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November 2008

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Our print division, Comet Press, is currently accepting submissions for horror, suspense, and dark crime novels and novellas. Visit www.cometpress.us for details.

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DEADLINES: AN ANTHOLOGY OF HORROR AND DARK FICTION, will be released in November of 2008! Visit www.cometpress.us

Mysterio and Galatea
by Michael A. Kechula

♦♦♦

“I just got the results of the chemical analysis,” Rolf said to the doll lying on the bed in silk, custom-made pajamas. “It says the composition of the scrapings I took from your heel consist of unknown elements. They want to know the source of the scrapings. Naturally, I’m not gonna tell them. So, my Dear, who the hell are you? Where do you come from? Why are you here? How come you just happened to show up that day when I was walking in the woods?”

The doll’s eyes were fixed on the ceiling.

“Dammit, Galatea, why don’t you answer?” Then he caught himself. Here I go again. Talking to her as if she were real.

After a stiff drink, he carried the doll to the living room, and sat it on top of his grand piano.

Damn she’s gorgeous. I’m glad I had the tailor make the pajamas a size too small. Makes her nipples strain against the material. They remind me so much of my ex-wife’s.

Running his palm down the doll’s cheek, he said, “By the way, the card and box of candy on the piano are for you. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

He waited for a response. Then caught himself. “I keep forgetting you’re not real. But that may not be forever. Meanwhile, let’s get down to business. Let’s do the Judy Garland medley one more time. I want our performance tonight at the Cosmos Club absolutely perfect. This being Valentine’s Day, the audience should be in a very sentimental mood. Let’s use it to our best advantage. When you do You Made Me Love You, I want women weeping, and men squirming in their seats. And when you do Over the Rainbow, I want you to tear their hearts out.”

The doll stared straight ahead.

“By the way, Margaret Carter, who owns the town’s biggest bank, will be at tonight’s show. She has an authentic pair of the ruby slippers Judy Garland wore in The Wizard of Oz. She wants to come to our dressing room and try the slippers on you. If they fit, she wants you to wear them during the medley. I figure it’ll be a showstopper. Plus she’ll get a big charge out of it, and who knows where that might lead.”

When he played the introduction to You Made Me Love You, his mind drifted back to the day in the woods when he spotted a hand jutting from the soil.

At first, he thought the hand was attached to a dead body. His digging revealed a life-size doll, lying in a fetal position. It looked so extraordinary, Rolf took it home for closer scrutiny.

He decided to clean the doll and wash it’s tattered clothes. If it turned out to be in good enough shape, maybe he’d offer it to his eight-year-old niece.

When he laid it on the bathroom floor and slipped off its ragged sweater, he was stunned to discover perfectly shaped, nippled breasts. Even more amazing was the thick patch of pubic hair beneath the doll’s shorts. A quick touch proved the texture was authentic. He spread its legs. Somebody had manufactured the doll with an anatomically correct vulva. He suppressed an urge to probe more deeply.

Filling the bathtub, he immersed the doll in warm, soapy water. It was a chore scrubbing the gunk caked on its face, but when he finished he let out a whistle. The doll had the most exquisite face he’d ever seen.

As he continued scrubbing, he found himself slowing down when reaching its breasts. This is stupid. I’m acting as if she were a real woman.

Rolf chuckled at his ridiculous feelings of modesty and washed her breasts vigorously.

He scrubbed its stomach and abdomen, using lots of elbow grease. But he found himself pausing again when he was about to reach lower. Throwing soap and the cloth into the tub, he said, “Wash down there, yourself.”

He turned away and waited.

After a few moments, he chuckled over his stupidity. What the hell’s wrong with me? I’m acting like I’m invading a woman’s private parts. She’s nothing but a damn, unfeeling, inanimate doll. I shouldn’t hafta think twice about touching her anywhere.

That’s when he realized he’d used the word her. He was attributing to the doll that which it could never be: a flesh-and-blood woman with life, emotions, soul. Nevertheless, from that moment forward, he said her whenever thinking and referring to his doll.

Grabbing a bottle of vodka, he tossed down a double, went back to the bathroom, spread the doll’s legs, and scoured every nook and cranny.

As he dried her soft, flexible body, he scrutinized her fabulously constructed legs, tight butt, six-pack abs. Everything about her was perfect. He figured if she were a real woman, men would kill for her favors.

