Monster

by Dave Zeltserman

  I struggled to keep from telling him, but it was useless. “Charlotte told me.” I heard myself saying this as if the words had come from someone else entirely.

  “She has intelligence? Is that what you are telling me? That she is capable of conversing? Oh, my dear pet, this is absolutely delightful. And it explains so much, especially why you tried to hide your improvement from me back within my laboratory. I had wondered often about that. What exactly did she say to you to make you act that way?”

  “She warned me to hide my intelligence from you.”

  “How did the two of you converse? She has no larynx, so speech is not possible for her.”

  “We silently mouthed our words to each other.”

  Frankenstein’s eyes shone with malevolence as he contemplated this. Soon he could barely contain his grin. Others had slipped into the hall, and Frankenstein ordered one of them to retrieve Sophie for him.

  “How is it that you control me?” I asked.

  Victor Frankenstein cast me a disdainful look. He was anxious for Charlotte to be brought to him, and he was consumed with his thoughts on that and did not care for my interruption, but he answered me anyway, telling me that it was due to the nightly rituals he performed on me.

  “Not only did these rituals raise you from the dead, but it made you my obedient slave, and you should be showing me more gratitude than you have been. Enough of this! And stand up already. I do not wish to have you kneeling by my feet. Not now, anyway.”

  I got back onto my feet. As I stood I towered over Frankenstein. I had the strength to crush him, but I was incapable of it. As much as I longed to reach for his throat so that I could squeeze the life out of him, I was helpless to act on my desires. He seemed to sense my thoughts and flashed me an annoyed look, but did not bother saying anything to me about it.

  Charlotte was brought into the hall. She still rested in the same bowl that she had been in before, with several inches of milky liquid filling the bottom of it. At first her face showed the mask of imbecility that she used to hide her intelligence from Frankenstein, but as she saw me, first surprise and then alarm flashed in her eyes. I mouthed the words I am sorry to her.

  Frankenstein took her and stroked her scalp, all the while staring at her mockingly. Charlotte looked even more frail than last I had seen her, her eyes more deeply hollowed and her skin appearing as if it were dried parchment paper. She tried to keep up her pretense, but she knew something was wrong and soon her expression showed her terror.

  Frankenstein raised her so that she could clearly see his lips.

  “My dear Sophie,” he said, mouthing his words slowly. “You could not believe my surprise in learning what a devious creature you are, pretending as if you were nothing but an imbecilic novelty, when in fact you hold true intelligence. I am disappointed in you after all the hours in which I have petted you and let you suckle on my finger. The question I have for you, my dear Sophie, is why did you act in such an ungrateful manner? But first, answer me, are you capable of hearing words or only reading lips?”

  Charlotte was too afraid to answer him, and Frankenstein in his impatience took hold of her earlobe and twisted it. Her skin, being so dry and fragile, ripped off in Frankenstein’s fingers. This only enraged him more, and he took hold of the stump that remained and pinched it. It was heartbreaking to see the way Charlotte’s face became rigid with pain. Frankenstein demanded again that she answer him, but she was incapable of doing so.

  “Hand her to me,” I implored.

  My words broke through the petulance that held Frankenstein. He smiled cruelly at me and handed me Charlotte, announcing how he would not think of keeping two dear companions as us apart.

  I mouthed my words to her, turning away so that Frankenstein would remain ignorant of what I was saying.

  I am so sorry. I could not help myself from betraying you. The black magic that he deployed on me while I was his prisoner has left me powerless to resist him, otherwise I would have torn him to pieces instead. I am so sorry.

  She favored me with the most heartrending smile I had ever seen.

  My dearest Friedrich, how could I blame you for another man’s cruelty? But I do ask a great favor of you. Please end my misery. I implore you.

  A terrible thickness settled in my throat. I attempted to wrinkle a smile toward her but failed miserably.

  Must I be your executioner?

