Monster

by Dave Zeltserman

  The next night, when the rest of the inhabitants of the castle were asleep, I returned so that I could read this occult collection undisturbed. The manuscripts were ancient, their bindings all of aged and cracking vellum, although with one of the books I had the thought that human skin was used, as well as blood instead of ink. I handled these books carefully so that their pages would not crumble apart in my hands. Several of them were written in Greek, others in Latin, and I could feel the evil emanating from them simply by holding them. It was a loathsome activity, touching and reading these books, and it took me four nights to complete my task. It was in the last of these books—the one that I believed had human skin as its binding—that I found the spell that Frankenstein had cast on me to make me his unwitting slave, but nowhere within its pages could I find a counter-spell. I was ashamed to realize that I was relieved by this, for it left me with no choice but to allow Johanna to be brought back to me.

  This knowledge that I was a compliant if not necessarily willing participant in Frankenstein’s plans filled me with a new revulsion that sent me reeling. I had been trying to believe that I was only an innocent prisoner within the castle walls, the same as the caged children; that since there was nothing I could do to save them, none of this was my fault. But was I secretly hoping that I would be left with no choice but to allow Frankenstein’s plans to play out? Left to my own accord, would I be willing to sacrifice not only one of them but all of them if it would bring Johanna back to me? How could I be above their evil if I were secretly glad that I could not prevent it? These questions preyed on me, and sent me roaming the castle like a ghost. For the rest of the day I barely paid attention to where I wandered, or to the amused looks with which Frankenstein and his guests favored me. It was as if I were walking listlessly inside of a nightmare that I could not wake up from, and it was in this dark state of mind that I found myself back in the amphitheater at midnight.

  Frankenstein and his other guests were already assembled there. It must have been a nightly ritual for them. And Frankenstein was right. At that hour the actors within the mural moved freely and without any care that they were being observed. Their movements were fluid and held an eerie quality, and the scenes that played out were every bit as inhuman as the illustrations that I had seen for Frankenstein’s planned drama. The women all had their clothing torn off, and in some cases were dead, having had their throats cut so savagely that their heads hung as if by a thread from their bodies. The women who were still alive all had at least one or more of their limbs cut from their bodies, and blood flowed from them every bit as much as it would have from a living person, and it left a red stain spreading across the dance floor. When they opened their mouths wide to scream, no sound emanated from them and their screams remained trapped within that nightmarish mural. Whether the women were alive or dead, it did not stop the men from raping and sodomizing them in ways that earlier would have been unimaginable to me. Some of the men would turn to grin wickedly at us, others were too caught up in their bloodlust to notice that they had an audience. As each depraved act unfolded, Frankenstein and his guests applauded with an animalistic fervor, their own faces burning feverishly as if they were in a spell. As I watched, I found my own legs increasingly growing unsteady, and when the actors within the mural turned to acts of cannibalism I staggered out of the room before the swimming within my head sent me crashing to the floor.

  I was only a few yards from the amphitheater when my legs gave out from under me, and I crawled desperately to find a dark corner where I could lose the memory of the images that I had seen play out on that mural and the sound of the enthusiastic applauding and cheering from Frankenstein and his guests.

  I made my way into one of the boudoirs where the noises coming from the amphitheater were muted enough to where I could almost ignore them. An iciness ran through my body, my skin as cold and damp as a corpse’s. I pushed myself into a sitting position and rocked back and forth as I grasped my knees, and kept telling myself that what I saw wasn’t real, but only the imaginations of a madman.

  Except that the acts that had played out on that mural were very much like the fates that were intended for the prisoners being held within the dungeon, and for some, what was planned for was far worse, at least according to the few illustrations that I had looked at.

  If I could, would I be able to save them, even if it meant that my Johanna would be forever lost to me? And even if I remained powerless to stop Frankenstein from carrying out his atrocities, would the fact that I secretly wished to remain powerless damn my soul every bit as much?

  But at least I was saving one of them from that cruelty. I tried to take solace from that, but failed miserably.

  For the rest of my days in the castle I avoided the amphitheater, but nothing I did could stop those images from torturing me.

  Ten days after that night, the Marquis arrived. He did not arrive alone; since Frankenstein intended to bring me to London with him, he arranged for a tailor and boot maker to be brought also to the castle so that I could be properly outfitted for my trip. All of them arrived together in the same carriage, which brought them to the base of the cliff, and a wagon pulled by donkeys was next used to bring them up the path and to the castle. I did not see the Marquis arrive, or even later that evening at dinner, for he had to rest after his arduous journey. I did however meet immediately with both the tailor and boot maker, neither of whom were allowed the luxury of claiming that they were too tired to commence their work. That afternoon the tailor measured me for a suit that I would wear under my cape, as well as a pair of gloves to hide the monstrous nature of my hands, and the boot maker did likewise so that he could construct for me a pair of leather boots. Both of these men shook noticeably as they took my measurements, as well paling even whiter than milk, but they did their work, and by the following afternoon they delivered to me my clothing and boots. Frankenstein commanded me to try on my new suit, and as I did, he nodded his approval.