Draping a sheet around her, he carried the doll to the living room, and set her in an armchair.

His dog seemed to approach her with reverence. When the dog’s mouth reached up to her hand, he seemed to give it a gentle kiss, instead of a sloppy lathering.

“You’re amazing,” Rolf said. “Now you’re charming the hell outta my dog.”

He made a fire, went to the piano and played Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. Looking at the freshly scrubbed, scrumptious-looking doll made him play sweeter.

They looked like an ordinary family, spending a quiet evening by the fireplace. Rolf played the piano softly and with infinite tenderness. His dog rested on the floor next to an easy chair. And in that chair, wrapped in a sheet, looking like a Greek goddess, was the most exquisite representation of a woman he’d ever seen.

Half way through the sonata, he heard a faint, ethereal voice drifting in and out with the evening breezes. As the song progressed, the voice accompanying him slowly increased in volume. Whoever was humming must’ve heard his passionate rendition of Beethoven, and felt moved to join in. Curious, Rolf went to a window and peered outside to see who owned the remarkable voice. Nobody was there.

He repeated the sonata and waited until the humming grew loud enough to pinpoint the source. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he realized the sound came from the doll’s direction.

Rolf went to the doll and put his ear against her lips. Nothing. He hummed to see if she’d follow along. Still nothing.

He thought about calling his psychiatrist to make an appointment sooner than the one already scheduled. He’d learned enough about himself through a year’s worth of therapy to recognize when his behavior was becoming irrational. It wasn’t normal to hesitate when washing a doll’s body, and treating it as if she were real. Nor was it rational to hear a voice coming from her when playing Beethoven. That was wild fantasy, the very thing that’d abetted his nervous breakdown a year ago.

Then he decided he was merely overtired and over-stimulated by the day’s strange events. Chuckling at his stupidity, Rolf put the dog out and headed for bed.

Lying in bed, he thought of his breakdown, and the terrible emotional suffering it’d caused. But he was well past the worst, and he’d made good progress. His doctor had succeeded in pulling him out of deeply entrenched depression that overwhelmed when his wife left him for a younger man.

After intense therapy, his doctor had assured he’d soon feel vital enough to compose music once again. Though classically trained, through some unusual twists and turns, Rolf had become a successful composer of country songs. A string of hits brought affluence. But the music world doesn’t stand still for long, and if he were to retain his edge and earning power, he’d soon have to write new songs.

Everything seemed better after a good night’s sleep. Following a hearty breakfast, Rolf checked the dog and the doll. The dog was chasing birds in the yard. The doll was in the same place he’d left her. Everything was normal.

He headed for the piano to do finger exercises. The moment he played, the humming voice started up again. When he stopped, the voice stopped. When he resumed, so did the humming. What surprised him most was its ability to keep up with every note, while his fingers raced on the keyboard.

This time, he decided to continue without interruption to see just how loud the voice would get. Soon, the house was filled with glorious, enthralling humming that seemed to come from the doll’s direction.

It can’t possibly be the doll. How could she know what note comes next? What the hell’s going on here? Do I have a poltergeist? Is the doll possessed? Am I hearing things? Am I having a relapse of my nervous breakdown? Oh God, not that. Anything but that.

Rolf put the doll in a spare bedroom at the other end of the house, then resumed his finger exercises. It wasn’t long before he heard loud humming coming from the bedroom. That’s it! I’m taking her back where I found her. My nerves can’t take this.

When a tranquilizer soothed his jitters, Rolf was struck with an idea. If she can hum my finger exercises, I wonder if she can hum a song?

As he played, I Could Have Danced All Night, the doll’s humming made the song sound even more lively and delightful.

This can’t be something evil. It sounds so vibrant, so cheerful. Something possessed wouldn’t hum so beautifully. If anything, she’d hum off-key and make me pound the keyboard. Maybe I’m thinking about this the wrong way. Maybe she’s a gift. Something sent from God for my being a good husband, and for suffering the injustice of my wife’s desertion. Maybe there’s a way to capitalize on the doll’s wonderful voice.

