Monster

by Dave Zeltserman

“Why would you say that?”

  “That is what is being said. That a daemonic fiend has been stealing young girls to feast on them.”

  I shook my head. “My diet is mostly what I forage in the forest. Berries and mushrooms. I took you from that burning cottage to rescue you, and for no other purpose.”

  She thought about that for several minutes, a look of deep consternation ruining her brow.

  At last, she said, “If that is true then I must be a witch after all. I did not believe it when that hag Frau Brunnow accused me, but why else would a daemonic creature suddenly come to my rescue?”

  “You are not a witch, since they do not exist, and I am not a daemonic creature,” I said, although I was not at all sure of that anymore. Dark, satanic magic breathed life into the hideous form that I now resided within, and if it wasn’t the Devil behind the feverish obsession that had sent me skulking through homes in my search for Victor Frankenstein, then what could it have been? Still, though, I prayed that my soul hadn’t been completely eroded, and that some of Friedrich Hoffmann’s sensibilities still resided within my heart.

  Her eyes grew puzzled at she looked at me. “Then what are you?” she asked.

  “I was once a man,” I said. “Terrible things were done to me, but I believe I still hold some of my former goodness.”

  She did not look convinced, but she was too weak to do much more than close her eyes. I used my cape to clean her face, which had been darkened with soot, and then I went to off to find her water and food. During my earlier nighttime excursions, I had stolen a flask. When I found a spring flowing with fresh water I filled this flask that I now carried on me, and after finding a raspberry bush, I returned back to her. She accepted the water and berries that I offered her, and after several minutes she regained the strength to sit up.

  “What will become of me?” she asked.

  “You will rest until you are able to travel, and then I will take you to a new village where you will be safe.”

  Her face darkened as she considered this. “There is no such village,” she said. “Whether or not you are a daemonic creature, it does not matter. Word will spread throughout the countryside of how the Devil rescued me from being burned alive as a witch. Anywhere I go they will now believe that I am a witch, and they will burn me also.”

  This was true. Stories of this kind spread quickly.

  “Then I will take you to a foreign land where nobody has heard of this. I will see you safe before I leave you.”

  She gave me a hopeless look to show that she did not believe that that would be possible, but she was too tired and weak to argue, and instead closed her eyes and drifted into a sound sleep.

  I watched her for a moment, and then after laying my cape over her, I gathered firewood so that she would be warm enough when night fell.

  CHAPTER 12

  When morning came and she opened her eyes and saw me standing guard over her, she looked up at me with an expression devoid of any emotion and without a single reflection of the hideousness of my appearance, which, without my cape to conceal me, was fully exposed to her. “It was not a nightmarish dream as I had hoped it was,” she said.

  “I am afraid not.”

  She deliberated on this, a hardness settling over her features as she did so. When she was done, the hardness faded leaving behind vulnerability. “I suppose if you had ill intentions toward me you would have acted on them already. It is true that you only wished to save my life?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you then,” she said. “And thank you also for covering me with your cape to keep me warm. But you may reclaim it. I can already feel the sun’s rays upon my face.”

  “Later,” I said. “There is still a chill in the air.”

  She nodded and closed her eyes again. “I am afraid I am too weak to stand.”

  “That is to be expected. You will rest here until your strength has returned, and then I will take you someplace where you will be safe and can start life anew. Someplace where stories of your rescue will not haunt you. Perhaps Geneva?”

  “Perhaps.” A bare wisp of a smile showed on her lips. “I do not know what to call you.”

  “Friedrich.”

  Her eyes opened a crack as she acknowledged me. “And you may call me Henriette.”

  And then her eyes were closed again and she was back asleep.

  I cared for Henriette over the three days that it took for her to regain her strength. During this time I fetched her water and food as needed, watched over her to keep the wild beasts of the forest away, kept the fire burning to keep her warm, made a balm from herbs to apply to her cut hand, and over her protestations I covered her each night with my cape. The times that she lay awake we would talk. She told me how she had lived her whole life in the village of Aibling, and how she had been orphaned as a young child and had been put to work at the age of twelve in the village’s beer hall.

  “It hasn’t been bad,” she said as she explained the simple life that she had led. “At the beer hall they would have me clean the glasses and bring beer to the customers. That was fine. It was only when lechers like Herr Brunnow believed that the cost of an ale entitled them to also pinch my bottom that I detested my work.” She giggled, adding, “Two weeks ago, Herr Brunnow tried to grab me outside of the beer hall and I kneed him in a sensitive area. That is why he has been unable to show any enthusiasm toward the sow that he married.”

  All at once she began to weep.

  “What is wrong?”

  She shook her head, her eyes showing her fury. “How could they accuse me of being a witch?” she demanded. “I have lived with these people my whole life. How could they do that to me? Because of Frau Brunnow’s jealous accusations? Because I dared to rebuff other men’s advances? And how will I live somewhere else?”

  “You will. There is much strength in you. I can tell that. Soon, as you are starting a new life in Geneva, this will all be but a bad dream.”

