The Incredible Shrinking Man - By Richard Matheson Page 0,3

blankness.

"Shrinking?" The word was spoken in a trembling whisper.

"Yes." It was all he could manage to say.

"But that's-"

She'd been about to say that was impossible. But it wasn't impossible, because now that the word had been spoken, it crystallized all the unspoken dread she'd felt since this had begun, a month before; since Scott's first visit to Dr. Branson, when he'd been checked for possible bowing of the legs or dropping of the arches, and the doctor's first diagnosis of loss of weight due to the trip and the new environment and his pushing aside of the possibility that Scott was losing height as well. The dread had grown through the passing days of tense, frightened suspicion while Scott kept growing shorter; through the second visit to Branson and the third; through the X-rays and the blood tests; through the entire bone survey, the search for signs of bone-mass decrease, the search for a pituitary tumour; through the long days of more X-raying and the grim search for cancer. Through today and this moment.

"But that's impossible."

She had to say it. They were the only words her mind and lips would form. He shook his head slowly, dazedly.

"It's what he said," he answered. "He said my height's decreased more than half an inch in the last four days." He swallowed. "But it's not just my height I'm losing. Every part of me seems to be shrinking. Proportionately."

"No." There was adamant refusal in her voice. It was the only reaction she could make to such an idea. "That's all?" she asked, almost angrily. "That's all he can say?"

"Honey, it's what's happening," he said. "He showed me X rays-the ones he took four days ago and the ones he took today. It's true. I'm shrinking." He spoke as though he'd been kicked violently in the stomach, half dazed, half breathless with shock.

"No." This time she sounded more frightened then resolute. "We'll go to a specialist," she said.

"He wants me to," Scott said. "He said I should go to the Columbia Presbyterian Medical Centre in New York. But-"

"Then you will," she said before he could go on.

"Honey, the cost" he said painfully. "We already owe-"

"What has that got to do with it? Do you think for one moment-" A nervous tremor broke her words off. She stood trembling, arms crossed, her hands clutched at her loose-fleshed upper arms. It was the first time since it had started that she'd let him see how afraid she was.

"Lou." He put his arms around her. "It's all right, honey, it's all right."

"It isn't. You have to go to that centre. You have to."

"All right, all right," he murmured. "I will."

"What did he say they'd do?" she asked, and he could hear the desperate need for hope in her voice.

"He..." He licked his lips, trying to remember. "Oh, he said they'd check my endocrine glands; my thyroid, pituitary-my sex glands. He said they'd give me a basal metabolism. Some other tests." Her lips pressed in.

"If he knows that," she said, "why did he have to say what he did about, about shrinking? That's not good doctoring. It's thoughtless."

"Honey, I asked him," he said. "I established it when I started all the tests. I told him I didn't want any secrets. What else could he-"

"All right" she broke in. "But did he have to call it... what he did?"

"That's what it is, Lou," he said in anguish. "There's evidence for it. Those X rays..."

"He could be wrong, Scott," she said. "He's not infallible." He didn't say anything for a long moment. Then quietly, he said, "Look at me." When it had begun, he was a six-footer. Now he looked straight across into his wife's eyes; and his wife was five feet, eight inches tall.

Hopelessly he dropped the fork on his plate. "How can we?" he asked. "The cost Lou, the cost. It'll take at least a month's hospitalization; Branson said so. A month away from work. Marty's already upset as it is. How can I expect him to go on paying me my salary when I don't even-"

"Honey, your health comes first," she said in a nerve flaring voice. "Marty knows that. You know it." He lowered his head, teeth clenched behind drawn lips. Every bill was a chain that weighed him down. He could almost feel the heavy links forged around his limbs.

"And what do we-" he began, stopping as he noticed Beth staring at him, her supper forgotten.

"Eat your food," Lou told her. Beth started a little,