- Oh, Daddy, cut it out. - I knew it was you, Dad.
Quit picking on your brother. Remember he loves you.
No, I don't.
I'm glad you're back home, Dad.
Ah, not as glad as I am.
Did you see a lot of weird stuff this year?
Yup, it was the weirdest show ever.
But right now, your mother thinks you guys are getting ready for bed.
And if she comes out here
and finds you guys still in the pool, she's gonna kill me.
So, come on, out of the pool.
-Aw, Dad.
Quit your whining.
Come on, or no bedtime story.
Out you go. That's it.
We don't even have school tomorrow.
What the hell?
What happened to him?
Nothing you can ascertain from that photograph.
The victim suffered from ichthyosis,
a congenital skin disease characterized by
the shedding of the epidermis in the form of scales.
This shows the entry wound of the undetermined weapon.
There were no other injuries inflicted upon the body,
no internal organs removed and/or cannibalized,
and there's no signs of any sexual molestation, either.
That's 48 attacks over the last 28 years,
occurring in every state in the continental U.S. almost,
the first in Oregon and the last five in Florida.
The victims range from all different age groups,
races, both male and female.
The mutilations appear so motiveless
that one would suspect some form of ritual,
yet they adhere to no known cult.
A lone serial killer would have been expected
to escalate the level of violence of his attacks
over such an extended period of time.
So what do you think, Scully?
What are your initial thoughts?
Imagine going through your whole life looking like this.
"The Lord is my shepherd."
"I shall not want."
"He maketh me to lie down in green pastures."
"He leadeth me beside the still waters."
"He restoreth my soul."
"He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness"
"for his name's sake."
"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,"
"I will fear no evil, for thou art with me."
"Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me."
"Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies."
"Thou anointest my head with oil."
"My cup runneth over."
"Surely, goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,"
"and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever."
We are gathered here today
to mourn the passing of Jerald Glazebrook,
beloved husband, father, friend
and entertainer.
We mourn not only the passing
of a man who overcame the obstacles of his earthly incarnation,
but also the passing of the love
that dwelled within his all-too-human heart.
We mourn the passing of the admiration and the respect
he instilled in all of his professional colleagues.
We mourn the passing of the laughter and the enjoyment
he brought each audience who saw him.
For although Jerry was a world-renowned escape artist,
there is one strongbox from which none of us can escape.
Help.
Not having known the deceased personally,
I'm in no position to perform a proper eulogy.
I'm sure he was a nice guy, et cetera, et cetera.
But as an admirer of the man's work, I am in a position
to perform an impromptu tribute in his honor,
namely, ramming this spike into my chest!
Are you crazy? Don't you have any respect at all?
I think I hit my left ventricle!
This is a funeral!
Get back, fascist!
Get him out of here!
You're awful!
I can't wait for the wake.
On his ViCAP form,
Jerald Glazebrook's occupation was listed as "artist."
Jerry was an artist, the best escape artist since Houdini.
He should have been headlining Vegas,
but his skin condition kept him on the sideshow circuit.
I guess I didn't realize that sideshows were still in existence.
There are about two or three of them still around.
I got the impression that Glazebrook
wasn't the only sideshow performer residing here.
The town was founded back in the '20s
when some of Barnum & Bailey's troupes
started coming down here during the winter off-seasons.
You know, this town's history might help explain our case's history.
A sideshow performer would have toured much of the country over the years.
And their isolation from everyday society caused by their physical deformities
could have built up pathological resentments
so intense that murder might...
Now, now, hold on a second.
Around here, we refer to them as "very special people."
Now, some of them may be different on the outside,
but it's what inside that counts.
And on the inside, they're as normal as anybody.
Until their arrests, many serial killers
are considered by their friends and family to be quite normal.
If you truly regard these people as normal,
then you must also consider the possibility
that they are capable of committing these crimes.
It's just been my experience that other people have a harder time
accepting these people's deformities than they do themselves.
Sheriff, what is this?
This design here, it's, uh, copyrighted by Hepcat Helm.
- Is that a local artist?
A bit too local.