  Friedrich, my dear friend, I know this is a terrible burden that I am placing on you, but I beg of you. I cannot stand this. If you still hold any warm feelings toward me, please perform this one last act of kindness.

  From out of the corner of my eye, I could see that Frankenstein was trying to follow our conversation. Amazement showed in his expression as he raised his gaze to better observe me.

  “Are you actually weeping tears for this thing?” he asked incredulously.

  “How do I end her life?”

  “My pet, or should I say, Friedrich, for although you are my servant, I wish to think of you more as my partner. This mercy toward this thing that you believe you feel is not real. It cannot be. For you do not have a soul. How could you? You were constructed out of material, so how could you have a soul?”

  I trembled as I again asked how I could end Charlotte’s life.

  “This is ridiculous,” he stated, his eyes darkening with annoyance. “Friedrich, these fine sentiments that you believe you have are imaginary. They are simply remnants remaining within your brain from your previous existence. But they will fade. Ignore these false feelings now, my friend, for they are worthless.”

  “How do I end her life!” I demanded, my voice a harsh bellow.

  A change fell over his eyes, from petulance to amusement. “Never let it be said that Victor Frankenstein cannot be magnanimous,” he said in a cloying manner. “You wish to be a slave for now to these false sentiments, fine. If you remove her head from the bowl, she will die. Very painfully, I suppose, and over the course of several hours.”

  “There must be another way.”

  “A more humane way?” His lips crept up to make his smile even more vindictive. “You cannot smother her for she does not breathe, at least not in the way that we do. I suppose you could crush her skull. Go ahead, Friedrich, perform this ridiculous act of charity if you insist.”

  I dreaded that this would be his answer, but I could not see any other way. I placed the bowl on the floor and gingerly removed Charlotte from it. I mouthed to her how sorry I was, and she smiled and mouthed back to me that she would forever be grateful to me. I squeezed my eyes tight and after saying a silent prayer for Charlotte’s soul, crushed her skull in my hands as if it were little more than a papier-mâché mask. Her remains crumbled into dust, and I placed them in the bowl.

  Is this what I have become? A creature who can only save the innocent by ripping out their hearts or by crushing their skulls? I tilted my face upwards and roared.

  CHAPTER 18

  “Are you done yet?”

  With my chest heaving, I turned toward Frankenstein. His words had barely registered on me. He shook his head sadly to show his disappointment.

  “Friedrich, you are clinging onto these false sentiments as a way to convince yourself that you are still a man, but once you let go you will find that you have evolved into something much better. A superior being. A being of intelligence and cunning, as you previously were, but of much greater size and strength and without the curse of morality and conscience to weigh you down.”

  “Is that all you have to say to me?” I asked, my voice raw and inhuman.

  He smiled thinly at that. “You intend to be stubborn. My friend, I will give you time to understand the truth.” He hesitated, his smile turning impish. “Or is it that you wish to hold your grudge against me?” he asked. “That you desire only to blame me for the fate that Friedrich Hoffmann suffered, as well as that woman’s? What was her name again? Johanna Klemmen? Would it satisfy you if you could ask her directly what happened to her?” />
  He stunned me with those words as severely as if he had struck me with a hammer. An iciness filled my skull as I stared at him, and I could not keep from trembling as I asked what he meant by that. “You have not transformed my Johanna into the same horror as you did Charlotte?”

  His smile turned secretive as he considered me. “No, my friend, I have not. I will explain myself in due time. First let me give you a tour of our Temple of Nature, and later my cryptic words will make more sense to you.”

  He led me from the hall into a corridor, and as he did he explained that they were in the process of restoring the castle as well as readying it for a great drama that would commence on the first of November and would run for a hundred and twenty days. As we walked down the corridor we passed workmen who glanced fearfully at me, as well as a guest of Frankenstein’s who looked at me only with curiosity and amazement. This guest appeared to be of the same sort as the devil worshippers that I had encountered; an older man, who, given his manner of dress and from the way he held himself, was wealthy, and, from the air of superiority that he exuded, had been born into his wealth. He showed the same cruelty and haughtiness in his expression as Frankenstein. While the two exchanged looks, the guest did not bother saying anything, nor did he join us.