  “A proper gentleman,” he said with a trace of a smile. “Wear this tonight for dinner. I would like the Marquis to see you like this.”

  I nodded my consent, since I was incapable of doing otherwise, and that evening I arrived for dinner as Frankenstein commanded. The Marquis was already seated at the table. He looked the same pompous, rotund creature that I had seen in Frankenstein’s laboratory, except that his heavy jowls sagged more and his flesh appeared grayer around his eyes. His back faced the door and he did not notice me enter, but continued his conversation with several of the other guests about how fascinating he found Frankenstein’s mural.

  “The actors within it only seem to move when I look away,” he said. “Although they have been up to much wickedness of late.”

  “Wait until midnight!” the Viscountess exclaimed excitedly. “They will not show any shyness in their actions then!”

  The Marquis was about to respond to her when he noticed me, and instead stopped to nod in my direction. Frankenstein also then noticed that I had entered the hall, and commanded me to take my seat, which would put the Marquis directly to my right.

  “I have you to thank,” the Marquis said gravely. “Without your services we would not have been able find the players that we needed to perform my masterpiece. I viewed our actors earlier today, and they will be quite adequate.”

  I held my tongue. I knew Frankenstein had not made his threat idly to dispose of Johanna’s brain if I showed any outrage over their intentions, and the fact was I was no longer sure whether I had the right to claim any moral superiority to them. The Marquis waited for me to answer him, and when I did not a thin smile showed on his lips.

  “You do not approve of our intended drama?” he asked.

  I chose my words carefully, and told him simply that I did not see the point of it.

  “That is because you do not understand it,” he said, an angry petulance entering his voice. “I was wrong before when I thought I perceived intelligence in you when I visited Victor in Ingolstadt. Cl
early you are an imbecile if you cannot see the brilliance of my drama!”

  Frankenstein laughed hastily. “Do not be offended, my friend. Friedrich still clings to his noble aspirations, but that will not last for long. And he knows only bits and pieces of what we have planned. He has seen some of our illustrations, and has surmised other aspects of your drama, but that is the extent of his knowledge. When he sees the work in its entirety, he will appreciate what we are doing.”

  I wondered how Frankenstein knew that I had viewed the illustrations. Had he spied on me? Or perhaps it was his dark magic that had compelled me to find them? The Marquis interrupted my thoughts by making a loud harrumph noise. His expression turned sullen as he picked up his brandy and sipped it. When he put the glass down, his eyes had darkened.

  “I do not care whether this abomination of yours appreciates my work,” he stated in a tone as dark as his eyes. “But I will be making him an actor within my play, and will be commencing with my revisions tomorrow. Does his cock work? That is all I wish to know right now!”

  The Viscountess answered him, telling the Marquis how she had firsthand experience that it did. “We put on an exhibition for the actors within Victor’s mural, and I believe they enjoyed our show every bit as much as we do theirs!”

  The Marquis chuckled at that and drank more of his brandy. This time when he put the glass down he smiled nastily at me, a hateful glint in his eyes. “In that case, my daemonic friend, I will be revising my drama to give you a starring role. But enough of that. Congratulations are in order. I understand that you chose one of the young girls to be your bride.”

  He waited for me to answer him, and when I failed to, his smile turned nastier and he continued, “A delightful creature, the one you chose. I paid particularly close attention to her when I examined all our prisoners earlier. Although at twenty years she did seem too ripe for my taste, but still quite pretty, even at her advanced age. Her rosy cheeks and yellow hair made me curious concerning what she had beneath her peasant dress.”

  With his eyes still intent on me, he ordered Frankenstein to send this girl later to his room.

  “But we agreed that we would wait until November first, for when our drama is to begin—”

  “Since she is not going to be one of our actors, her virginity is of no importance. I wish to spend the night sampling her. And I will be doing our imbecilic friend here a favor by training her in all forms of pleasure so that she will be better prepared for her wedding night.”

  “If you touch her I will kill you,” I told the Marquis.

  He laughed at that. “How? You cannot even keep me from doing this?” He stood up and struck me on the face. If I were in Friedrich Hoffmann’s body, perhaps his blow would have drawn blood, or have even knocked me down, but in my current form it was little more than a tap. Still, I trembled with rage as I stared into his face, but Frankenstein’s spell forced my hands to remain at my sides.

  Frankenstein interrupted this scene, nervously imploring the Marquis to sit down. “I will be sending her on a long journey tomorrow in preparation for the transformation. My dear Marquis, it is best for tonight that she be allowed to rest. I am sure one or more of the madames here would be happy instead to oblige you tonight—”

  “One of them? My God, are you insane? They are all approaching forty!”

  Frankenstein hurriedly pulled the Marquis over to him and whispered into his ear. At first the Marquis looked annoyed and wished to argue with him, but in the end he allowed himself to be pacified. He turned to me and nodded curtly. “I apologize,” he said in a stilted voice. “I can at times display a violent temper. Please blame my behavior on artistic temperament.” He then turned to address the rest of the table and also apologized to the ladies sitting there for his outburst. With that he continued with his meal, although his mood had soured considerably.

