‘I lay there a few moments before, clumsily and shakily, I managed to get to my feet. A newborn child would have been immobile, but I seemed to have been born with an innate sense of how my body worked. I was more like the deer or the calf – able to walk, albeit unsteadily, within moments.
‘But understand that I did not know what I was or where I was. I had jumped into existence. I looked about me but could not make any sense of what I saw.
‘Using the furniture as support, I made my ungainly progress around the darkened room. But, of course, I had no knowledge at this time that darkness was not the norm.’
Billy shook his head, trying to imagine what it must have been like to be the giant and take each step, not knowing what lay ahead.
‘Then I saw a light,’ continued Creecher. ‘It was not bright, but it attracted me as though it were a diamond.
‘I staggered towards its gleam and reached out a hand to touch it, but found my hand blocked by a barrier. I had no way of knowing, but what I saw was the moon, and the barrier was the glass of the window.’
Creecher smiled at the recollection of this foolishness and Billy was happy to join him.
‘What happened next?’ asked Billy.
‘I saw an opening nearby – a doorway – and I walked through. The moonlight was brighter here and shone on to a stairwell.
‘Over the fumes of the chemicals in the laboratory, my keen senses had detected another scent. And now that I stood away from the confusion of odours in the room, this scent came even more potently to my nostrils.
‘Some instinct told me to follow this scent and, though my attempts at climbing my first staircase were comical, I found myself, at length, in front of another doorway. The door was open and revealed a very different type of a place to that in which I had awoken.
‘The room was small and much more pleasant to my eyes, which had by now become so accustomed to the low light that I saw as clearly as if it had been day.
‘I stepped into the room and was immediately struck by the texture of the rug beneath my bare feet. I smiled – and put my hand to my face, puzzled by this involuntary movement.
‘In the centre of the room there was a tall structure whose purpose I could not begin to imagine, but, still following the scent which had brought me to this room, I walked forward.
‘I stretched out my fingers and found that the structure gave way at my touch and was soft. I took some of this material in my hand and brought it closer to my face, the better to see it. I even put some small part of it in my mouth to test it, but it was dusty and only increased my sense of thirst and hunger.
‘But this action had an unexpected result. The material I had grasped was the curtain that draped around a bed and, in pulling it apart, I now saw that there was a figure lying on the bed.
‘He had hands as I had hands, and feet and legs as I had already seen that I possessed. Whatever I was, I must be some kin to this creature, and again my face was pulled into a smile as I gazed down at him, the moonlight tumbling through the open curtain and illuminating his sleeping face.
‘Imagine my excitement at finding a companion! Tears sprang to my eyes and again I put my hand to my face in confusion.
‘As I did so, the figure on the bed awoke and turned to face me. The look on his face is something I shall never forget and have no need to store inside my memory, for it is an expression I have seen many times since.’
Billy nodded. It was, no doubt, the expression he too had worn upon first seeing the ghastliness of Creecher’s face, and he marvelled to himself that he now no longer felt that fear or repugnance when he looked at the giant. He saw a man. A friend.
‘It was Frankenstein?’ Billy said.
Creecher nodded.
‘When I first looked down on him, his face seemed beautiful to me, and I hoped that I must look as he did.
‘But the beauty of his face was shattered in an instant when he looked at me. His features distorted into a mask of horror. Even though I had experienced no contact with humans before, it was instantly clear to me that his expression carried all the emotions of terror and revulsion.
‘I surprised myself by opening my mouth and making some primitive sounds as I reached out to him in a plea. But instead of greeting me as a fellow, he ran from me in panic, though I wished him no harm. I could not follow – he was far too quick for me and I stumbled through the house, suddenly aware of my nakedness.
‘Something in me wanted to put as much distance as I could between me and the laboratory – a place which now filled me with an unspeakable loathing.
‘I had seen that the man who had lain on the bed was wearing clothes, and I took some that I saw lying about, though they were comically small for my size, and took a coat from the hallway as I finally blundered out of the house and into the street.
‘I was still not practised at using my eyes and unable to focus on distant objects. I seemed surrounded by a frightening collection of looming shapes.
‘Though I did not know it at the time, this was Ingolstadt, the place of my birth – or, more properly, of my creation. My step quickened as my heartbeat raced, and I longed to rid myself of the walls and windows that seemed to close in around me on every side.
‘I blundered into a horse – though, of course, I did not know what it was at that time – and made it skitter and whinny, and the driver saw me and shouted out in fright, striking out at me with his whip.
‘My distress turned swiftly to anger and, had I not been in such a panic to quit that town, I would have pulled the man from his cart and dashed his head against the cobbles.’
‘Where did you go?’ asked Billy.
‘Into the forest,’ said Creecher. ‘I felt instantly more at home there, among the trees and animals. The place was filled with scents and a musty perfume. I took myself to its heart and, covering myself with leaves, fell into an exhausted sleep.’
‘It must have been terrible,’ said Billy, ‘not knowing what you were or what anything else was.’
‘Yes,’ said Creecher. ‘It was terrible – to be lost and in need of comfort, like any newborn infant, and yet to be shunned and rejected by those creatures who appeared to my eyes to bear most similarity to me.’
