Museum issues response after mom claims she saw sons skinned body displayed

A Las Vegas museum is pushing back hard against a Texas mother who insists one of its plastinated human bodies is actually her son — a claim that has haunted her for more than a decade and refuses to fade. What began as suspicion after an unexpected death has evolved into a personal investigation marked by grief, unanswered questions, and a lingering sense that something never added up.

Kim Erick’s son, 23-year-old Chris Todd Erick, died in 2012. Police said he suffered two heart attacks caused by an undiagnosed heart condition while at his grandmother’s home in Midlothian, Texas. His father and grandmother handled the arrangements, opting for cremation. Kim received a necklace said to contain part of his ashes, but even then, something about the situation unsettled her. The official story felt too neat, too quick, too restrained for a mother who knew her son’s habits, health, and behavior.

Her doubts deepened when she reviewed police photos taken after his death. She believed she saw bruising and marks around his limbs — signs that looked to her like possible restraints or mishandling. She pushed for answers, and eventually a homicide investigation was opened in 2014. But detectives found no evidence of foul play. They concluded the bruises were consistent with normal postmortem changes and emergency attempts to revive him. The ruling stood: natural causes.

But Kim couldn’t let it go. Grief demands answers, and when those answers don’t come, the mind fills the void.

Years later, a moment of shock reignited everything. In 2018, Kim visited Real Bodies, a Las Vegas anatomy exhibit featuring plastinated cadavers — real human bodies preserved and displayed for educational purposes. Among the figures was a seated, fully skinned form nicknamed “The Thinker.” When Kim saw it, something inside her jolted. She became convinced it was Chris.

What triggered the reaction wasn’t just a hunch. She believed the skull of the exhibit figure showed a fracture identical to one documented in Chris’s medical history. She said the area where Chris had a tattoo appeared deliberately removed, and the posture — combined with the visible features — struck her too strongly to dismiss. To her, this wasn’t coincidence. This was her son, displayed to strangers under bright lights.

Kim demanded DNA testing, believing it was the only way to settle the matter. The museum immediately denied the request. They said the body had been acquired legally from China years before Chris was even born and had been part of the touring exhibit since 2004. Their records, photographs, and plastination timeline all contradicted the idea that it could be her son.

But the refusal only strengthened Kim’s belief that something was wrong. In her eyes, no transparent organization would deny DNA testing if they were certain of their own documentation. The body, she argued, didn’t match the timeline because plastination can take years and because the chain of custody for cadavers obtained through Chinese medical programs has long been a source of controversy. She didn’t trust the museum’s assurances, and the more she questioned, the more she felt stonewalled.

Then something happened that made her suspicion surge again: “The Thinker” vanished from the exhibit. The museum removed the body from the Las Vegas display, offering no public explanation beyond routine rotation. Kim tried to track where the figure went next, but couldn’t. To her, the timing felt too convenient, too sudden — as though the moment she raised uncomfortable questions, the exhibit piece disappeared to avoid scrutiny.

For Kim, this wasn’t proof, but it was fuel.

Her fixation gained new intensity in 2023 when hundreds of unidentified cremated remains were discovered in the Nevada desert. Authorities believed the remains came from a local mortuary that mishandled bodies, but Kim saw another possibility. If unidentified ashes could be abandoned in the desert, she argued, why couldn’t a cadaver be misidentified or mishandled on its way to a museum? The discovery didn’t offer answers, but it revived her sense that institutional mistakes — or worse — were entirely possible.

Throughout it all, the museum has maintained its stance: the claim is baseless. They point to paperwork showing the cadaver was donated legally in China long before 2012. They reference archived photographs of the body’s preparation process and insist that plastination requires a timeline that doesn’t align with Chris’s death. Investigators reiterate that there is no evidence of foul play in his passing, no gaps in the cremation chain, and no reason to believe human remains from Texas somehow ended up repurposed in a Las Vegas exhibit.

But official statements don’t close emotional wounds. Kim continues pressing because grief doesn’t care about documentation. Her son died unexpectedly at 23. She wasn’t part of the cremation decision. She received only a necklace instead of an urn. She saw photos she couldn’t forget, bruises she couldn’t explain, and a plastinated figure she believed matched her son’s body too closely to ignore.

In her mind, if there’s even a tiny possibility the body in that exhibit is Chris, she won’t stop fighting. She has said repeatedly that no mother would stand down if she saw something that resembled her child in such a disturbing context.

The museum, of course, sees it differently. To them, this is a tragic misunderstanding — a grieving mother connecting dots that don’t line up, driven by heartbreak rather than evidence. They insist their records are airtight and that the removal of “The Thinker” had nothing to do with her claims. They acknowledge her pain, but not her theory.

Still, Kim keeps searching. She contacts journalists, pushes investigators, and tracks any lead — no matter how slim — that might bring her clarity. Her persistence isn’t fueled by conspiracy or attention. It’s fueled by love and the devastating reality that she never fully understood what happened to her son on the day he died.

The situation has reached a stalemate: institutional certainty versus personal conviction. The museum stands by its documentation. Police stand by their ruling. But Kim stands by her son, refusing to accept a narrative that has never felt complete to her.

Her story is messy, painful, and unresolved — the kind of story where closure isn’t offered, it’s chased. And after more than a decade of pushing for answers, she shows no signs of stopping.