklore, made of dirt or clay or other inanimate substance. Animated by God or some other being. Anthropomorphic… but never human. Animated… but never alive.
“You’re not saying…” I shook my head. “That’s crazy. I can’t—”
“Six months ago,” she said, pulling out her phone. “You, Cate Benson, died of a seizure. Look at the photo. You can’t tell me that doesn’t look exactly like you.”
I looked at the article.
All the blood drained out of my face.
There was a photo of me. An obituary. In loving memory.
My head swam. I felt weak. Every muscle in my body felt like it had seized up. “You… I don’t…”
“Someone couldn’t bear to lose you,” she said, putting her phone back down on the table. “And this is the way they decided to cope.”
I stared down at my hands. At my skin. Made of mud. Made of clay.
Animated, but never alive.
----
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