His workplace is right behind my station house.
Do you think that we could meet Hepcat?
Watch my eyes when you light them up.
Bling! Listen to me whine like a harpsichord...
Hepcat! Hepcat!
Who are the rubes?
These are FBI agents Scully and Mulder.
This is Hepcat Helm.
He operates a carnival fun house.
Oh, man, how many times have I told you not to call it that?
It's not some rinky-dink carny ride.
People go through it, they don't have fun.
They get the hell scared out of them.
It's not a fun house.
It's a tabernacle of terror.
It's a fun house.
Mr. Helm, I wanted to ask you about this menu illustration.
I recognize most of the historical portraits
you've drawn here, but what's this here?
It's the Feejee Mermaid.
Is that what that thing is?
What's the Feejee Mermaid?
The Feejee Mermaid. It's the Feejee Mermaid.
It's a bit of humbug Barnum pulled in the last century.
Barnum billed it as a real live mermaid,
but when people went in to see it, all they saw was a real dead monkey
sewn on the tail of a fish.
It was a monkey?
A mummified monkey.
It supposedly looked so bad, he had to exhibit it as a "genuine fake."
Oh, but, see, that's why Barnum was a genius.
You never know where the truth ends and the humbug begins.
He came right out and said,
"This Feejee Mermaid thing is just a bunch of BS."
That just made people want to go and see it even more.
So, I mean, who knows?
Maybe for box-office reasons, Barnum hawked it as a hoax,
when in reality...
The Feejee Mermaid was a reality.
Sheriff, we're gonna need to find a place to stay tonight.
There are lodgings right across the way, but, uh, what's all this about?
These tracks were found at several of the past few crime scenes.
They've defied exact identification,
but one expert speculated that they might be simian in nature.
You don't mean to tell me you think these tracks
were made by the Feejee Mermaid?
Do you recall what Barnum said about suckers?
Tell me, have you done much circus work in your life?
And what makes you think I've ever spectated a circus,
much less been enslaved by one?
I know that many of the citizens here are former circus hands,
and I just thought that...
You thought that because I am a person of short stature
that the only career I could procure for myself
would be one confined to the so-called big top.
You took one quick look at me
and decided that you could deduce my entire life.
Never would it have occurred to you
that a person of my height
could have possibly obtained a degree
in hotel management.
I'm sorry. I meant no offense.
Well, then why should I take offense?
Just because it's human nature to make instantaneous judgments of others
based solely upon their physical appearances?
Why, I've done the same thing to you, for example.
I've taken in your all-American features,
your dour demeanor, your unimaginative necktie design,
and concluded that you work for the government.
An FBI agent.
But do you see the tragedy here?
I have mistakenly reduced you to a stereotype, a caricature,
instead of regarding you as a specific, unique individual.
But I am an FBI agent.
Register here, please.
Tell me, have you done much circus work in your life?
I was on the stage for most of my life.
I was a headliner.
Did it not bother you to have people staring at you?
Best work I ever had.
All I had to do was stand there.
Occasionally, I'd say, "Ladies and gentlemen,"
"I'd like you to meet my brother Leonard."
"Excuse him. He's a little shy."
Big laughs, I tell you, big laughs.
Why'd you give it up?
Mr. Nutt, the kindhearted manager here,
convinced me that to make a living
by publicly displaying my deformity lacked dignity.
So now I carry other people's luggage.
I believe these are your trailers.
If they are not, then I am wrong.
Oh.
That's most considerate.
Thank you very much.
Good night.
Sleep tight.
Don't let the bedbugs bite.
No. No, that... That's not what I meant.
I... I didn't mean to imply we had bedbugs.
I-I meant to say, "Don't let... Don't let the..."
The Feejee Mermaids bite.
Yes, that's right. The Feejee Mermaids.
That's right.
That's exactly...
Mulder, what is this Feejee Mermaid business?
Every murder investigation begins with a list of possible suspects.
You should try not to be so exclusive, Scully.
As long as you try not to let the atmosphere of this town
distort your list all out of proportion.
I'm in a frenzy.
Frenzy.
