ATOM HEART MOTHER

A MAN WHO LOVES DOLLS TOO MUCH

 

A very pale man in a dark blue suit sat in a lawn chair as doll parts moved over and around him in very slow-motion. He opened his mouth to let out a silent scream.. In the background words were being written in blood on a solid white wall. A head rolled across his lap. It stayed long enough for it to mouth something, a name.

The body parts continued to rhythmically move around the man leaving a bloody trail on his suit as if it were a dance. The phone rang. First in a faint whisper, then eventually reaching a loud decibel. The man rifled through the bloody doll parts looking for the telephone. He became panicked, covering his ears to rid the ringing of the phone. But it didn’t stop ringing. He cried out once more, no sound came from his gaping mouth.

George awoke, bolting upright in his bed. He exhaled, tasting something awful in his mouth. Then he realized the phone was still ringing. He hesitated, got out of bed, stumbled to his desk to answer the phone. He touched the phone, recoiled. He shook his head no. George reached underneath the desk and unplugged the phone.

George smiled. He yawned as he walked to the bathroom. He shut the bathroom door, whistling. The whistling turned into humming, a very bad habit George acquired when he moved back in with his step-mother a few years back. She hummed and whistled no mater what she did. Walking down the street, or beating dust and dirt from her rugs.

George did it when he was happy.

The humming stopped. George was very quiet for a moment.

Background noise was faint. The running of water was finally drowned out by the noise . A backwards echo of some kind , till it reached its peak as the telephone rang. The bathroom door flew open. George stood in the doorway, dumbfounded. He looked left, then right. In an instant

the noise was gone.

“Very troubling,” He said out loud.

George walked to the desk where his phone rested. He checked the cord. He found it as he had left it. Torn from the wall jack. George shrugged. He walked back to the bathroom whistling. He turned to look at the phone on his desk, slowly shutting the door.

Later, George was in a department store. He walked by displays, touching soaps, perfumes, peanut butter, exotic virgin oils, soda, razors, DVD s, Ens deodorants, dog treats, womens

deodorants. None of which, at the moment, caught George's eye.

George saw the doll sitting alone on a pile of boxes in the middle of the toy aisle. The florescent lights caught her childish features just right. Her brown hair in tiny rolls, big, bright blue eyes, red cheeks, pouty red lips pursed slightly. She wore a white dress with netting around the neck and sleeves.

George immediately fell in love.

He placed the doll in a shopping bag and quickly walked off.

George was eating his lunch at a park bench . People were passing by in slow motion. George was lost in his own world, smiling to himself. Eating his sandwich with one hand and the other hand in the shopping bag, touching the doll. An older black man looked at George disapproving. Two young men see George, begin laughing. A woman and her friend look on, whispering. A police cruiser rode through slowly, watching George.

George noticed he was being watched. Suddenly, he left the park bench, leaving his lunch behind. Carefully, George took his shopping bag with him, stepping up his pace as he touched his bow-tie with a hand.

The world resumed as normal. An elderly black man crossed the park on his walk. The woman and her friend watch their children play on the playground. Two young men toss a Frisbee. The police cruiser rides by at a normal speed, glancing at the action in the park.

In the bedroom, George groomed himself for his date. The blue suit was the perfect choice. A little hair jell to make sure that cow lick doesn’t rear it's ugly head. He looked at himself in the mirror, found a couple strands of hair on his shoulder. He reached for lint brush on his bed when he heard a knock at the door.

George cursed under his breath.

He went to the door. He peaked through the barely open door, the chains still the latch. George saw no one. He shrugged, shut the door. He heard another knock, this time more intense. He cracked the door, peaked through. Again, George saw no one. Before he shut the door, he decided to open it all the way. It was right there, at George's doorstep. It was looking up at him, with that salacious smile, wide brown eyes.

George gasped for air. His hands shook, his head began to twitch slightly.

George quickly shut the door. I put her in the trash can in the next town! George thought. No!No! I got rid of her!

He peaked again. The doll was scratched, one eye broken out of its socket.

Trash stuck to it's hair. It's lips moved, whispering, “Heart-breaker......”

George slammed the door shut. He covered his face with his hands.

“No,” he said. “I'm hallucinating.” He tried to catch his breath, loosening his tie. Wasn't enough air in the house. He could feel the muscles in his heart tighten up. He grunted, moaned, let out tiny screams to release the pressure he was feeling.

There was another knock at the door. It started out as taps, built into loud banging. He heard a muffled voice calling his name. George inhaled, then exhaled. He repeated the exercise several times. He fixed a smile on his face the best he could. George wiped away any perspiration from his forehead and opened the door.

It was a man at the door. He was dressed in slacks and a polo shirt. His sandy blonde hair was cut very short, almost military. Was this guy a cop? Wait, George thought. A cop wouldn't be here. I committed no crime.

“Yes?” George barely mustered.

“You shut the door in my face three times....?” The man laughed.

“What do you want?” George said in a monotone voice.

