Night Gallery (1969–1973): Season 1, Episode 5 - Pamela's Voice/Lone Survivor/The Doll - full transcript

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-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 those 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.

I'll 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.