Rolf decided to create a theatrical act. He would dress the doll in beautiful gowns, sit her on top of a grand piano, and let her hum to her heart’s content. As a cover for what was actually happening, he could call it a magic act. Instead of making rabbits appear from nowhere, he’d make a lifeless doll appear to hum with no human assistance. Audiences would think he was a master magician. Perhaps he and Galatea would become the most unique man-doll act ever to appear on stage.

Sitting her on top of the piano he tested his idea. He played a bit of everything from Chopin’s classics to Willie Nelson’s country tunes. She hummed everything flawlessly.

“Well, my beauty, if you were real, I’d kiss your hand. You’ve just become my ticket to a brand new career. I’m going to dress you like a princess. I’ll buy you dazzling faux jewels to grace your lovely fingers, wrists, and pretty neck. I’m going to make you a star!”

After her custom made gowns and jewels arrived, they had their first dress rehearsal. Slipping a black gown over her shoulders, Rolf paused a few moments to gently touch them. They seemed so soft, pliable, and real, he almost kissed them. Damn! I’m spending too much time with a doll instead of real women. But real women can be dangerous. They have wants and needs. They might leave me at the drop of a hat. I don’t think I could stand to have a woman walk out on me ever again.

He slipped her jewelry on. Next, he lowered the lid on his grand piano, put her on top, and adjusted her posture so that she’d look even more alluring. He raised the bottom of her gown to display just enough of her legs to make men fidget.

After some fine adjustments, he stepped back to gaze at his starlet. Her coiffed red hair, green eyes, creamy skin were so beautiful, Rolf found himself running to her and kissing her cheek.

He noticed the more he doted on the doll, the more thoughts about his ex wife and how she’d devastated him, slid away. The doll was damn good medicine. Far better than his psychiatrist’s prescriptions.

“You need a name,” he said, gazing into her large, enchanting eyes. He mentioned a few that popped into his head, but none seemed satisfactory. “C’mon, let’s do some brainstorming.”

Instantly, Galatea came to mind. “Good going! It’s perfect.”

Rolf set her back on the piano and went to the keyboard. “OK. Let’s start with something simple: Some Enchanted Evening. Then we’ll do I’m Always Chasing Rainbows.

The moment she began to hum, he knew they were going to be a big hit. He phoned an acquaintance who was a theatrical agent.

“Fred, this is Rolf. I developed a new magic act you really must see.”

“Everybody likes magic acts,” the agent said. “But to sell seats these days, you gotta have something really different.”

“My act’s dynamite. It’s part magic, ventriloquism, and music. I use a beautiful, life-sized doll to accompany me by humming while I play a wide range of musical works. We can do Broadway tunes, light classics, opera, ethnic pieces, country and western, and jazz.

Rolf explained how nobody would ever discover how he managed to make the doll hum so loudly and beautifully. Both his hands would be occupied on the keyboard at all times, so he wouldn’t be manipulating the doll like other ventriloquists. Plus he’d throw his voice to make it sound like a real women. In fact, as the song progressed, he could make the doll sound as if a dozen women were singing simultaneously.

“How do you make the doll hum?” Fred asked.

“Magic. How else?”

Rolf and Galatea auditioned the next day. The agent loved the act. Before long, they were booked into small clubs. Billed as Mysterio and Galatea, they were a huge hit. As they quickly moved up to bigger showrooms, many said they’d end up in New York City’s Carnegie Hall in no time.

Rolf’s mind snapped back to the present when Galatea finished humming Over the Rainbow.

“That’s wonderful, Galatea. Do it like that tonight at the Cosmos Club and you’ll tear their hearts out. With your voice, the ruby slippers, and that song, they’ll remember your performance forever. We’re heading for the top! I feel it in my bones.”

Rolf checked his watch. “We have seven hours before show time. I’m gonna take a nap. I suggest you do the same. This way, we can both be at our best for tonight’s show.”

He carried Galatea to her bedroom, removed all her clothes and laid her on the bed. He found himself drawing little circles on her stomach with his fingertips. “Do you like that?” he asked. Then he moved his lips toward her stomach.

Something stopped him at the last moment. Realizing what he’d almost done, he hurried from the room, shaking. He grabbed the phone to make an appointment with his psychiatrist. While tapping the numbers, he wondered how he’d work up enough nerve to explain his powerful attraction to a doll.

