The Hammer Horror Omnibus

by John Burke

  I sobbed helplessly. I am ashamed of myself for showing such weakness, but this final betrayal robbed me temporarily of all self-control.

  Now I am myself again. They shall not see me flinch. And even at this eleventh hour I feel that somehow there must be an answer. There cannot be such injustice in the world. I am Baron Frankenstein, and I cannot believe that I shall die. I cannot believe that I shall ever die. I who have created life—how can they presume to take life from me?

  There must somehow be a way to cheat death.

  The Revenge of Frankenstein

  1

  On the morning of my execution I was asked if I had any last statement to make. I replied only that I was innocent of the crime for which I had been sentenced to death. Then I was led by two guards to the yard where the scaffold stood grim and bare in the cold morning light.

  One of my guards was a huge ox of a man. The other was a twisted little creature named Werner, a dwarf who was stronger than he looked, but whose strength could not compensate him for the wretchedness of his warped body.

  They offered to bind my eyes, but I refused. I was calm. I wanted to see what was happening. When the priest met me at the exit into the yard of death and began to advise repentance, as he had been doing for some considerable time now, I politely rejected his advances.

  We walked slowly towards the scaffold. Within the prison I heard the mournful howling that prisoners invariably set up on such occasions. Nobody looked down on the scene, however: that was forbidden. At least in this enlightened country of mine I was, thanks to what little influence I had left—mainly financial, I may add—not to be made a public spectacle.

  I glanced down at Werner. He gave me a quick grin. I trusted this meant that all was well.

  The dwarf was my last hope. In the middle of the night, sleepless and fretful because there was so much to be done with my talents and so little chance that I would ever be able to do it, I had turned to the dwarf and made a bargain with him. He had always been half inclined to believe my story of a living creature which I had made, and now I set out to convince him of the skills which I had learned during my experiments. If he saved me from the scaffold, I promised to give him a new body. He was very ready to listen to an offer of this kind. His objections were easily overcome. He wanted to believe that I was telling the truth and that I could do what I said. If I was to escape from death and from this prison there would be risks to run—but when the prize was a fine new body, Werner was willing to take such risks.

  I had to leave the details to him. He would not or could not tell me how he planned to accomplish the escape. But that sidelong grin was reassuring.

  Unless it was all a ghastly joke . . . I saw myself mounting the scaffold and dying while they laughed at me, laughed at my gullibility in believing that I would be snatched from the jaws of destruction.

  Our little cortège stopped at the foot of the steps leading up to the scaffold. The executioner looked down at me appraisingly and then at the priest. The priest began to intone. The dwarf glanced at his massive companion and jerked his head to indicate that the man should go back into the building. They exchanged a knowing wink. I foresaw that this was going to cost me whatever money I could lay my hands on; but I had no intention of complaining or of haggling over terms.

  The priest finished. The words he had been offering up to heaven on my behalf were the last he ever uttered. The dwarf leapt suddenly upon him and in a trice had pinioned his arms behind his back. The executioner sprang down from his platform and, while I stood spellbound, the two of them hurried the priest up the steps.

  It was all over in a matter of seconds. The rest of the plan was carried out with admirable speed. My little friend Werner might have an inadequate body, but he had a nimble brain. Before the morning was well advanced I found myself a free man in the streets of the city. The dead priest would be buried as Baron Frankenstein and there was no reason why any suspicion should ever arise. I drew in several deep breaths to convince myself that I was indeed alive and my own master again. A heady sense of freedom intoxicated me. Not merely had I put the prison walls behind me: I had shed my old self and carried none of the burden of old mistakes and old hatreds. It was true that I could not touch my riches—but my true wealth had always been in my mind and my creative fingers. I would choose a new name, a new home, and a new future.

  I found rooms above a tavern and sent down for a hearty meal and a flagon of rich red wine. After eating and drinking my fill I felt at ease with the world. It had treated me badly, but now I was in a position to fling down a fresh challenge. The revenge I sought was not a vindictive one. All I asked was the admission of the so-called experts in my scientific field that I had been right, that I had gone far beyond them, that Frankenstein had been wronged by his detractors. I would make them bow to me. I would show them up as the doubting fools they were.

  Perhaps it would never be possible to claim my full recompense. Having once shed my identity I could not safely resume it. Too many ugly rumors had festered in the valley below my home. But whatever name I might adopt, I would somehow, some day ensure that the credit for those early researches went to the distinguished predecessor who was in fact myself. Whatever triumphs I might achieve, the pioneering successes of Frankenstein should not be kept from the pages of history.

  It would take time to build up the necessary finances for further research. As an unknown I would not have access to fully equipped laboratories or to scientific conclaves where new theories were discussed. Working entirely alone, I must somehow find a way of acquiring apparatus and the basic essentials for creation.

  I could undoubtedly obtain employment as a doctor. If I chose the right place and built up confidence in me, I could stealthily carry on my own operations under cover of my profession. A slow process—but a practical one.

