Dawn_A Re-Imagining of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein

by Merrie Destefano

  One by one, they slumped to their knees, as if begging for help. Then, just like in the forest when I had flung the crucifix into a huddle of these creatures, they each began to dissolve from the wound inward. It was as if they were being eaten alive by a school of African piranha—their flesh and bones being consumed. Although in this instance, they were being transformed to ash.

  I glanced down at the scythe in my hand, realizing that this weapon was as powerful as the crucifix.

  Soon, the air around me became nearly impossible to breathe, for the ash clouds were too thick.

  “Come! Away!” I called out to Byron. I couldn’t see him through the shadows and the ashes, but I heard him respond with a grunt, probably ripping one last unholy beast apart, and then his footsteps clapped over cobblestones toward me. He appeared even more frightful than before, now with sangsue blood smeared on his face and arms, bits of gore in his teeth. I winced and, yet, I understood what he’d done and why.

  He’d wanted vengeance, just like I had, when I went half mad into the forest.

  There was still a bit of my old friend inside him, though, for he grinned and laughed, then swung one arm around my waist and we ran together down the street. For a moment, it felt more like we raced toward a local folk dance or a tavern, looking for a good time, rather than escaping a demon-infested countryside. My spirits lifted and I grinned back at him, one arm still firmly latched about my infant niece, the other clasping the iron scythe as if it was the Holy Grail.

  At that moment I only knew we were together and there was still hope we might escape alive.

  Eleven

  We ran uphill, through a darkness that thickened until it pressed against my skin. An oily presence pursued us, as if the sangsue horde was one creature instead of hundreds. Our laughter faded. In its place, my heart kept time with the thunder that raged overhead, and I clutched my niece so close I worried I might suffocate her. I kept one palm on her back, always searching for the small exhale that proved she was still alive.

  I brushed my lips across her soft skin, willing her to survive. I would have breathed my own life into her, if it had been possible.

  I lifted my head, calling out as I searched the shadows that folded and curved across the street.

  “Claire! Where are you?”

  There was no reply. There was only our continual race up the hill toward the cathedral, Byron at my side or a step behind me, one arm always around my waist. He hadn’t released me since we set off together and I knew he would stay close until we reached sanctuary.

  “Claire!” We called out her name in unison.

  The word echoed down the street behind us, stirring coarse laughter amidst the creatures that followed us.

  In all battles, there are foot soldiers that have been sent ahead. They’re lowly and expendable and, oftentimes, they know this and it makes them afraid.

  We were surrounded by mere foot soldiers.

  I had a feeling another army waited up ahead.

  Lightning splintered overhead and, for one instant, I saw my horse in a nearby alley. Sprawled on its side, it was being ripped apart by a small herd of hungry sangsue. Blood and flesh and bone were exposed, the attack as violent as what had happened earlier to Byron, and I winced, my stomach weakened at the sight. But only one thing really mattered.

  “Claire!” I screamed, searching for her body among the torn limbs but not seeing it.

  The flash of light retreated, taking all the light in the world with it. Blinded, I stumbled, my sense of direction gone. We’d been heading up a twisted lane, curving to the left, the spires of St. Peter’s black against a gray sky. Now I couldn’t tell which way to go. Byron hesitated, slowing to a halt beside me. The child in my arms whimpered and I shushed her.

  “Claire!” I cried out again, refusing to move.

  Then Claire’s voice spoke out, clear and soft and somewhere close at hand.

  “Here I am,” she said. “Come closer, sister.”

  She was a beacon in a midnight fog, though I wasn’t sure whether she was leading me toward rocks or safety. Byron tightened his grip on my waist, refusing to let me move toward the voice that called.

  “Claire, where are you?” I asked.

  “Give me the child, Mary, please. She needs me,” she said, her voice trembling.

  “No,” Byron answered.

  “You must give me the child.”

