Original subtitles

Welcome, art lovers. We offer for your approval...

a still life, if you will, of noise.

A soundless canvas suggestive of sound.

The mouth belongs to Pamela.

In life, a shrieking battle-ax made up of adenoids, tonsils...

and sound decibels.

In death, an unmuted practitioner of "fishwifery."

Undeterred and ungagged by what one would assume to be...

the great silencer.

Some ghosts come back to haunt.

Others come back simply to pick up where they left off.

Our painting is called Pamela's Voice, and this is the Night Gallery.

♪♪

♪♪

Nothing better to do tonight, Jonathan?

Just stand there like a fish out of water!

Look hard enough and you'll see me.

You're blind as a bat, Jonathan.

Pamela? Is that your voice?

Whose voice were you expecting, you idiot?

Who else's voice would it possibly be?

Yes, quite obviously, it is you, Pamela.

Nobody else could fire off so many hackneyed clichés per minute...

in a voice like unoiled roller skates.

- Surprised? - At what?

- At my being here. - Hardly.

In life, my dear Pamela, you arrived everywhere uninvited.

You and that hyena-mating-call voice of yours.

Tell me, Pamela, how are things up there?

Are they keeping you occupied?

Keeping you contented?

Are there lives... or, rather, afterlives... you can destroy with gossip?

Are there reputations you can filthy up...

with your dark little suspicions and that kitchen-knife tongue of yours?

Oh.

That's incredible. It never occurred to me.

You're probably not even up there. You're more likely...

I'm neither, Jonathan.

I'm right here.

I've never left, though you did your level best...

to get me out of the way.

You are out of the way, Pamela.

Resilient you were, but altogether mortal.

And being mortal, a broken neck did you in nicely.

Was it painful?

I mean, when you landed at the foot of the stairs? It hurt, didn't it?

Not a particle.

That's a pity. Rather takes the fun out of it.

I'd hoped for at least a few moments of prolonged discomfort.

You know, tit for tat.

My years of marital agony against at least a few moments...

of pronounced pain of your own.

It's a pity.

You had it so rough, you did!

You meandering tomcat!

I could've had my pick of any man in town!

Why, my daddy had to bar the doors...

to keep the swains from forcing their way in.

The swains, indeed. They weren't swains, Pamela.

They were a two-platoon system of fortune hunters and hungry gigolos.

You say!

Without big daddy's bankroll,

you couldn't have gotten a proposal from an all-male penal colony.

- You couldn't have gotten a proposition. - Now, you listen to me, Jonathan!

I have listened to you, Pamela.

I've listened to you for years to the point of a bleeding ulcer,

two ruptured eardrums and a permanent migraine.

Well, you listen to me now, Jonathan,

and you keep listening, because I intend to keep right on talking.

You were a swine as a husband!

You were a rotter as a companion!

A faithless Fancy Dan who...

Shut up, woman! Stop that flapping mouth of yours!

You think I risked the electric chair just to suffer more of you?

That suet-pudding body of yours, that was bad enough.

But that voice, Pamela, that voice.

That screeching fingernail across a blackboard...

that fills the room every time you air your tonsils.

Let me tell you something, that's why I killed you. Just that.

That cacaphony of noise. That shrill lunch whistle.

That off-tune calliope that woke me in the morning...

and shrieked at me during the day and pounded my head at night.

That's why I murdered you. That's why I pushed you down the stairs...

So I wouldn't have to listen to your voice!

Well, now, fancy that!

The poor, sensitive man with the delicate ears...

didn't care for the sound of my voice!

Well, Jonathan, what do you suppose you are listening to now?

What do you think it is you're listening to?

What am I listening to? I'm... I'm listening to my imagination.

Yes, I'm listening to a fantasy.

I'm looking at a specter. Let's face it, Pamela.

It's beddy-bye time, permanent beddy-bye time.

It's a quarter of 8:00.

- They'll be coming for you soon. - Who will?

Well, the funeral director and his minions, of course.