  The noise from the tavern grew clamorous by the middle of the evening. I would have quit the premises and sought a quieter place in which to think out my plans without interruption, but I considered it wiser to lie low for a time. The Frankenstein face was not unknown in this city, and I did not want it to be recognized so soon after my execution!

  When I had established myself, I would search once more for cadavers in good preservation so that I could begin painstaking reconstructions once more. First of all I had a promise to fulfil. I had guaranteed that Werner should have a handsome, healthy body, and I intended to see that he was not cheated.

  Werner was to call on me this evening. He had remained on duty at the prison to ensure that there was no hitch in the disposal of the priest’s corpse, and he was to report to me when everything was settled. Then we would make plans for our next meeting.

  There was a gust of bawdy laughter from the tavern. I longed for peace and solitude, but forced myself to reflect that the boisterous noise of life was preferable to the stillness and solitude of the prison cell or, even worse, the grave.

  A light tap on my door was almost drowned by the noise. I waited, and the sound came again, louder this time.

  I opened the door to reveal the dwarf, hopping impatiently from one foot to the other. When I let him in and offered him a chair he could scarcely stay still. Intelligent as he was, he naïvely hoped that I could somehow achieve a miracle at this very moment. I had to calm him down and explain that the transformation would take a long time. Even when we had started the actual work, the process would be long and painful; and until I was securely established again, with time and money and materials to spare, we could not even start.

  His pathetic clown’s face twisted woefully. I feared for an instant that he was about to threaten me or accuse me of going back on my bargain. But he was too anxious for that—too anxious to be made hale and magnificent. If he had to be patient, he would be patient.

  I suggested that he continue his work at the prison for a few months at least. It would not do for him to disappear suddenly. When I was ready I would send lor him.

  He disliked the idea of being lef
t behind. But there was no point in his travelling with me. So far from there being any advantage in it, there was a positive danger: he cut a conspicuous figure, and might draw unwelcome attention to the two of us. He would have to trust me.

  He did, in fact, trust me. His faith was so strong that I found myself talking to him as freely as though he had been an equal. After the mistrust and then the growing hatred through which I had floundered these last few months, his frank reliance on me was a great comfort.

  I had finished the wine, but suggested that he should fetch more from the tavern and at the same time bring another goblet. He was flattered to be put upon such a footing, and hurried to carry out the errand.

  When he returned he was fidgeting with worry.

  “My lord Baron—”

  “No!” I cut him short. “Never address me in that way again.”

  He quickly nodded his understanding of this; but now he was at a loss. I had observed in the prison that he was a creature of formalities and he had scrupulously used my correct title even though I was, in the eyes of my gaolers, a condemned criminal. Now I had to provide him with a substitute form of address. It had better be one with which we could both become speedily familiar.

  “Call me Doctor,” I said.

  “Doctor Stein,” he said eagerly.

  I laughed. He was delighted. And really, Doctor Stein was a suitable non-committal name. There must be many such. I intended, though, that this one should be more famous than any other.

  “Now,” I said, “what’s troubling you?”

  “My l—, Doctor, they are talking downstairs. About your body.”

  “There is always a lot of talk in taverns after an execution,” I said. “I’d have thought you knew this better than anyone.”

  “There are two of them,” said Werner agitatedly, “who are being paid ten marks to provide a fresh corpse for the Medical School. There is not a very plentiful supply of corpses—but the supply of students is plentiful enough.”

  I had done a certain amount of grave robbing in my time, as every scientist must. I was neither shocked nor surprised to learn that ten marks would buy a recently buried corpse. But then the significance of what Werner had said sank in.

  “My body!” I exclaimed.

  His head wagged. “It’s a fresh one. The freshest there is. And they’ve taken a fancy to the notion of digging up a real live Baron—I mean a real dead Baron.”

  There had been times in prison when I had welcomed his grim jocularity. At this moment I would have been happier without it. I am not a squeamish man, but the thought of my corpse—my “fresh” corpse—being dug up so soon after its interment and being giggled over as that of a real Baron was an unsettling one. Of course it was not really my body, but it so easily might have been.

  I said: “To a medical student I imagine one body will be much the same as another.”

  “But when they open the coffin they may raise the alarm.”

  “Why should they? A corpse is a corpse, no more.”

  “We had to work fast, Doctor. We had no time to disrobe the priest.”

  I was aghast. “You mean—”

  “We had to bundle him in just as he was.”

  Now I saw why he had been so perturbed. I shared his distress. Once it was known that Baron Frankenstein had escaped there would be an immediate inquiry, and heads would roll. I had no wish that mine should be one of them.

  “We must go at once.” I got up, reaching for my cloak.

  “Not yet, Doctor. They won’t go until the town is quiet. And one of them is still nervous. One called Kurt. He’ll need a lot more drink inside him before he’ll start digging.”

  At this the dwarf glanced at the flagon of wine he had brought, and at the empty glass standing beside mine.

  “Very well,” I agreed; “but let us be there in good time.”

  Werner did not fail me. He had phenomenally sharp hearing, and did not stir as one group and another staggered from the tavern into the street. But when two distinctive voices rang out under the window, he was on his feet at once.

  “There they go!”

