off my head

I saw these mannequin's heads in a fleamarket window in London. I think there is something inherently unsettling about them. They aren't exactly lifelike but obviously they look just human 'enough' to send a chill down my spine. Many, many years ago I watched an Anthony Hopkins film called Magic. He plays a ventriloquist with a scary looking dummy and, if memory serves, the dummy begins to voice Hopkins' thoughts, pursuades him to commit murder. The dummy begins to take on a life of his own. This is the stuff of nightmares, if you ask me. You might also ask me at the same time why, then, I borrowed a Susan Hill novel called Dolly from the library yesterday. The dolly of the title is kept in a shoebox under the bed and can be heard crying at night. The book has a picture of an old, cracked porcelain doll's face on the cover. Horrible. Not the sort of image I want in my head when I close the book and turn the light out in bed at night. Whatever possessed me to choose it? I must be mad.

Photo is the author's own.