We're going to convey you to the cemetery.

How's that again, Jonathan?

The cemetery, Pamela.

The final resting place, the tomb, the crypt, the ossuary.

Dig? Boot Hill, baby!

I swear, Jonathan,

you are still the most absentminded man I have ever met in my life.

- Absentminded? Why? What do you mean? - Don't you remember?

- You buried me months ago. - What? What'd you say.

You pushed me down the stairs on March 17.

My funeral was the 19th. And this is August.

- August? - August.

Then... Then that's...

What's that?

Oh!

You've only yourself to blame, Jonathan.

It's no more than you deserve for so excessively celebrating my demise.

All that rich food, the late hours, the alcoholic spirits.

If I told you once, I told you 100 times,

you are constitutionally unfit for that type of indecency,

that sort of bacchanalian self-indulgence.

But did you listen to me? No, of course not!

Like all the other sound advice I offered you down through the years,

which you so ungratefully ignored.

Then... Then it's not just you.

I-It's I too. I-I'm a...

Ghost.

Yes, Jonathan.

That is precisely what you are.

But I reject that as...

That's palpably unfair! I-I...

When one dies, one either goes up or down.

You're right as rain, Jonathan.

Right as rain.

And in Heaven, you can do whatever you want to.

Take me. As a social person,

as a woman who likes to communicate...

An extrovert, you might say,

a person who enjoys communicating...

Well, I shall spend the rest of my eternity talking.

And you, Jonathan, you pusher of wives down staircases,

while I talk through eternity, you'll listen!

Me? Eternity? But you said yourself,

when one's in Heaven, one can do as one wishes.

In Heaven, Jonathan, in Heaven.

I'm afraid the organization to which you've

been assigned is not quite so accommodating.

Now, let's see. Where was I?

Oh, yes! Now I remember.

As I was telling you, just before you pushed me...

down tho\see stairs, Jonathan,

it's always been my feeling that you can judge a man by the way he listens.

Not by the way he dresses, but by the way he listens.

Now, if a man is really receptive, if he's really attentive,

if a man really cares about what a woman's talking about,

that is when you have something that you can really build upon.

Because if a man doesn't care what you're talking...

An unforgiving sea usually buries its secrets beneath itself.

War ships and ocean liners, treasured galleons and submarines.

Turn into rusting relics inside a watery locker, lost to memory.

But occasionally, there comes a floating...

unbidden reminder of disaster, like this lifeboat.

The painting is called The Lone Survivor.

We'll put it in tow and see where she came from and why.

Bloody odd.

There appears to be only one survivor, sir.

- Lookout. - Aye, aye, sir.

Any signs of life?

I thought I saw a movement, sir, but I can't swear to it.

Starboard, five degrees. Starboard, five degrees, sir.

Three long blasts, Mr. Wilson. Yes, sir.

Who's our best small-boats man?

That would be Mr. Richards, sir.

Ask him to come to the bridge.

Mr. Richards to the bridge.

Looks to be a woman!

Have there been no reports of ships in distress in these waters?

No, sir.

And yet that's a ship's boat.

There's no mistaking it. Sir.

Mr. Richards, I want you to take starboard sea boat.

I'll drop and recover you underway.

Take a signalman with you.

We'll be making about five knots when we bring the boat abeam.

I'll give two short blasts which will be executive...

for unhooking the forward falls and casting off.

I'll circle ship to port and pick you up in the same position.

Is that understood? Aye, aye, Captain.

Well, carry on.

A ship's boat and no ship around.

A single survivor.

Woman at that. A puzzlement for sure.

Check sea boat.

Lowering away handsomely, sir.

All engines slow astern. All engines slow astern, sir.

- Check sea boat. - At waterline.

After falls unhooked.

- Stand by, two short blasts. - Stand by, two short blasts.

Speed? Five knots, sir.

Stop engines. Stop engines, sir.

Ship's boat almost abeam.

Two short blasts. Two short blasts.

Sea boat's sheared off, sir.