‘No wonder you were such a . . .’ Billy’s voice trailed away. Creecher smiled.
‘Monster?’ he suggested.
It was Billy’s turn to smile.
‘Yeah,’ he said.
‘How would you feel?’ said Creecher. ‘I did not even know how to feed myself. I had to try whatever I could and observe the animals and where they fed. I tried all manner of berries and leaves and roots. Some made my stomach twist and clench and others made me vomit.
‘I had the experience of thirst without knowing how to quench it. My relief came only by accident. I saw a deer drinking from a brook and copied her. Oh – that first drink of cool water!’
‘But how did you learn to speak and to read’ asked Billy, ‘if everyone took fright when they saw you?’
He could see that this was a particularly painful memory and did not press the giant as he sat there in silence for a few moments.
‘At length, I came upon a cottage deep in the woods,’ said Creecher eventually. ‘It belonged to some French exiles. They had as a guest an Arabian woman, and as they taught her their language, so I learned by secret observation.
‘Little by little I learned to read and to understand something of the world outside the woods. I learned of the cruelty of man to his fellow man, and it did not come as any great surprise.
‘One day I had the opportunity to befriend the old man who lived at the cottage. He was blind and his disability immunised him from the fear he would no doubt have experienced on seeing me.
‘I worked for him and took great pleasure in being able to help him. I felt like a secret friend to this family and I would have been a good friend to them had I been allowed . . .’
Creecher broke off from his tale and shook his head bitterly.
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‘But as soon as I was seen – by the man’s son, on his return – then I was viciously beaten and chased from the cottage. I could have killed them all had I wanted, but I loved them. I felt worse now, for having known love and losing it, than I ever did in those hours of lonely despair.’
‘But you must have met up with Frankenstein again,’ said Billy, ‘or you couldn’t have followed him here. Did he come looking for you?’
‘Hah!’ said Creecher. ‘No!’
‘But how could he make you and then not even care what happened to you?’
‘Did you not say that your own father left before you were born?’ asked Creecher.
‘That’s hardly the same thing, is it?’
‘Perhaps not, but Frankenstein is the only father I have. I met him on a mountaintop and made him promise to build me a mate.’
Creecher shrugged.
‘And so here we are. Frankenstein does not want to do this thing, but he must. He wanted to forget about me. Perhaps he hoped that I would simply wander away and die in a ditch. But no – he does not get rid of me quite so easily.’
‘What a bastard,’ Billy muttered. ‘What bastards, both of them – my father and Frankenstein!’
‘Agreed,’ said Creecher with a smile. ‘But here we are – we struggle on without them!’
CHAPTER XXIX.
Billy stood for a few moments looking at the space at the canal where the boat should have been, stubbornly refusing to accept the inevitable conclusion.
‘Damn it!’
‘Did you not tie it up, mon ami?’ said Creecher, as he wandered over.
‘Me?’ said Billy. ‘I thought you’d tied it up!’
Creecher shrugged, and Billy cursed and kicked at the air in front of him.
‘What are we going to do now?’ he moaned.
‘For now, we walk,’ said Creecher, putting on his hat and setting off along the towpath.
The next address on the itinerary that Billy had been given showed that Frankenstein and Clerval were headed for Matlock, a spa town in Derbyshire. They were going to stay there a while before moving on to the lakes of Cumberland.
Billy had heard of these places, but only in the way that he had heard of Jerusalem or the moon. They were places mentioned by people in the crowds he worked in the winter season. They were places mentioned by the ever-growing stream of people who continually migrated to the capital from every corner of the country. How he and Creecher were going to get there was another matter.
After the incident with the coach to Oxford, Billy had decided that this form of transport was out of the question, and Creecher agreed. But they could hardly walk to Scotland.
Billy looked at the giant striding ahead of him. Creecher was still determined to get his mate, with all that implied. And yet something was different now and had been ever since Billy had seen Creecher through his drugged ordeal. The bond between them had been tightened.
Although Creecher’s plan was the same, somehow it did not seem so set in stone now. Things change. Billy knew that as much as anyone. Who could tell where their adventure might lead?
Two layers of clouds hung above their heads: a high, pale layer, like a sheet of dusty muslin, and a lower layer of broken clouds, floating by, grey, like giant dustballs.
They walked all day under this filthy shroud, Creecher keeping parallel to the towpath, hidden among the trees, while Billy made his way alongside the canal, acknowledging the muttered greetings of the bargees and marvelling at the great horses who pulled the laden boats along.
Daylight faded and the world around them became, little by little, less distinct. Billy saw something ahead and whistled to Creecher who appeared moments later.
‘Look,’ said Billy. ‘There’s some sort of camp ahead.’
Creecher peered into the gloom and nodded.
‘We can go back,’ he said. ‘There was a bridge. We could cross and go on the other side.’
‘Look, I’m sick of walking,’ said Billy wearily. ‘I’m tired. And hungry. Maybe those people have got some food – real food, I mean.’
‘You mean meat?’
‘Yes, I do.’