  Frankenstein called me to his side and whispered to me that it would be best if I left the table. “You should rest, my friend. We will be starting a long journey tomorrow.”

  I did not argue with him. I was glad to be free of them, especially the Marquis. On the way up to my room, I picked up more bottles of brandy, anxious for the blissful oblivion that they would provide me.

  CHAPTER 21

  The next morning Frankenstein arranged for the girl that I chose to be transformed into Johanna to be sent ahead to an isolated island off the coast of Scotland, as well as Johanna’s brain, notes, instruments and other medical devices that he would be needing for the operation. He had, it appeared, rented the entire island for the surgery, choosing it for its proximity to England and its isolation. While I understood Frankenstein not wishing to be burdened with this girl while the two of us traveled to London, his shipping her off as if she were little more than any other piece of laboratory equipment troubled me, but I did not attempt to argue with him.

  After those arrangements were completed, Frankenstein had a trunk brought down from his living quarters so that the two of us could prepare for our journey to London. The Marquis met him in the parlor and told Frankenstein that he would be hard at work on his revisions, but that he would have everything ready for the first of November. He turned away from me with only a faint acknowledgment of my presence and still with a malicious glint in his eyes. After that, Frankenstein and I departed the castle. We sat together in a wagon while a team of donkeys pulled us down the path and to the base of the cliff. On this side of the cliff was a small cabin and a stable that had been hidden from me when I had arrived weeks earlier from the other side. An attendant had a coach waiting for us. Once we were boarded and under way to Strasburg, I asked Frankenstein why the tailor and boot maker were not accompanying us. He looked away from me and peered off toward the icy glaciers.

  “They have costumes and other work to perform in preparation for our drama,” he said under his breath.

  His tone and manner led me to believe that it was more than that. That those two, and perhaps all of the workmen and craftsmen employed at the castle, were never going to be leaving. That they were all going to be made unwitting players in the drama that was going to unfold.

  Frankenstein appeared absorbed in his own thoughts, which suited me, since I did not care for his company. We did not speak another word together until we arrived in Strasburg and boarded the boat that Frankenstein had chartered to take us up the Rhine to Rotterdam. Once I had gained access to my cabin without any attention from the boat’s crew, Frankenstein asked me to stay shut in my cabin during the day, and not to venture out onto the deck until the darkness of night had descended.

  “I will bring you food and wine and whatever else you might need,” he said, “but I am afraid that if the crew were to see you, even hidden under your cape, it would alarm them. Stories of a gigantic daemon kidnapping young girls could have reached this city.”

  I did not put up any argument. I did not much care where on that boat I resided.

  Whether it was the travel, being free from that castle and its thick oppressive evil, or the cool, soothing air from the water, that night onboard the ship I slept deeply for the first time in over two weeks. While my dreams were not invaded by Frankenstein’s black magic, they were troubling nonetheless, and as much as I had hoped for Johanna to visit she did not appear. I awoke from these dreams with an uneasiness that had burrowed deep into my soul and which I could not rid myself of no matter how hard I tried.

  I was mostly left alone over the next several days, with my enemy only interrupting me to bring food and drink. During this time I tried to convince myself that all I had witnessed within the castle was only a fleeting nightmare that I had left far behind me, and I tried desperately to hold on to Johanna’s image within my mind, but her face would invariably break apart only to be replaced by the shifting faces of the young girls in Frankenstein’s dungeon, and I would see them clearly in all of their misery and despair. I would see them begging me to save them. And even when I would open my eyes, I would still be haunted by these phan
toms as they would insist on lingering for a horrible few moments more.

  When I would look out my cabin window I would see sights of nature that would have soothed and pleased me when I was Friedrich Hoffmann, but now only left me barren, and worse, for before too long I would make out those young girls’ faces within rock formations and clouds. There was no escape from them, no escape from the terror that I had left behind. The worst was when scenes from that mural would play out in my mind, with the women within it being replaced by the young prisoners. I would at times pace my cabin as if I were a caged animal, at other times I would hold my head in my hands, but nothing I did would keep those loathsome thoughts from pushing their serpentine way through my skull. Every minute that I was held captive within those castle walls I had prayed for distant solitude, and now that I had it I could barely stand it.

  The night before we were to reach Rotterdam, I stood on the deck and stared into the darkness. Alone, I tried to breathe in the night air in order to try to keep my torturous imaginings at bay. I was interrupted by the arrival of Frankenstein. He stood silently next to me, and I made no attempt to speak to him. We stood like that for several minutes before Frankenstein remarked that there existed a bond between us, a bond similar to that which existed between a father and a son. I laughed harshly at his comment, the noise escaping from me and sounding like little more than a dog’s bark.

  “It is true, Friedrich. For I crafted you and brought life into your dead form. I witnessed when you first opened your eyes. I cared for and nurtured you when you were helpless and had no strength to move. And while at times I am disappointed with your progress, I am excited about your potential.”