Slow ahead. All engines, slow ahead.

Port, 10 degrees. Aye, aye, sir.

Mr. Wilson? Sir.

On the bow of that ship's boat,

can you see something?

Very faintly, sir.

A name, but...

But that's quite impossible, sir.

Impossible, or the product of somebody's perverted sense of humor.

You're going to have to enter this in the ship's log this evening.

Pl initial it. Without my official corroboration,

they'll put you up before a Board of Inquiry...

for drinking on duty.

I'm going on deck. I want to see the survivor...

before anyone else does.

What did you see, sir?

You tell me what you see.

But that's... I know. I know. impossible.

Nevertheless, Q.M., what does it say on the bow of the ship's boat?

It appears to read "Titanic."

Unconscious, sir.

And a man! All right, people.

Everything's all right. Don't worry.

Take him to the infirmary.

Captain, they're pulling the lifeboat in at "C" deck.

I think you'd best see it, sir.

One blanket. That's all I found.

No rescue packet, no life jackets, no flares.

Well, they were swept overboard, lost at sea.

But that's not all that's odd, sir.

- Her condition. - Well, what about it?

She's so barnacled, sir.

All crusted up to the waterline.

It's as if she'd been afloat for...

How long? Come on, tell us.

Since the Titanic hit an iceberg?

And if that had been the case, Mr. Richards,

what do you suppose the condition of that man would be?

Well, he'd be a skeleton, sir.

Surely you weren't the sole survivor?

When your boat reached the water,

what about the crew, the other passengers?

What was the name of the ship?

The Titanic.

And your name?

You don't remember your own name?

What do you recall?

We fouled an iceberg.

It was a point on the starboard side.

Then there was this shuddering noise...

scraping...

somewhere under the starboard bow.

That's all I remember.

You were dressed in women's clothing. Can you account for that?

Then perhaps you'll let me make a stab at a suggestion.

I think you got into those clothes in order to gain access to a lifeboat.

Could it be that?

I-I don't know.

I think you do.

Well, we'll talk again later.

Perhaps after you've had some rest, some of the answers to the questions...

which, at present, seem a little elusive...

will wriggle their way up to the surface.

Doctor?

What year is this?

What year do you think it is?

Why, it's 1912. Isn't it?

Isn't it 1912?

No. It's 1915.

Try to get some more sleep. There'll be somebody with you at all times.

Sir, I should very much like to know...

what in thunderation this is all about.

I've just been thinking, Doctor,

that your patient has been put adrift with a very specific purpose.

Purpose? You've lost me, Captain.

To slow us down, man. To make us change course.

I know it sounds absolutely fantastic, but there is a war on.

No appetite, I'm told.

What time is it? Shortly after 8:00.

Dogwatch just ended.

Were you a member of the Titanic's crew?

Stoker.

Well, if you want to ship out again after we reach London,

I recommend taking some nourishment.

This is the Lusitania. That's right.

It's 1915.

I've been in that lifeboat for three years.

Well, now, we both know that's impossible.

Is it?

Listen to me.

Just... listen to me,

then say it's impossible.

All right.

Have you ever been frightened, Doctor?

I mean,

so frightened you'd do anything to survive?

Hmm? Have you?

Fortunately, I've never found myself in that kind of a situation.

I have.

She was down by the bow and going fast.

When I tried to get into a lifeboat, they stopped me.

No crew members. Just women and children.

That's a traditional rule at sea, isn't it?

Oh, yes.

It all sounds very fine,

unless you're standing on a tilted deck...

heading into icy water that'll kill you in three minutes.

So you put on a dress? And a muffler to hide my face.

And I knocked a half a dozen people aside and got on.

While they were lowering her, one of the cables broke.

She capsized,

but I hung on... somehow.

When she hit the water,

I was the only one who had.

- The ship's band was playing... - ♪♪

some kind of hymn,

and there was this...

This great... wailing... cry.

I could look up at the deck and see faces along the rail.

Hundreds of faces.

Then there was this explosion.

