Was sir in awareness of the fact that beloved suspense novelist Daphne du Maurier once wrote a horror story about the evils of sex toys? That she did it in 1937, after which it was lost for over 70 years? That it is in all its availability for sir’s earliest convenience, if he will slash my throatlet for being so bold?
You would be fatal to any man. A spark that lights, and does not burn itself, a flame fanning other flames.
What did I love in you but your indifference, and the suggestions that lay beneath your indifference?
(THE SUGGESTION IS THAT SHE IS TOO ADDICTED TO HER LIFE-SIZED DILDO-BOY TO LOVE A REAL MAN)
“You gave me a marvellous sensation when you played,” I told her, “it was beautiful, intoxicating, I shall never forget it. You have a rare – no – a very dangerous talent.” She was silent, and then spoke in her restrained, breathless little voice. “I played for you,” she said, “I wanted to see what it was like to play to a man.” Her words bewildered me, they seemed utterly inexplicable. She was not lying, her eyes looked straight into mine, and she was smiling.
“What do you mean?” I asked her. “Have you never played for anyone before, do you use your gift just to satisfy yourself? I don’t understand.”
“Perhaps,” she said slowly, “perhaps, it’s like that, I can’t explain.”
THIS IS FORESHADOWING, FOR THE EVIL DILDO
There was one chair in the room, and this was facing the divan.
Something was sitting in the chair. I felt an eerie cold feeling in my heart, as if the room were haunted. “What is it?” I whispered.
Rebecca took the lamp and held it over the chair. “This is Julio,” she said softly. I stepped closer, and saw what I took to be a boy of about 16, dressed in a dinner jacket, shirt and waistcoat, and long Spanish trousers.
His face was the most evil thing I have ever seen. It was ashen pale in colour, and the mouth was a crimson gash, sensual and depraved. The nose was thin, with curved nostrils, and the eyes were cruel, gleaming and narrow, and curiously still. They seemed to stare right through one – the eyes of a hawk. The hair was sleek and dark, brushed right back from the white forehead.
It was the face of a satyr, a grinning hateful satyr.
Then I was aware of a strange feeling of disappointment, a helpless sensation of not understanding, of dumb incredulity.
There was no boy sitting in the chair. It was a doll. Human enough, damnably lifelike, with a foul distinctive personality but a doll.
Only a doll. The eyes stared into mine without recognition, the mouth leered foolishly. I looked at Rebecca, she was watching my face.
“I don’t see,” I said, “what’s the point of all this? Where did you get this loathsome toy? Are you having a joke with me?” I spoke sharply, I felt uneasy and cold. The next moment the room was in darkness, she had turned out the lamp. I felt her arms round my neck, and her mouth upon mine.
The evil dildo’s name is Julio
Then I knew. Something gripped my heart, cold, clammy fear.
I looked towards that other room – his room – Julio’s room.
I knew that Rebecca was in there, with the doll – with Julio.
I felt my way across the room and beat against the door. It was locked. I kicked against the panel, and tore at it with my nails. It gave way beneath my weight. I heard a cry of fury from Rebecca, and she turned on the lamp.
Oh! Christ, I shall never forget her eyes, the terrible light – the unholy rapture in her eyes, and her ashen – ashen face.
I saw everything – the room, the divan – I knew everything. I was seized with deadly sickness – a terrible despair.
And all the time his vile filthy face was looking at me. His eyes never left me, staring with a lifeless, glassy immobility. The wet crimson mouth was sneering – the sleek dark hair hung in streaks across his cheek. He was a machine – something worked by screws – he was not alive, not human – but terrible, ghastly.
And Rebecca turned to me. Her voice was cold – apart – unearthly.
“And you expect me to love you. Don’t you see that I can’t – I can’t? How can I care for you, or any man? Go away, leave me. I loathe you. I loathe you all. I don’t need you. I don’t want you.”
Something cracked inside my heart. I turned away. I left them. I left them alone. I ran into the street – tears were pouring down my face – I sobbed aloud – I shook my fist at the stars . . .
BEWARE THE COMING PLAGUE OF SEX DOLL MEN, THEY WILL FREEZE THE HEARTS OF WOMEN AND KEEP THEM FROM LEARNING HOW TO LOVE
If you will kindly excuse me, I will be on the floor for the reminder of the afternoon and also my life.
Mallory is an Editor of The Toast.