This love gushes from my heart.
Like water from a spout.
You build a flame from a tiny spark.
You can really knock me out Yeah!
Ease my mind with your real cool lines.
Daddy, fill my soul with love divine.
When you say you're mine, all mine
I'm in a frenzy...
What the hell?
Uh, ma'am...
Sheriff, he, uh, wants to see you.
There's been another murder.
Hey, Scully, there's some blood on the window here
we should send to the lab.
Why run a test on the victim's blood?
No, not this window. This window.
This seems to be the point of entry,
and there's a smear of blood on the outside of the window.
Why would there be blood before the attack?
Why didn't the attacker just come through the open door?
For a person to crawl in and out of these windows,
they'd have to be a contortionist,
or just plain crazy.
Or both.
While they're performing the autopsy, I want to go down to the...
Yes!
How many people do you know
that can get out of a straitjacket in under three minutes?
Fortunately, none.
We caught your act yesterday at the funeral.
That was some trick with the railroad spike.
Dr. Blockhead does not perform "tricks."
Dr. Blockhead performs astounding acts of body manipulation
and pain endurance.
You must be one of those rare individuals
whose nerve endings don't register pain.
You just keep telling yourself that.
Have you ever performed this, uh, act on anyone else?
What, are you sick?
I tell my audiences that if they're stupid enough
to try this themselves,
they'll end up with a slight lobotomy.
I am a professional.
Exactly how does one become a professional blockhead?
May I?
Starting in my homeland of Yemen,
I studied with yogis, fakirs and swamis,
learning the ancient arts of body manipulation.
But most men know nothing of these arts.
For instance, did you know that
through the protective Chinese practice of Tie Bu Shan,
you can train your testicles to draw up into your abdomen?
Oh, I'm doing that as we speak.
I saw him this morning down by the river.
He was eating a fish.
He knows between-show snacks will ruin his appetite.
I could be mistaken.
Maybe it was another bald-headed, jigsaw puzzle-tattooed naked guy I saw.
Is this man also a body manipulator?
No, in the classical sense, The Conundrum's a geek.
He eats live animals.
He eats anything.
Live animals, dead animals, rocks, lightbulbs,
corkscrews, battery cables, cranberries...
Human flesh?
Only The Conundrum can answer that question,
but he doesn't answer questions.
He merely poses them.
When an audience partakes in The Conundrum's human piranha act,
they are left to ask themselves...
...why.
But where are my manners?
Thank you.
It's an old sleight of hand my uncle once taught me.
He was only an amateur magician,
but he was still better than those two.
Well, I'm going over to the lab to see if they can test
the blood on the window against the blood on Dr. Blockhead's nail.
Everybody's uncle is an amateur magician.
Welcome to my museum.
May I put to rest any questions you may have conjured?
I was just reading about the fascinating life of Chang and Eng,
and wondering if their death was just as fascinating.
Oh, very much so.
On a cold January eve in 1874,
Eng awoke to find his brother had passed away
during the course of the night.
A few hours later, Eng himself departed from this world.
Now, these facts themselves may be less than fascinating,
but imagine... Imagine being Eng
and lying there,
knowing that essentially half your body was now dead,
that the rest must inevitably follow,
and being able to do about it absolutely nothing.
At the autopsy, it was officially concluded
that Chang died of a cerebral hemorrhage.
And what was the official cause of Eng's death?
Fright.
Do you have any information on Blockhead or geek acts?
This is an historical collection on human curiosities.
Blockheads are skilled performers.
Like magicians?
Like sword swallowers who really do swallow swords.
Geeks are neither skilled nor curiosities.
They're merely unseemly, not even attaining the level of gaffs.
Gaffs?
Observe closely the dissimilarity of the facial features.
Conjoined twins are always identical.
These gentlemen are phonies, gaffs.
Sort of like the Feejee Mermaid?
You're investigating the Alligator Man's murder, yes?
I have something I believe you might find of some interest.
What does this have to do with the Glazebrook murders?
I've recently come into possession of an authentic P.T. Barnum exhibit.