She was going down by the bow,

and everything inside that ship was moving.

Pianos, furniture, deck chairs, everything,

all crashing down into the bow.

And there was this...

This cry.

Then, one by one,

the funnels disappeared,

and then the ship.

And then there was nothing...

but floating... bodies.

Stars,

dead calm...

and bodies.

An illusion.

Don't you understand? It had to be an illusion!

You couldn't have been on the Titanic!

You couldn't have survived in an open boat for three years!

There's an explanation for this... A rational, believable,

quite understandable explanation, and it'll come out eventually.

In the meantime... In the meantime, Doctor, let me tell you something.

You're gonna be hit by a torpedo off the old Head of Kinsdale.

You're going down in 18 minutes flat.

You are a German agent.

I-I wish.

I almost wish I was.

No, Doctor, I'm not a spy,

not a saboteur.

But I'm beginning to understand just what I am.

What are you?

I'm a Flying Dutchman, Doctor,

made of flesh and blood and bones.

Damned and doomed.

An eternity of lifeboats, rescues, and then...

"And then forever being picked up by doomed ships."

Those were his words, Captain.

Justice of a poetic sort.

He believes it. Does he, now?

Very fanciful. Very bizarre.

Except for one notable flaw.

If this is his punishment,

his damnation for a piece of cowardice...

He believes it is.

So, we take a torpedo...

and join him in his damnation.

Not...

Not exactly fair, eh, Doctor?

I mean, in view of the fact that none of us has done anything...

to make us doomed or damned.

It doesn't work that way.

He tells me that when the torpedo hits, only he'll be aware of it.

We are only here to people the scene, so to speak.

According to that bit of logic, you and I are just...

Phantoms, Captain.

Only phantoms.

Ghosts of what we were.

Interesting.

Very interesting, especially in view of the fact...

that I don't feel in the least bit like a ghost.

In fact, I feel...

Bridge? This is the Captain. Come in, Bridge.

Come in, Bridge!

Periscope! It's a periscope.

Periscope off the starboard bow!

Doesn't anyone see it?

Periscope... off the starboard bow!

Periscope. Periscope off the starboard bow!

Torpedo! There's a torpedo dead ahead!

There's a torpe...

Incredible.

What is it?

A ship's boat. Appears to be one survivor.

Any sign of life? One survivor, sir, but...

But what?

You'd better look for yourself, sir.

That can't be!

Get a small boatman and lower him immediately.

We will stop for a recovery.

Someone must be playing a joke.

You read the name on that bow?

Yes, sir.

The Lusitania.

The Lusitania sunk 40-odd years ago.

And this is one of her lifeboats?

Stop engines.

Stop engines.

Starboard, two degrees.

We move now from ships like the Titanic and the Andrea Doria...

to a small fragment of history.

This little collector's item here dates back a few hundred years...

to the British Indian Colonial period,

proving only that sometimes the least likely objects...

can be filled with the most likely horror.

Our painting is called The Doll, and this one you'd best not play with.

The Colonel's home? Just arrived.

Good afternoon, Colonel. Welcome back.

Hello, Miss Danton. How are you?

I'm fine, thank you, sir. And my niece?

Monica's just fine, sir.

Are you here for a long stay this time?

Well, that would depend on the whims...

of the general staff at the Colonial Office.

Good afternoon, Uncle.

How nice to see you, Monica dear.

Have you been well?

And, uh, studying hard?

- And minding Miss Danton? - I've been good.

Miss Danton says I've been good.

- And I have a new doll. - Splendid. Splendid.

Well, the house looks altogether neat and well kept.

And... And who gave you that?

- Sir, I assumed you did. - And why would you assume that?

The package was postmarked India, Province of Hyderabad.

Naturally, I thought that...

- Filthy-looking thing. - No, Uncle.

She's very sweet and very bright too.

She can talk and sing and do all sorts of things.

May I go back upstairs, Miss Danton?

Why, yes, Monica, if your uncle doesn't mind.