  “The first of November is still many months away and the necessary work should be completed by then,” Victor Frankenstein continued, his words rushing out excitedly, his skin flushing a deep pink. “At least I pray so. There is still so much work to be done, but none of this would be possible if it were not for you. The drama that we will be presenting here will be art of the greatest kind. Sadly, it will only be a crude adaptation from a brilliant philosopher, for presenting the work precisely as written would be impossible, but I still hope what we present here will be transcendental.” He stopped himself as if he were remembering something. “My dear Friedrich, you have met this author. The Marquis visited my laboratory in Ingolstatd when we believed you had the simple intelligence of an infant. And you, in your deviousness, were able to eavesdrop on us and understand our conversations without our knowledge. The Marquis will be amused when he hears of this! Although I will never hear the end of it, for he was convinced then that you held intelligence!”

  Frankenstein had led me into a semicircular room, and he stopped his speech so that he could watch my reaction to what he was presenting to me. In the center of this room sat a decorative throne that had been elevated four feet above the floor with its back resting against the wall so that it overlooked the room. Marble columns rose to the ceiling from both sides of this throne. Hooks were attached to these columns, and from these were hung cat-o’-nine tails and other whips, and evil-looking devices at whose purpose I could only guess. Embedded halfway up each column were iron manacles, and the purpose of these was easy to surmise. They were meant so that a victim could be chained between these columns and left suspended in the air.

  Scattered about this room were couches and chaise longues that were covered with satin cushions. The room had the feel of an evil amphitheater, and I guessed this was where the play that Frankenstein had mentioned was to be performed. What was most striking and what filled me with the greatest sense of loathing were not the columns decorated with their instruments of torture, but a mural that ran fully around the room and held a height of at least eight feet, with the figures within it painted to be life-sized. This mural reflected what was at first glance a pleasant ballroom scene of men in their elegant attire and women in their fine ballroom gowns waltzing happily together. But if you looked more closely you could see a glint of wickedness shining in the men’s eyes, as well as hint of horror shading the women’s complexions. I tried to look away from this strange painting, but it was as if I were compelled to stare at it, almost as if I were afraid to look away from it.

  “You are enjoying the mural?” Frankenstein asked, obviously pleased with himself. “This is my own contribution to the Marquis’ brilliant work, for he could not possibly have divined a mural of this sort, as will become apparent to you over time. But I am quite pleased with it. Here, let me show you more.”

  He led me to one of what were a half dozen closets attached to this room. Frankenstein opened the closet door, and inside, it was furnished with a couch similar to those scattered about the main room, with other whips and evil devices hanging from the walls. When we stepped out of the closet, I stopped, confused. The mural appeared to have changed subtly, the men’s faces all the more sinister, the women’s faces registering a touch more fear. I also imagined that their positions within their waltz had changed, as if they had taken several steps during my absence. Frankenstein seemed pleased by my confusion, but only asked that we continue our tour.

  “The other closets are all the same as the one I showed you,” he said. “But let me show you the dining room, which is, sadly, still under construction.”

  Frankenstein took me to an adjoining room, which was to be the dining room. Workmen were hanging rich red tapestries and painting the walls and crafting an ornamental molding made of ivory along the edges of the ceiling. A great oak table sat in the middle of the room, and scattered about this table were fine armchairs with fat leather cushions. There was nothing overtly sinister about this room—at least not like the amphitheater that I was shown—but it still filled me with a sense of loathing. Perhaps it was that an evil permeated the interior of this castle as completely as if it were air, and that it would chill me wherever I went within these castle walls.

  From this dining room, Frankenstein next showed me a set of private bedrooms, all of which were still under construction. Even with the canopied beds and the other fine furnishings, these rooms filled me with the same sort of revulsion as the dining room and amphitheater.