Now, I don't show this display to all my customers,
only those with the intellectual curiosity to appreciate it.
Barnum billed it as "the great unknown."
I must first ask of you two favors.
Tell no soul what you witness in here.
And the second favor?
An additional donation of $5.
Does Agent Scully know that you're under her crawl space?
I was merely repairing the plumbing on this unit.
I know what you're thinking, my friend, but you are grossly mistaken.
Just because I'm not of so-called average height
does not mean I must receive my thrills vicariously.
Not all women are attracted
to overly tall, lanky men such as yourself.
You'd be surprised how many women find my size intriguingly alluring.
And you'd be surprised how many men do as well.
Oh, it's you.
Is Mr. Nutt finished with the plumbing?
The blood from the window matched the blood from the nail,
but they were both O-positive.
They've been sent for further analysis.
I ran a background check on Dr. Blockhead.
His real name is Jeffrey Swaim, and he wasn't born in Yemen.
He was born in Milwaukee.
He does not hold a doctorate.
Well, I ended up running a bit of a background check myself.
On who?
On an orphan discovered in the wild forest of Albania in 1943.
"Although physically adept at catching his own food,"
"he could not speak a word, save for a few savage grunts."
"Brought to this country, he was exhibited behind a locked cage"
"necessitated by his feral ferocity,"
"where he would terrify onlookers by devouring chunks of raw meat."
However, for reasons I could not ascertain,
he ran away from the circus
and spent a vague number of years mysteriously roaming about,
supporting himself through a number of nondescript jobs.
Eventually, he wound up in Gibsonton,
where he took up a career in law enforcement
and has spent the past four terms serving as sheriff.
You're talking about Sheriff Hamilton?
I'm telling you that before becoming Sheriff Hamilton,
James Hamilton was Jim-Jim, The Dog-Faced Boy.
You know, Scully,
hypertrichosis does not connote lycanthropy.
What are you implying?
We're being highly discriminatory here.
Just because a man was once afflicted with excessive hairiness,
we've no reason to suspect him of aberrant behavior.
It's like assuming guilt based solely on skin color, isn't it?
Yeah.
May I ask what you're doing?
We're exhuming...
Your potato.
May I ask why?
Sheriff, it's been documented
that many serial killers possess a fascination with police work,
some of them even holding positions on their local force.
So surveillance of investigation team members
is often utilized as a precautionary...
We found out you used to be a dog-faced boy.
Boy, look how skinny I was back then.
So that is you.
Oh, sure. I spent the first half of my life as Jim-Jim.
Then one morning, I noticed a bald spot on top of my head,
and realized I wasn't only losing my hair, but my career as well.
Eventually, all the hair went.
On top of my head, anyways.
The rest of my body is still pretty hairy, which is why I never go to the beach.
That doesn't quite explain the potato.
I got, uh, some warts on my hand.
That doesn't quite explain the potato.
To get rid of warts, you rub a sliced potato on your hand
and bury it under a full moon.
The investigation isn't going too well, is it?
So, tell me, Commodore, why are the weirdos
the only ones that pay their rent checks in advance?
I warn you, you tattooed cretin,
I have a licensed firearm, and I'm more than eager
for an opportunity to use it.
I found him.
He's dead. He's dead.
Lanny says all the doors and windows
were locked from the inside.
Scully, come here!
He was like a brother to me.
I don't know if a contortionist could get through that doggie door, Scully,
but look at this.
Lanny! Lanny!
Take it easy. You're gonna hurt yourself.
So what?
So you might hurt me in the process.
He gets this way sometimes.
I'll have to toss him in the drunk tank.
We'll take Jeffrey Swaim into custody.
Come on, Lanny, let's go.
You know, Mulder,
for a while there, I was beginning to suspect
this case involved something a bit more, um...
Freakish?
You really shouldn't complain about banality, Scully,
when your main suspect is the human blockhead.
It's open!
Mr. Swaim, federal agents. We're here to...
It's a variation of an American Indian sun dance ritual.
I suspend myself by these hooks,
and the pain becomes so unbearable, I leave my body.