You may go upstairs, my dear.

And Uncle will see to it that you get a new doll.

A pretty doll. I really do like this one, Uncle.

I've grown truly fond of it.

Miss Danton, I'd like to talk to you.

I'm, uh...

I'm afraid, Miss Danton,

your judgment leaves much to be desired.

- Specifically, sir? - Granting that you had reason...

to logically presume that I had sent the doll.

Even so, out of fundamental concern for the child's health...

I mean, how could you turn over to Monica such a wretched, grubby specimen?

As an educated woman, surely you must have some conception...

as to the variety of communicable diseases indigenous to India.

I do indeed, sir.

But knowing you'd sent it, I of course took for granted that it was harmless.

You say that as if you no longer believed it.

Monica has so few toys, sir,

and she's a lonely child.

I let her open the package. It was a mistake, perhaps.

But when she saw the doll, she was so overjoyed.

Miss Danton, do you happen to know what a British colonel is paid...

when he's posted in some godforsaken little camel hole on the Indian border?

- I wasn't accusing, sir. - No, but the implication was quite clear.

My niece... my ward... Lives a solitary life,

devoid of playthings and companionship.

And for this unfortunate condition, I must assume the guilt.

- Nothing of the sort, sir. - I broach the issue...

of my somewhat unsubstantial salary, Miss Danton,

simply to remind you that I was in retirement for 11 years.

And when the child's parents were killed, they left her nothing.

Nothing but this sizable, decaying baronial mansion...

which is too big to heat, too old to sell...

and too expensive to maintain.

But unfortunately, I don't have any choice.

My trade is soldiering.

And it's a proper pity that this respected profession...

isn't a shade less honorable and a shade more remunerative.

Believe me, Colonel, there were no aspersions intended.

I quite understand, Miss Danton. I'm merely trying to remind you...

that I wish it were in my power to give her things... toys and the like...

And live in a place where she might have more companionship.

Miss Danton, a moment ago,

I asked you if you had reason to, uh, doubt...

the harmlessness of Monica's doll.

At the time, you chose to disregard my query.

I should like that question answered now.

- Oh, it's probably nothing. - But you're not sure?

Monica's grown so desperately attached to it.

She keeps it with her constantly, every waking moment,

and then with her in her bed at night, but...

I hate it. I really hate the thing.

It's... It's unwholesome.

There's something terribly...

Terribly evil about it.

I know I sound ridiculous.

I keep telling myself I'm irrational.

A doll can't be evil. A doll can't be anything.

It's just so much porcelain and paint and horsehair, but...

Oh, I don't know what it is about the thing, Colonel, that so frightens me.

The child isn't frightened at all, and yet...

Yet I find it very difficult to even look at it.

If you hadn't sent it, I...

But Miss Danton, I didn't send it.

We'll have to get it away from her somehow.

But mention nothing of our intention...

in the doll's presence.

In the doll's presence? I don't understand.

If you didn't send the doll to Monica, who did?

In this instance, Miss Danton,

who is far less important than why.

You see, the doll was never intended for my niece.

It was a gift to me.

I'm afraid I still don't understand.

How fortunate for you. You don't have to.

Well, Monica dear, come down to say good night?

- I have to give back the new doll. - What do you mean, give it back?

Uncle had it sent all the way from London for you.

I'm sorry, Uncle, truly, but my other doll doesn't like it.

- The other doll? - Yes, she hates this one.

- And how can you tell? - She told me.

She told you. You mean, she spoke to you?

She tells me a lot of things.

She told me that she didn't want the new doll with us.

She said one was enough... that I was to give the other back to you.

Monica dear, you know,

sometimes it's not good to imagine things all the time.

I mean, sometimes you make-believe too much.

It's not good for you. You understand, don't you?

Now you must take that lovely doll back to your room,

and stop imagining things, like... Like the other one speaking to you,

because, we know, Monica dear...

We know, don't we, that dolls don't speak.

The other one speaks. She speaks to me all the time.

Mostly at night.