On the second ring, he hung up. There was an easier way to drive her from his mind. All he had to do was hire a professional woman. Someone made of real flesh who’d wring every drop of desire from his tortured psyche. But the idea gave him a tinge of guilt. Galatea would never approve.

Falling asleep, he dreamed of Galatea. Her beauty. Her softness. Suddenly, she was upon him, tender, then like an insane, wild beast. His release was so powerful, he found himself sitting straight up in bed, panting and sweating.

After showering, he went to her room and peeked inside. She looked different, somehow. The word afterglow popped into his mind.

While driving to the Cosmos Club, he said, “I’m not sure what’s happening. You know I have certain feelings for you. It isn’t right. But I had this wonderful dream about you. And I can’t help wanting more. Come back tonight while I’m sleeping. I want to feel that again.”

He slammed his fist against the steering wheel. “Dammit! I gotta get hold of myself. You’re nothing but a doll.”

Rolf was slipping a designer gown over Galatea in the Cosmos dressing room when Margaret Carter showed up with the ruby slippers.

“Oh, she’s even more magnificent up close.” Carter said. “How tall is she?”

“Exactly five feet four inches,” Rolf said.

“Where did you acquire her?”

“Switzerland.” That was a huge lie, but he wasn’t about to tell how he found Galatea buried in the woods.

“You must call and give me the name of the doll maker in Switzerland. Do you suppose they have anymore like this?”

“They said Galatea was one-of-a-kind.”

“If you ever want to sell her, let me know. She’d make a wonderful addition to my collection of unusual creations. I’d make it well worth your while. You’d be able to retire immediately with a smile that’d last for the rest of your days.”

“I’ll keep it in mind. Go ahead and try the slippers. It’s almost show time.”

The moment Carter touched Galatea’s feet, she shuddered. In a voice not her own, Carter said, “This doll is infused with an ancient spirit. I can feel it. Listen. She’s calling to us. Can you hear?”

“Mrs. Carter, beside you, the only thing I can hear is my radio. Please try the slippers. It’s almost show time.”

“But she’s calling to us.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Carter, but I’m in such a hurry. The audience is waiting. Perhaps you can return after the show and spend some time with Galatea.”

“I’d prefer you bring her to my home. I have a room that’s most auspicious for conducting séances. I’d like you both to attend tonight at midnight as my guests.”

Rolf wondered about Carter’s sanity, especially when she said to Galatea, “We’ll talk later, my Dear.” Seconds later, she exclaimed, “The shoes fit perfectly! Oh how wonderful!”

Rolf told Carter he’d dedicate the Garland medley to her, and that he’d tell the audience she’d provided the ruby slippers.

She left calling to Galatea, “We’ll hold a séance tonight. Then you can speak to us. I know you want that.”

The audience applauded as Rolf carried Galatea onstage, and sat her on top of the piano. When the spotlight struck the ruby slippers, the audience gasped with delight. Rolf told them the slippers had been graciously provided by Margaret Carter, and gave a few plugs for her bank and wonderful generosity.

Carter rose to acknowledge the warm applause.

The room fell silent as the lights lowered. Galatea was in the center of the spotlight. Rolf began to play, You Made Me Love You, a song Judy Garland sang to Clark Gable on his birthday, back in the 1930s.

The ruby slippers sparkled so brilliantly, the walls and ceiling were filled with flecks of red light.

The audience was so moved by Galatea’s humming, that halfway through the song, they applauded thunderously. Shouts of “Bravo,” filled the room. A shower of roses rained onto the stage. Rolf could have sworn Galatea smiled.

While the audience gave them a standing ovation, the club owner motioned to Rolf to join him offstage in the wings.

“People are saying your doll’s moving,” the owner said. A few are frightened.”

“It’s just an illusion,” Rolf said. “It comes from staring at her too long.”

“That’s not all. Some said they see Munchkins with distorted faces skipping around the piano.”

“Good grief! What’ll they see next? A wicked witch?”

“When you deal with the public anything can happen. Especially in a place like this where we serve drinks. Look, I don’t want anybody getting too scared. This is supposed to be nice, uplifting entertainment, not a show from the Twilight Zone. The last thing I need is bad press. On the other hand, a touch of mystique may be good for business. The stagehands said word is spreading about the doll’s performance. Hundreds are gathering outside, hoping to hear your doll. We might end up doing an extra show. If so, I’ll make it worth your while.”