  Wind rustled down the street, stirring leaves and small stones, and with it came a soft cascade of whispers, all of them repeating Claire’s words. You must, you must, you must. I had the feeling we were surrounded and I raised the scythe Hanna had given me, stretching my arm before me, testing what was in front of us. There were a few startled cries and the clatter of footsteps retreating.

  “Drop the weapon, sister,” Claire said, her words sharp, as if I’d punched her in the gut. “You could harm—the child—”

  “The child is safe,” I said, vowing not to speak to her again until I saw her face and knew for certain it was my sister. There was an eerie quality to her voice and I was reminded of how Percy had imitated John when both of them were in Percy’s room, right after the wolf had bitten my fiancé. I stood on my tiptoes and whispered in Byron’s ear. “We must get away, up the hill.”

  “You can run, but you will not escape us!” Claire said.

  Us. She was one of them.

  I sucked a quick mouthful of air through my teeth. Scythe stretched before us, Byron and I began a hesitant journey, step by step, nearly falling when he crashed into a wall. A moment later, my weapon caught on something, a bit of fabric or flesh, I couldn’t tell what until I twisted my blade. Someone or something screamed. I startled, hoping it hadn’t been Claire.

  I didn’t know if she’d truly joined the sangsue or whether she was their captive, but I hoped there might still be a way to save her.

  First, we had to get to the safety of the church. Perhaps then I could lure her inside. Surely the prayers of centuries of saints would render her powerless and weak.

  Lightning splashed overhead and the sky became a network of white veins. Byron stared upwards, as if enchanted, but I used that instant of light to survey our surroundings. We were about twenty feet from cresting the hill—so close!—yet, we were flanked by gruesome sangsue. I’d never seen any that looked this fierce. Gray skin, black teeth, lidless eyes, their muscles quivered in anticipation and they all crouched, as if trying to guess my next move. They were more beast than human—not even their King had looked so ready to rip sinew from flesh.

  “Run, Byron,” I cried, my words pulling him away from the sky that mesmerized him. “Fight, if you have to, but we must get to the cathedral.”

  He gave me a quick nod, his scarred face illuminated by another brace of white light. We used each burst of lightning to surge forward, shooting and cutting those who stood in our way. Sometimes I aimed in full light, but swung in darkness, my blade striking flesh I couldn’t see.

  I hadn’t seen Claire in the demon horde that clustered about us. Could one of those creatures have imitated her voice? Could they be holding her captive in one of the darkened buildings we passed? The higher we climbed, the more ransacked the city became, furniture littering the streets, foul smoke lingering in the air that meant sometime earlier fires must have raged here. Had the inhabitants tried to burn the sangsue out of town? I imagined the villagers, nearly winning for a time, gathering together in false boldness as they brandished torches and chased the monsters through the streets. Scorched brick and blackened stucco seemed to prove this theory true. Still, these beasts hadn’t been defeated.

  The ground leveled before us and I sighed, relief flooding my chest, the babe in my arms responding by turning her head. The poor child was probably hungry and searching for her mother’s breast.

  I clutched my niece closer, wishing we could be alone and that I could both cradle and feed her.

  I wished she was mine.

  As soon as that thought came, I cast it a
way with fervor. I must find Claire! I couldn’t leave without her—

  “Claire! Where are you?” I called out.

  We were steps away from the church, the largest building in the center of town, the structure a strange blend of styles for it had been transformed several times, even after John Calvin used it as his base during the Reformation. The cathedral was the heart of the town, set atop a hill for all to see at a distance, the place where Calvin had instilled a code of holiness that still infused the villagers with a puritan lifestyle.

  We were headed toward Geneva’s heart. I should have anticipated that this would be where the sangsue battle would be most fierce.

  Twelve

  The hills should have been covered with flowers; the skies should have been dappled with stars. There were supposed to be boat rides and picnics and trips to nearby castles. We were going to write poetry, debate politics and embrace everything about the Romantic Movement.

  Together, Percy and I were going to change the world.

  I was going to forget that his wife had killed herself. Hearts could mend. If treated with care and kindness, if given enough wine and song, if…

  If only that had been what truly happened.