“I'm sorry. My name is Reggie brown,” The man put his hand out to be shaken. George looked at the man as if he were handing George a bag of s**t. “Oh, um, I was hired, here's my license,” he showed his wallet to George , who squinted, looked at the card carefully.”I'm a private detective. I'm told you were the last person to see Joyce Bee.”

“Why? Is she missing?”

Reggie smiled, his eyes showed suspicion. He shrugged. “So what do you know then?”

“I haven't seen her,” George said.

“Look,” Reggie stepped forward threateningly. “We both know you have seen her. Just recently......a week ago a witness saw you with her----”

“I don’t have to talk to you !” George slammed the front door in Reggie's face.

Reggie sighed. “I'm sorry I offended you. I'm under the gun to find Joyce. I need your help. I'm just doing my job.” Reggie thought a second. “You have to understand, questions, all I'm going to do is ask you questions. That's all.”

Reggie walked down Pitchard and Grove. He turned the corner, stopped in alley behind a dumpster in the back of a Chinese restaurant. It was very muggy for it to be may and at night for that matter. Reggie stayed in the shadows, watched the clouds pass through a half moon.

Footsteps on the cobble street alerted Reggie. He turned to look. Still too dark to see what was going on. Still too dark to make out who it was. Reggie slowed his breathing.

Don't want to give myself away, he thought.

Once the clouds cleared the moon, the lighting was better. He saw an arm , shape of someone twenty yards ahead. They stood at the backdoor of the Chinese restaurant. In the distance music was playing. Loud, thunderous bass line that could shatter glass windows. Probably coming from the club on the other side of the street, on Trinity. The bass always made Reggie's heart beat faster, felt like it was going to explode any minute.

Reggie always hated that.

He saw the shape move slightly out of the shadows. The shape coughed, but it caught it, so it trailed off into a grunt. Reggie backed behind the dumpster a little more. He smacked his elbow on the edge of the metal contraption. Reggie winced. A slight numbing of his elbow came, after the initial pain.

The shape walked a few steps toward the dumpster, stopped. It had to be a man, Reggie thought. No woman walks so heavy and as clumsily. The shape looked around. The alley seemed clear. It walked a few steps more, only softer on the cobble, sounding more like a dragging, then a shuffle of feet. It was wearing dress shoes. Reggie could tell by the sound of the heel.

The shape quickly took form of a man as it came into the moonlight.

George didn't answer Reggie. He barricaded himself against the front door, waited til he heard Reggie's car start up and move out of the gravel driveway.

George swallowed hard. His eyes cut quickly to the basement door. Now he was angry. Very angry. How dare that man come to George's home and attempt to wreck his life! No, George thought. I won't let him. He will not spoil everything.

George rushed to the basement door, slung it open wildly. He stopped on the steps, turned the dim light on. George felt a cold sweat drip from his body. He nodded. There, right there. An over-sized trunk lay in a bare, sparse room, on the cold hard pavement. George ran down the steps, missing the last one. He caught himself from falling.

That would've been a laugh, he told himself. “A laugh for sure.” Fallen and broken my neck. The jig would have been up. Everyone in the world would know. “For sure. For sure.”

George came softly to the trunk, not to disturb even the dust that had fallen upon it.

He lifted the top carefully. He shuddered at what he saw inside it. George bit his fingers to make he was not dreaming. A woman lay that trunk, her lifeless body was in a strange, disproportionate way. Her black glassy eyes stared back at George. George shook his head. “ No one can know, no one, “ He said. He touched the dead woman's face gently, tracing every line on her bone-white skin. She was dressed like a doll, her gray hair in tied in pig tails by pink ribbon. A pink, Lacey dress had been hastily slipped on. Her white stockings were wrinkled, showed terrible varicose veins that were scattered across her legs. Someone actually had the kind thought to fix her blue lips into a smile, not a pretty one, but it was a smile indeed.

“No one can know,” George bent down and kissed the dead woman's lips softly. “No one can know, no one.......” George closed the top on the trunk.

He caught his breath, backed away from the trunk, then turned quickly and was up the steps of the basement without hesitation.

The dinner table was messy. Two wine bottles over turned and dripping wine on the rug in the dinning room. Plates with half-eaten food scattered. A trail of clothing on the floor led to rumpled bed. George lay half way on the mattress, his legs almost touching the floor. He moved the sheet over his naked body. The doll was beside him. George was distant. She stared at him, lovingly.

“What is it?” She asked him.

George said nothing. He cut his eyes at her, a look of disgust fell on his face.

“You seem to be bothered by something,” The doll said.

“You talk too much,” George said in a huff.

“You don't want me to talk, I suppose.” The doll rolled her eyes.

“Your brilliant,” George told her.

Two beats went by without a word. Still, George couldn't help think of Reggie. He's going to ruin everything, George thought. Then everyone will know. George felt the doll's plastic hand on his chest. He pushed it away. “Stop it,” He told her.

“Don't you still like me?” Her lips opened and the words beat at George's ears.