Creecher took a deep breath and Billy waited for the inevitable growl, but none came. After a moment, the giant simply nodded his agreement. Billy could scarcely conceal his surprise, but thought it best to make nothing of it.
‘Just stay out of sight, for now,’ said Billy, and he set off towards the camp before Creecher could change his mind.
And, as soon as he walked towards it, Billy could see that the camp was much larger than he had previously thought. He had set off with enthusiasm, but his step now slowed as he found himself wondering who these people were. The tents were plentiful enough to suggest a small army.
Billy stumbled over a tent peg and cursed under his breath. But it was at precisely that moment that the smell of cooking reached his nostrils, and a smile curved across his face for the first time in a while.
He could now detect smoke rising up over a large tent in front of him, and he set off with renewed vigour. Skirting the tent, he saw a considerable amount of people gathered round two large fires.
Intimidating though the large numbers were, Billy felt he’d come too far to turn back and strode forward as purposefully as he could. He was about to announce his arrival, when the smoke drifted his way, catching in his throat and temporarily blinding him.
Billy coughed and spluttered as he wiped the tears away from his stinging eyes. He was all too aware of the laughter that was breaking out around him. Still, he thought, better laughter than anger.
‘I’m travelling north,’ said Billy. ‘I thought you might have food. I don’t mean no harm.’
Billy blinked and tried to focus on the faces in the firelight, and it was only then that he saw the true nature of the people who were gathered around the fire.
There was a man – or, at least, he assumed it was a man – who had hair all over his face, as though he were a dog. Another man supported himself on his arms, having no legs at all. A man no bigger than a child stood next to two identical women who, Billy saw to his amazement, appeared to be joined at the hip.
‘What . . . ? Where . . . ?’ stammered Billy.
A man nearby laughed heartily and slapped him on the back, making him start.
‘Calm yourself, friend,’ he said. ‘You are in no danger, I assure you. We are not as fearsome as some of us look. Chaney – stop scowling at the poor boy. You look like a dog who’s lost his bone.’
The speaker was a tall, slender man with long hair, a small pointed beard and thin moustache. His face was wide and handsome and his broad smile revealed a row of the whitest teeth Billy had ever seen.
‘Allow me to introduce myself,’ he said. ‘Mr Browning at your service, proprietor of this theatre of the grotesque, and these fine fellows are my merry band of strolling players.’
Billy became aware that the various conversations around the fire were dying out, one by one, and all faces were beginning to turn in one direction. Billy joined them.
Creecher was walking towards the fire. Evening was upon them now. The light had been leached from the scene and the sky above was darkening, the effect exaggerated by the fire’s golden blaze. And out of this surrounding gloom came the giant.
There was a great stepping back and adjustment as he materialised from the darkness. A path cleared in front and around him, and he walked slowly forward, looking this way and that as the crowd formed its collective gasp.
‘This is my – my travelling companion,’ Billy said. ‘He won’t do you no harm.’
Billy could see the fear in the eyes of even these bizarre creatures. But, to his surprise, Browning did not back away. He walked towards Creecher, holding out both hands, as if the giant were a long-lost brother.
‘Magnificent!’ he said in admiration. ‘Absolutely magnificent!’
Creecher seemed as taken aback by this reaction as Billy.
‘Come,’ said
Browning. ‘Join us, my friend. Eat. I swear you won’t taste better rabbit anywhere.’
‘He doesn’t eat meat,’ said Billy.
‘All tastes are catered for here, my friends,’ Browning replied. ‘Chang there is a Buddhist and seems to eat nothing but rice and roots. Chang, get some rice for my friend here.’
‘Look,’ said Billy suspiciously. ‘No offence, but who the hell are you people?’
‘Ha! None taken, dear fellow. We are, collectively, Browning’s Carnival of Freaks.’
‘Carnival of Freaks?’
Browning laughed.
‘That’s right, my boy. We are a travelling brotherhood of the bizarre, a company of curios, a – well, you get the idea.’
Billy looked at Creecher, who was staring down at a midget, who had wandered over to have a closer look.
‘But you must travel with us, my friends,’ Browning cried.
‘I don’t know,’ said Billy. ‘We tend to travel light and go as we please.’
Browning nodded.
‘And how has that been for you?’ he asked, looking at Creecher. ‘No offence, young fellow, but surely your friend here attracts a bit of attention.’
Billy looked at Creecher and nodded.
‘A bit, yeah,’ he said. ‘But nothing we can’t handle.’
‘But why handle it at all? Come with us. We are all freaks in this carnival. Another one won’t matter.’
‘What about me?’ asked Billy.
‘You look like a boy who could turn his hand to most things,’ Browning replied. ‘What work have you done?’
Billy rubbed his face and sniffed.
‘Bit of this, bit of that,’ he mumbled.
Browning laughed.
‘No one cares what you were before you walked into camp. You could be a thief or a killer, for all we care, just so long as you do what’s asked while you’re here. You’ll get a roof over your head – albeit a canvas one – and all the food you want. What do you say?’
Billy looked at Creecher, and he could see that the giant was thinking the same thing: Browning was right. A travelling freak show was the best place to hide as they went north. It made perfect sense.
Mister Creecher Page 15