As the applause died down, Rolf patted Galatea’s head, saying, “Ladies and Gentlemen…the true star of tonight’s performance. Isn’t she magnificent?”

More applause and cheers.

Leaning toward Galatea, as if to make a small adjustment to her gown, he said, “This is the big one—the one that’ll make our future. Give it all you have. Make it exquisite. I want you to tear their hearts out. Do it for me. I swear on my mother’s grave, I’ll go to the ends of the Earth to find somebody who can bring you to life.”

A soft, ethereal voice seemed to whisper, “I will, my Love.”

My imagination’s acting up again, he thought. Facing the audience he said, “And now we’ll perform one of the most fabulous songs ever written for the movies…Over The Rainbow.”

As Galatea hummed the melody softly, Rolf imagined eyes misting over the nostalgia of lost youth, and better and simpler days.

Those who witnessed the performance still talk about it as one of the high points of their theatre-going lives. Some swear they saw Toto racing around the stage. Others saw tin men, ersatz lions, dancing scarecrows.

Galatea was in perfect form. Women wept, men sniffled.

Rolf was ecstatic. There’s no stopping us now.

The tumult following the song was beyond description. The crowd yelled Galatea’s name and “Encore.” Some moved toward the stage with flowers.

A drunk jumped onto the stage, and with outstretched arms raced toward Galatea. He grabbed the doll and hugged her before Rolf could stop him.

Galatea’s hands flew out and slammed the offender’s chest. He fell to the floor. In a flash, Galatea was on top of him, tearing at his chest. The man screamed horribly as the doll tore his heart out. Smiling, the doll offered it to Rolf, as if presenting a precious gift. Rolf fainted.

Seconds later, Galatea attacked the club owner. Though Rolf was lying on the floor unconscious, Galatea gently laid both hearts near his body. Then she flung herself from the stage into the panicked audience.

By the time a SWAT team arrived, many were dead.

The police found blood-soaked Galatea on the stage floor snuggled against Rolf’s unconscious body. Both were surrounded by the outline of a Valentine heart that Galatea had formed from dozens of human hearts.

Nobody was crazy enough to try to prosecute a doll. That didn’t stop a grand jury from seeking ways to indict Rolf, especially when they discovered one of the hearts belonged to Mrs. Carter. Somebody had to pay for murdering a pillar of the community. However, nobody could figure what laws Rolf had violated by playing a piano.

Several hurricanes, a disastrous earthquake, a tsunami, pandemic flu, and three horrendous terrorist attacks caused so much global havoc, Mysterio and Galatea were quickly forgotten. But relatives of Galatea’s victims didn’t forget. Taking the law into their own hands, they burned down Rolf’s house when they heard rumors that Galatea was kept in a crate in the basement. Rumors spread that the burning doll had screamed horrible curses at her tormentors.

Five years later, a short piece about the Mysterio-Galatea-heart-gouging incident appeared on TV’s Bizarre Mysteries. Rolf was shown whiling away the time tapping out nursery rhymes on a toy keyboard. A TV commentator said in a grave voice, “A once, highly talented and vital man now wastes away in this institution. But what put him here?”

The camera panned to Galatea. Wearing a tattered gown, she lay on Rolf’s bed, staring at the ceiling. She wasn’t beautiful anymore. Dozens of scars criscrossed her body. Her face was filled with gaping holes.

“Who was Galatea?” asked the commentator. “And where did she really come from?”

Film clips flashed across the TV giving brief glimpses of the Egyptian Pyramids, Area 51, and Bermuda Triangle.

Next came a clip showing a Mysterio and Galatea performance.

“What was the true relationship between this flesh-and-blood, virile, human male and his stunning, life-size doll with a magnificent female body?” asked the commentator.”

“Look, Rolf,” said a psychiatric nurse. “You’re on TV.”

Rolf didn’t look. He was too busy playing hopscotch with horribly disfigured Munchkins.

Glancing at Galatea, he winked. What a Sweetie. I told her to tear their hearts out. She did. Lots of them. On Valentine’s Day. Just for me.

She winked back. “My Love,” she said in a voice that only he could hear. “Do you think they’d separate us if they discovered what we do every night after lights out?”