I’m aware of how this must sound to you, but consider this with an open mind.
“Suppose that throughout history a separate intelligent race has existed alongside mankind. Its origin is uncertain: parallel evolution, extraterrestrial, supernatural entities—as you will. What is important is that such a race does exist—a race that is parasitic, inimical, and undetectable. Rather, was undetectable until my great-grandfather discovered their existence.
“They are virtually identical to the human female. Almost always they are physically attractive, and always their sexual appetites are insatiable. They become prostitutes not for monetary gain, but out of sexual craving. With today’s permissive society, many of them choose instead the role of a hot-to-trot pickup: two beers in a singles bar, and it’s off to the ball. Call them fast or easy or nymphos—but they won’t be the ones complaining about it on your couch, Doctor.”
Dr Hodgson shifted himself in his chair. “Why do you think these women are so sexually promiscuous?”
“The answer is obvious. Their race is self-sterile. Think of them as some sort of hybrid, and you’ll understand a hybrid of human form and alien intelligence. To reproduce they require human sperm, and constant inseminations are required before the right conditions for fertilization are met. It’s the same with other hybrids. Fortunately for us, reproduction is difficult for them, or they’d have reduced humanity to mere breeding stock long ago.
“They use mankind as cuckoos do other birds, placing their eggs in nests of other species to be nurtured at the expense of natural hatchlings. This is the truth behind the numerous legends of changelings—human-appearing infants exchanged in the crib for natural offspring, and the human infant carried away by malevolent elves or fairies. Remember that elves and fairies are more often objects of fear in the older traditions, rather than the cutesy cartoon creatures of today. It’s hardly coincidence that elves and fairies are usually thought of as feminine.”
“This is a fucking waste of time!” Stringer muttered—then responded, “Beg pardon, ladies,” to Dr Gottlieb’s angry “Shh!”
To Stringer’s disgust, Dr Hodgson seemed to be taking it all in. “Why do you think they only take the shape of women?”
“We’ve considered that,” Norbrook said. “Possibly for some reason only the female body is suited for their requirements. Another reason might be a genetic one: only female offspring can be produced.”
“When you say ‘we’ do you sometimes feel that there are others who have these same thoughts as you do?”
“All right, I didn’t really expect you to accept what I’ve told you as fact. I asked you to keep an open mind, and I ask that you continue to do so. I am able to prove what I’m telling you.
“By ‘we’ I mean my great-grandfather and those of our family who have pursued his original research.”
“Could you tell me a little more about what you mean by research?”
“My great-grandfather made his initial discovery quite by accident—literally. A prostitute who had been run over by a carriage was brought into his surgery. She was terribly injured; her pelvis was crushed, and she was unconscious from skull injuries. Her lower abdomen had been laid open, and he worked immediately to try to stop the profuse bleeding there. To his dismay, his patient regained consciousness during the surgery. His assistant hastened to administer more ether, but too late. The woman died screaming under the knife, although considering the extent of her injuries, she could hardly have noticed the scalpel.
“Her uterus had been ruptured, and it was here that my great-grandfather was at work the moment of her death. His efforts there continued with renewed energy, although by now his surgical exploration was clearly more in the nature of an autopsy. When his assistant set aside the ether and rejoined him, my great-grandfather described a sort of lesion which he characterized as an ‘amoeboid pustulance’ that had briefly appeared under his blade at the moment of her death agony. The lesion had then vanished in the welter of blood—rather like an oyster slipping from the fork and into the tomato sauce, to use his expression—and subsequent diligent dissection could reveal no trace of it. His assistant had seen nothing, and my great-grandfather was forced to attribute it to nervous hallucination.
“He might have dismissed the incident had not he been witness to a railway smashup while on holiday. Among the first to rush to the aid of the victims, he entered the wreckage of a second-class carriage where a woman lay screaming. Shards of glass had virtually eviscerated her, and