If people knew the true price of spirituality,
there'd be more atheists.
Mr. Swaim, we're here to take you into custody
to question you about some recent murders.
I don't answer any questions till I talk to my lawyer.
Who's your lawyer?
I represent myself.
Sir, if you're going to be uncooperative, I'll have to handcuff you.
What gives you fascists the right to do that?
Did I not mention we're federal agents?
Did I not mention I'm an escape artist?
- Whoa!
Mulder, are you okay?
It's more comfortable than a futon.
Hey, look what I caught.
Ouch!
What the hell?
No! No...
- No!
This has all the makings
of one of those mistaken identity, miscarriage of justice things
that prove so popular on 60 Minutes.
Does this belong to you?
The Fifth Amendment of our beloved Constitution says...
What is that?
It's Lanny in the drunk tank.
He'll be all right once he sleeps it off.
No, I don't think he's gonna sleep this one off.
There's been another attack.
How could anyone have gotten in there?
No one got in, but someone got out.
What are you talking about?
I'm not sure myself, Mulder,
but I think we'll know more when we find Leonard.
Leonard?
Lanny's brother.
Oh, God, they extracted the twin.
No. The twin extracted itself.
But it's an appendage.
Yeah. Mulder, this wound is identical
to the other victims' wounds, with one exception.
He's not bleeding.
If you're trying to tell me his twin brother can
crawl out of his body and then go gallivanting around town,
you're as drunk as he is.
You said it yourself, Sheriff.
It's what's inside that counts.
I have a feeling that Lanny has an internal anomaly
that allows his conjoining twin to disjoin.
But how? How?
How... How could I turn him in without turning myself in?
Lanny, why does he attack other people?
I don't think he knows he's harming anyone.
He's merely seeking
another brother.
Are you in pain, Lanny?
It hurts.
It hurts not to be wanted.
I don't know why he hates me so.
I've taken care of him for all of our lives.
Maybe that is the reason why.
How long can he survive outside of your body?
Long enough
to understand that you cannot change the way you were born.
Don't worry.
He'll come back.
He always does.
I'm still his only brother.
Sheriff, we're gonna need the paramedics.
Scully, you're the medical expert.
If you think the twin can disengage, I believe you,
but how mobile could such a thing be?
Too mobile.
So, your twin, can, uh...
And then...
What an act!
I'll cover the back.
Freeze!
It's the fun house.
I thought I heard a shot fired.
I think we better go outside and catch this thing coming out.
It's the manager's dog.
The trailer park.
You all right?
Have you seen a, uh... Uh...
Check out the area behind that trailer.
- And let me know what you find. - All right.
Now, you're sure it was the twin you saw running around here?
I mean, maybe it was the Feejee Mermaid,
and he jumped back in the river and swum his way back to Fiji.
Now you know how I feel.
- You're taking off? - Are you kidding?
With that thing still on the loose?
They've been searching for it all day.
It can't have sustained itself for this long.
It'll probably try to crawl back up into its brother.
No, his brother Lanny died last night.
I already performed the autopsy on him this morning.
So I guess it's true. You can never go home again.
His body wounds were nonfatal.
He died as a result of advanced cirrhosis of the liver.
Oh, there's a moral to the story.
Lay off the booze.
Well, his body possesses some anatomical discrepancies,
some offshoots of the esophagus and trachea
that almost seem umbilical in nature.
I've never seen anything like it.
And you never will again.
21st-century genetic engineering will not only eradicate
the Siamese twins and the alligator-skinned people,
but you're gonna be hard-pressed to find a slight overbite
or a not-so-high cheekbone.
You see, I've seen the future, and the future looks just like him.
Imagine going through your whole life looking like that.
That's why it's left up to self-made freaks
like me and The Conundrum to remind people.
Remind people of what?
Nature abhors normality.
It can't go very long without creating a mutant.
- And do you know why? - No. Why?
I don't either. It's a mystery.
Maybe some mysteries are never meant to be solved.
What's the matter with your friend?
I don't know what his problem is.
Maybe it's the Florida heat.
Hope it's nothing serious.
Probably something I ate.