She talks to me about all kinds of things, especially you.

She must be very fond of you, Uncle.

She's always mentioning your name.

But she's not very fond of this one.

I fancy she's probably jealous.

But whatever the reason, she certainly doesn't want her.

However, I'll see what I can do.

Monica? Monica, are you all right?

Monica, it's Uncle, child. Let me in.

Oh, Monica sweetheart,

tell Miss Danton what the trouble is.

Tell me, and I'll put everything to right.

The hateful thing. Oh, that hateful thing.

- It had no business doing it. - What hateful thing, Monica?

And what did it do?

Be so good as to close it, will you?

I don't take to drafts.

Have I come at an inconvenient time, Colonel?

Oh, I have a choice, do I?

You recall who I am?

- I saw you at an execution. - You saw me at a murder...

My brother... In Hyderabad a month ago.

He was blindfolded, with his hands tied behind his back.

Six bullets in him from the rifles of British soldiers.

Your brother led a series of raids against British outposts.

He was captured and duly tried.

The execution was mandatory.

You made it mandatory. You signed the order for his death.

With a certain satisfaction.

One less fanatic.

And if I could get you up against a wall, that would make two less.

You are waiting, Colonel? Do you want to wait?

Why hurry the inevitable?

I am a Sudra. I believe in magic.

That little doll I arranged to have sent to you...

should make a believer of you also.

I was 21 years in India.

I was a believer long before that monstrous thing invaded my house.

Well, then believing, you would, of course, try to get rid of it.

And you have, haven't you? Don't bother to deny it.

I can read it in your eyes.

But by what means, your manservant?

Yes, of course, by your manservant,

since you couldn't possibly bring yourself to touch it.

What happened, Colonel?

It... came back.

It will always come back, Colonel.

Always. Until it has fulfilled its mission.

Have you tried to destroy it?

Surely you have contemplated the notion.

You ought to, merely as an instructive entertainment.

For you see, Colonel, it cannot be destroyed,

not until it has done its work.

It will wait, Colonel. It will wait.

Best remain awake, Colonel. The doll has teeth.

And there is no medicine on Earth to save you.

Ready. Aim. Fire!

I did only that which had to be done.

As a soldier in the service of Her Majesty,

I performed my duty to queen and country.

Dolly? Dolly, where are you?

Dolly, please come back.

I won't be angry with you.

I'm not angry with you anymore.

I promise I'll not punish you.

...indestructible, are you?

Oh, you spawn of hell, you.

Let's see how indestructible you are.

Monica! Oh, Monica, are you having a nightmare?

My dolly's gone! She walked out.

Oh, Monica.

Did you fall, sir? That's a nasty gash.

Bring that into the study, if you will, Miss Danton.

That... That doll. But sir...

Do as I say!

I haven't much time.

Now...

Now it's destructible.

It's done its job. Colonel, I'd best call a doctor.

No need.

I'll be dead before he arrives.

Oh, my God!

No, there was nothing I could have done.

Nothing at all.

But there's something you can do.

In my bedroom,

in the top drawer of my dresser,

you will find a sealed envelope.

A man's name is written on it.

An Indian name.

See that it's delivered to him immediately,

and tell him the thing has happened.

He'll know what to do.

Colonel, you're bleeding badly.

Please, Miss Danton. Promise me you'll do as I've told you.

Imperative... imperative you do as I've told you.

There's one other thing.

I have insurance, a substantial amount.

Happily, I'm worth a great deal more dead than alive.

Before leaving for India,

I took the precaution of drawing up a will...

naming you executrix of my estate.

Look after Monica.

Promise me you'll look after her.

Uncle? Miss Danton, where are you?

Uncle! Miss Danton!

Move to some pleasant neighborhood...

where there are children to play with,

and buy her things.

A new doll to start with.

- You have business with me? - Business, yes.

Brief business.

A gift...

from the late Colonel Masters.

- A gift? - He did not wish to appear ungracious.

You gave him a gift.

He reciprocates.