  “The living quarters for my guests are on higher floors,” Frankenstein confided to me. “These chambers are to be used for the drama that we will be performing. Come, there is still much I desire to show you.”

  He took me to a stone staircase that led into the bowels of the castle and what appeared to be a dungeon. Workmen were assembling a complex set of gears and machinery across eight pillars that stood in a row, all of which had manacles attached to them. Frankenstein stopped to admire this. He pointed out a chain and told me that when it was pulled the victims who were secured to each of these pillars would be murdered simultaneously.

  “All done through different means,” he giggled. “Garroted, stabbed, set on fire, shot by darts and other exquisite forms of death. It will be a thing of beauty.”

  “What do you mean the victims who are to be chained to those pillars?”

  He fought to contain another giggle, but otherwise did not answer me. Instead he moved hurriedly to an iron door and pulled it open. He stood eagerly by this open door waiting for me. On entering this chamber I found cages filled with young girls, none of which could have been older than twenty. I stared at them dumbfounded. There could have been several hundred of them, and as I looked at their horrorstruck and pitiful expressions, I saw that were even younger children among them, both boys and girls.

  “These are to be the players in our drama,” Frankenstein told me.

  I stared at him as dumbly as I did those poor prisoners, Frankenstein’s words not yet sinking in.

  “Of course, I will be playing a role, as will several of my guests. But these will be the star players of our production, and none of this would have been possible without you, Friedrich.”

  I could not understand what he was saying, and as he saw my bewilderment his expression grew exceedingly wicked.

  “We stole them when you were terrorizing the Saxony and Bavarian provinces,” he explained, his voice slicing me as sharply as if it had been a dagger. “All of these thefts were blamed on you. Without your help, Friedrich, we would never have been able to procure the players that we need for our drama.”

  I closed my eyes and imagined the feverish state that I had been in when I stole into those cities under the cloak of dark
ness and skulked about their citizenry, almost as if I were little more than a puppet being manipulated by an invisible hand. I understood then.

  “It was your black magic that sent me into those cities and villages, and made me act I did,” I said, my voice rumbling out in a soft echo.

  “Of course,” Frankenstein said.

  I looked at the faces of these young girls and children as they stared back at me, horrified. All I could see was innocence and purity.

  “These are who you will be murdering on those machines?” I asked, not quite believing that any man, no matter how evil, could do as Frankenstein was suggesting.

  “Some of them will play that role,” Frankenstein said. “Others will be assigned their own special roles, all of which they will play out as demanded. In the meantime, they will be well-fed and kept healthy, and their innocence will not be breached. We need all of them to remain virgins leading up to our drama, although none will remain virgins for very long after it begins.”

  He chuckled at that.

  The full magnitude of what I had seen and what Frankenstein was telling me began to sink in. The murdering machines, the devices for torture and other evil. And with utter disgust I understood the unwitting role that I played.

  “This is not a temple of nature,” I spat out, “but a temple of depravity!”

  Frankenstein’s eyes darkened and his smile lost some of its luster. “You are wrong, Friedrich,” he said. “In nature, is there such thing as murder and rape? If a tiger wishes to kill another animal, does it not just do so? If a male beast wishes to make use of a female of its species, or any other species that it is stronger than, does it not just overpower it and do as it wishes?”

  “We are not animals.”

  “But we are, Friedrich. With all of our pretense of being something greater than that, that is all we are, and our drama will be representing the ultimate truth of nature, and not the hypocrisy of man and his supposed high morality. In Paris right now, under the guise of piety and God, the sanctimonious fiend, Robespierre, is each day sending hundreds of innocent men and women to their death by the guillotine and unleashing rivers of blood so great that they have had to build special gutters to contain it. In Spain, for such alleged crimes of heresy, hundreds of innocent men and women are tortured and murdered each day in ways every bit as barbaric as what our play will call for. The few lives that we will be sacrificing here for our little drama will be a drop of piss compared to the oceans that these civilized nations pour out.”