  Instead, I stood at the top of a hill in a foreign city, feet bracing cobblestones, all of me ready to run or fight, whatever it took to survive. Part of me even wondered, foolishly, that if I perished, maybe John would find me and revive me, just as I had done to Byron.

  Then lightning flashed overhead, one more time. And I saw him. Waiting for me, at the foot of the cathedral stairs.

  Percy. Looking more beautiful and romantic and dangerous than ever.

  He stared down at me, a shadow that blended with the night, a smiling dark creature with glittering teeth. I didn’t know which was worse—the lies spun by the sangsue King or the poetry written by my beloved. Both could enchant me and make me weak. I longed for wax to put in my ears like the sailors of old when faced with sea nymphs.

  Rocky cliffs and stormy seas, I feared I was headed for destruction.

  Then the babe in my arms cried and I woke from the spell.

  I lowered my head and lifted my scythe, ready to swing it through black air.

  “Come, my love.” Percy held a white hand outstretched. Had his skin been that pale before? I couldn’t remember. I could only hear his voice, whispered during too many nights when I had lain in his arms, soothed to sleep by the rhythm of his words.

  “Step aside,” I warned as I approached the church. Byron walked a step behind me, his eyes narrowed and his rifle aimed at the countless sangsue that filled the courtyard.

  With each flash of lightning, Percy alternated between a faceless silhouette and a pale specter of who he had once been.

  “Our King is calling you,” Percy said, his eyes searching mine, his tongue running slowly over his lips.

  “He is not my King,” I protested, holding the infant in my left arm as I attempted to skirt Percy, making my way up the steps and toward the door.

  “He is your King,” Percy replied.

  I couldn’t help myself. I remembered the sangsue King and his kiss, and I stumbled, toe crashing against stone, knee giving way until I kneeled on the step. “No,” I whispered. I couldn’t be defeated this easily. I reminded myself that I wasn’t in love with that dark creature, I had been attracted to him, yes, but it had been much too soon for love. Still, my heart leapt at the memory of his face, pale as a ghost in night.

  Percy smiled, as if he could read my thoughts. With one finger, he traced the King’s mark on my cheek, his touch cold.

  Byron shoved him away with a growl.

  Percy refused to look at Byron, focusing his full attention on me. “Join us, Mary. You belong with us—”

  “Dear God, no!” I said.

  “There’s no one coming to save you,” Percy said, his voice soft. “We’re all here—John and Claire and Hannah are my brother and sisters now. Didn’t Hannah tell you to meet us here?”

  How did he know this? Had he seen her? A small crowd of shadows clustered behind the columns, nodding at me, and I dared not look into their faces, I couldn’t. If Claire or John had already been claimed by the sangsue, I wouldn’t have the strength to continue.

  Byron lifted me from my kneeling position, then half-carried me the rest of the way. Whenever he passed one of the sangsue—even those fierce creatures with gray skin and black teeth—they would snarl at him and back away. Percy, who’d been his closest friend, withstood his presence longer than most. But when Byron touched him, pressing a hand against Percy’s chest and then pushing him aside, an expression like terror filled Percy’s eyes.

  The sangsue had killed Byron back at Villa Diodati. His ability to walk and breathe, without being one of their kind, was such an abomination they couldn’t bear it.

  They had no power over him and they knew it.

  Percy turned his face away, unable to look upon either of us as we passed. Like an animal, he hissed and spat, crouching low on his haunches, looking ready to spring at us, yet never following through. The other shadowy wretches hid their faces, thankfully. I dreaded moving closer, afraid I would recognize someone I knew.

  Byron grabbed the handle of the door, ready to open it. I feared it was locked and that we’d be trapped here, surrounded by poisonous creatures that could destroy us. The door did open, revealing a musty darkness that waited on the other side. There was no way to know whether the church was safe or not, still we had no choice.