  Henriette used her palms to wipe the tears from her eyes, and this left her pale skin blotchy and her eyes reddish. “I do not think Geneva would be safe for me,” she said. “We have had travelers from Geneva pass through Aibling. They speak the same language as us. Stories of my being rescued by the Devil could end up there.”

  I had to agree. Geneva was too close, and there was too much commerce between Bavaria and the Swiss Confederation, and many of the Swiss were fluent in both German and French.

  “I will take you to Italy then. Perhaps Venice?”

  She showed me a fragile smile. “I cannot speak the language.”

  “I can teach you Italian.”

  She opened her eyes wide at that, and I explained how I was well versed in many languages other than my own native German, including Italian, French, English and the ancient languages of Latin and Greek. “At a very young age I was a student of languages,” I told her. “Once I decided on a course of study in chemistry at the University, I studied languages even more intently so that I would not have to wait for translations to be able to read papers on subjects of interest. In fact, I supported myself while engaged at the University by translating other works into German.”

  I proceeded to rattle off phrases in different languages, and that impressed her, and when I felt a smile wrinkle my own face, she smiled back at me with a pleasantness that warmed my heart. We agreed then that I would teach her Italian during our travel to Venice. This meant we would have to cross the Alps, and I was not sure how I would be able to do that with Henriette, but decided that I would somehow find a way. I kept my worry to myself. The poor girl had enough as it was to worry about.

  Once Henriette regained enough strength to walk, we headed northeast, toward Munich. Travel with her was slow, and I wished I could have left her to rest more, but I did not trust leaving her alone with the wolves and bears and other wild beasts that lurked in the forest, and I needed to reach a city so that I could continue my thieving ways. This time, though, I felt justified in what I was
going to be stealing, for these were articles needed if Henriette was going to survive the trip to Venice, as well as her being able to live a good life there. I was better read than Henriette and knew what to expect. In Geneva, they treat their servants as family, and she could have been happy there, except that she was right—the stories from Aibling could follow her to Geneva. In Venice, if the stories I read were true, a young and beautiful girl like Henriette without any money or family to protect her could very well be forced to become a whore to survive, and I was not about to let that happen. I felt responsible for her current situation. If it was not for my earlier skulking and the wild stories that spread because of it, Frau Brunnow would not have been able to get very far accusing Henriette of being a witch, and Henriette would now be safe and still happy in Aibling.

  When we were several miles away from Munich, I built a fire for Henriette to sit by, hoping that that would be sufficient to keep her safe, and once darkness came I raced toward the city.

  This time I did not have a fever blinding me and I was more careful in my thieving and skulking, and my activities went unnoticed. I picked only the largest and wealthiest homes to rob, and I ended up with an attire for Henriette that was better suited for the travel we were going to be undertaking, as well a sack full of gold and precious gems that would assure Henriette of a good life in Venice. I also took several bundles of food that were better suited for her than what I had been foraging, as well as several bottles of wine. Once I had all of this, I raced back to where I had left Henriette. The fire was still burning, and she was safe. I was crouching as I showed her what I had brought for her, and she squealed with delight and threw her arms around my neck and kissed my cheek.

  Embarrassed, I waited until she let go of my neck before I wiped the wetness of her kiss from my cheek. “I do not know if there are beer halls in Venice,” I explained. “And I do not wish for you to have to pour wine instead.”

  “Thank you, Friedrich, for all of your kindness.” Concern ruined her smile as she stopped to consider what I had done. “About the people that you stole from?”

  “They were wealthy. They can afford charity to an unfortunate young woman who was unfairly accused of a ridiculous crime and was almost burned to death because of it. Do not worry about them. Let us sleep now, for we have many miles to travel tomorrow.”

  Henriette agreed, and she lay on a soft bed of grass next to where I had built a fire. Once she was asleep, I covered her with my cape to provide her additional warmth. As usual since she had been in my care, I did not sleep, and instead stood guard over her. I was grateful for this diversion, for it allowed me to keep my own awful dreams at bay.

  CHAPTER 13

  To help Henriette learn Italian more thoroughly, I decided that we would converse only in that language, but she had an agile mind and was a quick learner, and within five days of our travel toward the Swiss Alps, she showed a mastery of the language that surprised me. There were times when she would be frustrated as she would try to remember words or figure out how to phrase her statement, and this frustration would show in the way her eyes would squint and her lips would compress, but in the end she would work out how to say what she wanted. Usually it would be questions about my life in Ingolstadt, and I would answer her freely, although I never would talk about Johanna. When she asked what type of accident or fire had made me look the way I did, and how I came to be of such gigantic size, I told her that I did not know—that all I remembered was suffering great injuries and what happened afterward to transform me was a mystery to me. I did not wish to tell her about Victor Frankenstein or about the unholy manner in which I was constructed.

  Travel with Henriette was slow, as I would often have to clear away bramble and other obstacles for her, but I greatly enjoyed her companionship and quickly developed a deep affection for her. This affection was not of the type that I had felt toward Johanna, but more as if Henriette were a dear cousin or sister.