  We were swiftly downstairs and out on the cobbles, reeking with the smell of spilt wine and vomit. A couple of drunkards slithered over the mess towards a wall and leaned there trying to sing. A more lamentable sound I have rarely heard.

  Werner knew a short cut to the graveyard, and we arrived at the new mound of earth before there was any sign of the two robbers. I indicated that the dwarf should remain behind a tree while I took shelter in the heavy shadow of a tilted headstone.

  It was an uncanny sensation to stare at the new rectangle of dark earth and know that it was meant to be heaped upon me. I gagged, seeming to feel earth in my throat and nostrils as the lid of the coffin pressed down, cracked, and collapsed.

  Footsteps rustled along the path. I tensed. A lantern bobbed between the tombstones like a questing spirit. It came closer, and two crouched figures stooped at last over the mound.

  “See?” mumbled one. “There you are, Kurt. A proper Baron under there.”

  “Think we could ask a bit more for him?”

  They had brought a spade, and took it in turns to dig. In spite of the looseness of the earth they made a slow job of it. The one called Kurt was a bundle of nerves and kept stopping to peer over his shoulder or whisper to his friend Fritz.

  At last they scraped away the loam from the coffin. Kurt lowered himself into the hole which Fritz had just cleared, and bent over the coffin. Then he looked up appealingly at his friend. He lacked the courage to rip the lid off. With an oath Fritz sprang down beside him, got the blade of the shovel under the lid, and forced it open with a screech of nails.

  They both gasped.

  “A priest!” quavered Kurt. “What’s he doing there? What . . . ?”

  It was too much for him. Without waiting for his partner he scrambled out of the open grave and dashed across the cemetery. He tripped over the edges of graves, blundered against tombstones, and then crashed into a hedge. Cursing, Fritz hauled himself out and looked as though he might follow. Then avarice got the better of him. He turned to look down at the corpse of the priest. After all, a corpse was a corpse—still worth ten marks to him. And now there would be no need to divide it with the cowardly Kurt.

  He was about to venture back into the hole when I stepped out from concealment. He heard the movement and looked fearfully towards me.

  I drew my cloak about me and said in the most sepulchral tone I could muster: “Good evening. I am Baron Frankenstein.”

  He let out a moan and swayed on the edge of the grave. Before he could decide whether to run or pray, Werner skipped out and stood on his other side. Fritz let out one last moan and fainted. He pitched backwards into the grave. I took an involuntary step forward to try to save him—I had intended no more than a macabre joke which would drive him away and keep him quiet—but it was too late. Fritz landed on his back on one edge of the coffin. There was a sickening thud.

  I stepped down into the grave and moved him so that I could feel for a heartbeat. There was none. Fritz had been most effectively silenced.

  Werner lowered himself down beside me and we tipped the second body right into the coffin and squeezed the lid down. I left the dwarf to refill the hole while I stood guard.

  A crude wooden board had been kicked to one side. When I picked it up I found that my name had been scrawled on it. I set it up once again, thrust into the soft earth, and there we left it—the final words on the subject of Baron Victor Frankenstein.

  Or so the gullible authorities and public thought.

  2

  After the most careful survey of its potentialities I decided to settle in Carlsbruck. Without means or influence, I found the first two years extremely arduous. When I attempted to set up in practice I was met by firm resistance from the Medical Council, which apparently existed purely to eliminate competition. Nevertheless I persevered. I had confidence in my destiny, and after those earl
y trials I began to see this confidence justified. Of my medical skill there could be little question; and unlike so many members of the profession I had the added advantage of good breeding, which was particularly effective when dealing with the impressionable ladies of the community. Among my patients I actually numbered the wife and daughter of one of my most powerful rivals, a committee member of the Medical Council of Carlsbruck. At first he could afford to treat this as a joke and attribute it to the passing whim of silly, susceptible women. As time went on, however, the august members of the Council could hardly fail to notice that my patients remained devoted to me and that they themselves were losing more than a few to me.

  Sooner or later I knew there would be an approach from the council, conciliatory or aggressive. I had made no application for a place on the Council and did not intend to do so. Let them make the first move—and they would discover what reception I had in store for them!

  Gradually I was consolidating my position. I started in a shabby quarter of the city, but then was able to move to a more fashionable area. At the same time I volunteered my services to the Workhouse Hospital. When they heard of it, this made some of my more delicate lady patients unhappy. They knew of the squalor in that dismal place—by hearsay, of course, since nothing would have tempted them to venture within its chill grey walls—and feared that I might bring contamination from it. It was admirable of me to give my services to the poor and needy; but were my responsibilities to the rich and fragile not greater? I tried to calm their agitation. Nothing must interfere with my work at the Hospital: it provided me with so many things that I needed, though I was not in a position to explain this in detail to those good ladies who equally provided me with necessities—in their case, wealth.

  If I had wished to settle down to a prosperous bourgeois life in Carlsbruck it would not have been difficult. Having established myself on my own merits I could have applied to the Medical Council for official recognition, and they would have been relieved to welcome me into the fold. I could have married, and married well. I need lack nothing.