  He crossed the threshold first, a grimace on his face, his jaw tightening. The old Byron, who had long been my friend, despised churches and the moral codes they imposed. Do not lie with your sister, do not commit adultery—all the reasons he’d left England and gone into exile. I followed close behind, knowing my hands were no cleaner than his, but before I crossed the threshold a hand grabbed me by the arm and pulled me around.

  “Give me my daughter!”

  Claire faced me in the ever-changing light, a wildness in her eyes that I had never seen before. Her voice carried a haunting quality and her skin looked translucent, as if she were a creature somewhere between a spirit and a faery, part horrible and part beautiful. Her hair floated in the air around her, lifted by the breeze, and her skirts were tattered, as if they’d gotten caught in the cogs of a great machine. There were scratches on her legs and arms, but no blood and no bites that I could see.

  “Have they bitten you, sister?” I asked, pushing myself away from her and inside the doorway. I stood mere inches from her; still I was within the cathedral and she was outside. If she was a sangsue, she wouldn’t be able to touch me.

  She lifted her face to the dark heavens and howled, a long note filled with fear. At last, her inhuman cry turned to penitent words.

  “I tried, Master, but she is in a holy place and I cannot go in—” She fell to her knees and held her arms out to me. “Please, Mary, give me the child or he will—” She stopped talking long enough to cover her head with her hands, screaming. When she finally looked up again, she was weeping. “He’ll kill me, Mary—or worse, if you don’t give the babe to me!”

  “Who will kill you?” I cried. Before I could react, Byron grabbed the infant from my arms and ran further inside the cathedral. I swung around, looking for him, but unable to see him. His scrambling footsteps echoed first in one part of the massive building and then another, the sounds making it impossible to tell where he’d gone. “Byron?” I called.

  Only a few moments had passed, but when I turned back toward the doorway, the church porch was empty. All the sangsue, near and far, were gone.

  There was only a streak of blood where Claire had been standing, a footprint, and with each strike of lightning, I could see the trail of blood that led off into a fathomless darkness.

  Thirteen

  She was gone. Claire had disappeared, dragged off by the sangsue. The terror in her voice caused a well of fear inside me. Who had threatened her, Percy or the King, or was there ye
t another hellish demon about that I hadn’t met? I poised at the edge of the door, peering out.

  “Claire!” I called. “Come back!”

  Thunder ricocheted off the distant mountains and the rain finally came, pelting my face, drenching my clothes. Byron movements echoed behind me, his frantic skittering about, accompanied by my niece’s occasional soft whimper. I longed to run after my sister, but I was torn.

  If I left the infant with Byron, there’d be no one to properly care for her. She wouldn’t survive the long boat ride to the Mediterranean or to any closer port, for that matter. I wasn’t sure if he had enough sense to realize that in his current state.

  “Byron, bring me the child,” I called out, forcing my voice to remain calm. I struggled with the fear that my sister was now forever lost and there was nothing I could do about it. “The babe needs to rest.”

  Silence returned, a large empty void that filled the sanctuary from floor to vaulted ceiling.

  “She could die, Byron, if we aren’t gentle with her. You don’t want that.” I closed the cathedral door, then began to walk about, searching behind pews and down long corridors, while flashes of lightning caused the stained glass windows to flare to life. Images of saints blazed around me. I’d been frightened of the demons outside; I now found myself frightened of the saints inside. They all stared down upon me with accusation—

  How could you have fallen under his enchantment—

  Why did you let that monster kiss you—

  Could you not tell those were not human children—

  I found myself in a dead-end chamber, surrounded by suffocating darkness, unsure which way to turn. My fingers and toes fumbled for purchase, hoping to find a wall that would lead me back toward the open sanctuary. For an instant, I felt his presence, heavy as soot in my lungs. Even if I lived through this night, the King would find me mid-morning tomorrow, demanding my answer and my soul. Even if I had Byron, with his uncanny power over the sangsue, and Hannah, with her backwoods magic, I wouldn’t be strong enough to fight him.