  It was after a week of our travel together that we escaped the darkest part of the forest to lighter woods with glens and finally just a scattering of trees. This allowed us to make greater progress, although Henriette’s pace was still considerably slower than what I could have made on my own. As we walked more freely, Henriette was in a particularly cheerful mood, her eyes sparkling as she joked of how instead of my taking her to Venice, we should instead build a cabin in the woods and live together.

  “Not as husband and wife,” she said, “but as brother and sister, for that is how I have grown to think of you, Friedrich.”

  “A fine life that would be for you,” I said, but I had grown distracted for off in the distance were wolves. Five of them. They were keeping their distance, but they were tracking us, nonetheless. Henriette spotted them also, and edged closer to me so that our bodies touched.

  “Why do you suppose they are following us like that but not moving closer?” she asked, her voice tight with fear. “It is almost as if they are wary of us.”

  I wondered this also. Could these wolves somehow know how I had slaughtered their brethren when they had attacked me, and was this the reason for their cautiousness? As we walked, the wolves maintained their distance, but they also continued to track us, and I could sense Henriette’s growing nervousness over this. I picked up a stone and threw it with all my strength at them, hitting one of the wolves in its hindquarters. The wolf let out a surprised yelp, and they all ran off. I was surprised that the stone did not shatter its bones, but it was a long throw, and I was glad to see them gone, Henriette even more so. It was late afternoon and still several hours before dusk would be settling on us, and Henriette looked worriedly toward the sun.

  “Do not be concerned,” I told her. “We have several hours more of sunlight. Those wolves are gone. They will not be back.”

  She nodded, but apprehension tugged at her mouth as she was uncertain about that. It took over another hour of walking and without any sign of those wolves before she was back to her previous cheerful self.

  “I had never seen wolves before,” she confided. “I think I was more afraid of their sight than even when my neighbors set fire to my cottage. And the way they looked at us!”

  I kept thinking of those wolves also. The stone that I had thrown must have weighed over two pounds, and with the force that I used, the wolf that I hit with it should not have been able to run off with its pack. And the way they had stared at us with their eyes shining with a malignancy that was foreign in the other wolves that had attacked me. But they were gone now, and I tried to put them out of my mind and exhibit the same good spirits that Henriette was showing.

  We walked until late into the night. Even though I did not need fire to see, I lit a torch that I fashioned with a tree branch and cloth from the rags that Henriette had previously worn so that she could see better. When we settled at last upon a grassy area, I made a fire, and then Henriette pleaded with me that I open one of our bottles of wine for us to celebrate. “It is not often that we get to stare down a pack of hungry wolves,” she said, her face lit up by both the fire and an infectious smile that made me smile also. “And to hit a wolf from over fifty ells with a stone is reason enough to celebrate!”

  I relented and opened up one of the bottles, amazing Henriette with how I was able to do so without a corkscrew. While she drank several sips of wine, she confessed to me that even though she had been in the employ of a beer hall she had had very little alcohol in her lifetime, adding that this was the first time she had tasted wine. After what could have been no more than a glass, she started showing the signs of being tipsy and soon afterward fell asleep. I covered her with my cape, then took the bottle from her and finished off the wine.

  I watched over her for several hours, but the weariness from the wine and not having slept since I rescued Henriette from that burning cottage finally caught up to me and I drifted asleep also. Before too long I was visited by the same dark, troubling dreams that I had had previously. In the background was that same ruined ca
stle reeking with its evil, and as with my other dreams, it appeared to beckon me. Right before waking I heard Victor Frankenstein’s voice calling me his magnificent creature.

  You have done well so far, my magnificent creature. Soon you will be with me.

  I bolted upright expecting to see Victor Frankenstein whispering in my ear. But he wasn’t there. No one was. My cape had been thrown aside and Henriette was gone.

  A panic overtook me as I jumped to my feet searching for her. All I could imagine was that those wolves had snuck into our camp and had dragged her away. Whatever it was that Frankenstein had put in my chest pounded as I ran wildly looking for any signs of Henriette.

  I had to be calm. I told myself this. If I was going to find Henriette I had to be calm. I forced myself to stop my running, and instead concentrated on whatever night sounds I could hear. Straining and holding my breath, I listened until I heard faint, ungodly noises off in the distance, noises that didn’t seem possible to be coming from animals known of this earth.

  I raced toward those noises. After I had run a mile I saw them. At first they were little more than shadows. As I moved closer I could see that they were of human form and they were naked. Four of them men, one of them a woman. Their bodies were thin and sinewy, and they crouched so that they faced away from me. The way their backs were hunched gave them a feral quality that sent a shiver up my spine. As they heard me approach, they turned toward me. From the deadness in their eyes, the starkness of their features and the wet blood shining on their lips, I knew these weren’t men and women, but vampyres. I saw also that they had been crouching next to a living being. Although her face was hidden by their forms, I recognized the clothing. Henriette.

  “Away from her!” I yelled. “Leave her or I will kill you!”

  One of them, a male vampyre, seemed particularly amused by this. Presumably he was their leader, and he turned to face me. I noticed a thick welt showed on his hip.