George was red with anger. “I wish I had never set eyes on you.” His words were hurtful, and the doll showed how much it hurt.

“I was good enough to bed down, though,” She said.

With a hand, George smacked the doll across the face. In return the doll ran it's nubby fingers across his neck, causing deep, bloody gashes. George railed out in pain like a wounded animal. He called the doll terrible, vile names. Things she'd never heard uttered at her. George's hands grasped the doll by the throat and squeezed. The doll gasped for air. Her small arms waved violently. George squeezed harder. Her eyes rolled in the back of her head. George told her she was like the rest of them, and like the rest of them, she was better to the world dead!

In mere minutes, it was over.

George removed his strained hands from the doll's neck. The marks from his grasp were apparent. George was not sorry for this. Not like what he did to Joyce. He was very glad this one was dead.

He stood and gathered his clothes. Now, he thought. Get rid of her. He would have to drive far, maybe to the desert this time.

It was five-thirty a.m. Before George reached home. The birds were singing before was up. He felt good. Burdens were laid to rest. He placed his key in the lock of his front door knob. It unlocked and the door opened with much ease. George actually was smiling again. He stepped inside, removed his jacket, threw it on the couch.

As he turned the lamp on, he saw her sitting in his chair.

THAT DOLL.......I KILLED YOU........ He tried to scream as he stumbled backwards.

It was the one he thought he was hallucinating about, the one he saw before Reggie showed up. The scratches on it's porcelain face, one eye missing, trash hanging from it's hair.

“Heart-breaker........” The doll said in a raspy voice. “Heart-breaker!” She screamed, leaping onto George with such force, he fell to the floor.

George opened his mouth and tried to scream. The doll opened her mouth, showed George her small pointed teeth. He tried hard to pull her from him, but he felt weak in the arms, rubbery. The doll burrowed it's head into George's chest, it's teeth moving in a rotary direction. Small holes from fallen flesh turned to one large hole as bone turned to particles. Blood spurted from George, spraying about the floor.

George lay there, lost in a surreal reality, his face frozen in fear.

When the doll was done, it lift it's head from George's chest, face smeared from his blood. There was a malicious smile on it's face, and George's still-heart hanging from it's small pointed teeth.

Footsteps echoed in George's house. The floorboards creaked. Very nice, polished black shoes stopped where George lay on the floor. Two hands picked the doll up. Reggie cradled it.

“Come along, Joyce,” Reggie said. “Your done here. Vengeance has been delivered.”

“Heart-breaker.......” The doll managed. “Heart-breaker......”

Yes, Reggie thought. Something I shall never be..........

George didn't answer Reggie. He barricaded himself against the front door, waited til he heard Reggie's car start up and move out of the gravel driveway.

George swallowed hard. His eyes cut quickly to the basement door. Now he was angry. Very angry. How dare that man come to George's home and attempt to wreck his life! No, George thought. I won't let him. He will not spoil everything.

George rushed to the basement door, slung it open wildly. He stopped on the steps, turned the dim light on. George felt a cold sweat drip from his body. He nodded. There, right there. An over-sized trunk lay in a bare, sparse room, on the cold hard pavement. George ran down the steps, missing the last one. He caught himself from falling.

That would've been a laugh, he told himself. “A laugh for sure.” Fallen and broken my neck. The jig would have been up. Everyone in the world would know. “For sure. For sure.”

Reviews

[Pauline Ramsey]

Hmmm...for this piece, I am going to start with the positive and work my way from there. I think you have a very interesting idea here. I like how the doll becomes a grotesque infatuation for your main character and that its presence is certainly deserving in this story. However, I feel that there are several things wrong with this piece. As I was reading, the story was being "told" to me, rather than "shown." Between those two concepts, it can sometimes be a fine line and sometimes, I find myself making the same mistake. When describing George's movements, emotions, actions and whatnot, it's almost like you're making a "laundry list" of all these things. For example, "George smiled. He yawned as he walked to the bathroom. He shut the bathroom door, whistling. The whistling turned into humming, a very bad habit George acquired when he moved back in with his step-mother a few years back. She hummed and whistled no mater what she did. Walking down the street, or beating dust and dirt from her rugs." With the way these paragraphs are written, you're telling us of all the things he did. How about wording it like this, "George smiled sluggishly. Yawning, he walked to the bathroom and began whistling as he closed the door behind him. The whistling turned into humming, a very bad habit he acquired upon moving back with his stepmother a few years ago. She hummed no matter what she did, whether it be walking down the street or beating the dust and dirt from her rugs." Subtle differences like these will help the reader latch onto your story all the better. Another thing I found a bit confusing was his relationship with the missing woman. I understand that he was the one that killed her, but why? How did he come to know her? How did he do it? Was it because he has a fetish for dolls or doll-like qualities? Fleshing out your story, showing instead of telling, and perhaps a rewrite of the same tale will help you considerably get the readers to be at the edge of their seats. This is a good premise and interesting plot line, but it does need some heavy duty work. Hope this helps!