Bride

by Kyle Alexander Romines

  As the final villager slumped to the ground, his neck broken, I cast myself toward the monster with a feral cry, swinging the knife at him. We collided with the wall, and thrown off balance, both landed on the ground. The kitchen knife slipped from my grasp, and the creature pinned me to the floor. Before I could stop him, he wrapped his monstrous hands around my neck.

  “When I saw you in that barn, I was struck by your beauty,” he hissed, tightening his grip. I reached blindly for the knife, which lay tantalizingly close, just out of reach. “Yet another whose smile would never be for me, whose heart would never belong to me. It wasn’t fair.” He smiled, his yellow eyes glowing amid the smoke and fire. “I wanted you to suffer, as I suffered.”

  My fingers finally clasped the knife. I brought it up with all the force I could muster and stabbed him through the center of his chest, driving the knife deep. The creature released his hold on me and tumbled backward, landing on his knees. I loomed over him and waited for him to die, triumphant.

  Instead of succumbing to his fate, the monster began to pull the knife from his chest. It clattered to the floor, covered in black blood, and he stood across from me, his back to the flames.

  “You belong to me, Persephone—forever. Death itself cannot separate us.”

  “I choose Victor,” I said. “I could never love you. You killed my William. You stole my life.”

  The creature’s mocking laughter clashed with the thunder outside. “Do you really think your precious Victor had no hand in your death?”

  “You’re lying,” I said.

  His cruel yellow eyes gleamed in the firelight. “Victor was there as they led you to the gallows. He knew what I had done. He could have saved you with a word, but that would have meant incriminating himself. He was a coward. Tell me, Persephone—who is the monster now?”

  No, I thought. It’s not true. It can’t be true. I wanted anything other than to believe his foul words, yet in my recollection of that night, I remembered Victor’s face among the crowd.

  The creature took advantage of my distraction and threw himself toward me before I could escape. We stood locked in a struggle as the tavern burned around us, each frightened and repelled by the flames, which revealed our more primal selves.

  “Don’t do this,” he pleaded. “Please. You were my last hope—my last chance at happiness.”

  Unable to overpower the creature, I released my hold on him and drove my fist through the central support beam, sending the roof collapsing down upon us. As the creature looked up in surprise, I threw myself toward the burning doorway and fell into the rain outside.

  The creature watched me from the tavern, his face lined with hate. “You will never be rid of me,” he declared seconds before the tavern imploded.

  I fled into the storm, broken and alone.

  Chapter Ten

  I ran as if the devil himself was at my back. Dawn came, and still I did not rest. I walked without ceasing, constantly looking over my shoulder for a hint of my pursuer. I traveled through rain and sunshine alike, denied a moment’s peace. Evil seemed to lurk in every shadow, behind every corner. The only thing that mattered was escape, which meant putting so much distance between the monster and myself that he would never find me.

  Little of that time remains in my memory. The days seemed to blur together, until I lost track of time entirely. I felt empty, hollow inside, as I had not been since the days immediately following my birth. Everything I believed had been a lie. My happy memories of the cottage felt so removed now, as if they had happened to someone else altogether. Without Victor or his monster, I was finally alone—but without them to define me, where did that leave me?

  I don’t know how long I wandered in the wild, cut off from all mankind. I only know that at some point I collapsed from sheer exhaustion, unable to go any farther. My body rebelled against my thoughts, and as my vision grew dim, I thought I heard the sound of voices approaching. Then the world faded away, replaced by a void from which there was no escape, and I saw no more.

  My dreams were haunted by memories of the past, and all that I had lost. Over and over again, William appeared running through the fields, laughing as he looked back at me. Suddenly the noose was once more around my neck, and I was falling to my death as Victor looked on. Then my eyes opened in the darkness of Victor’s laboratory, his monster waiting in the shadows.

  When I woke, I was alone. Someone had carried me indoors and laid me on a cot inside a cramped, one-room hut. A sunbeam stole inside through a window behind me, bathing me in light. I sat up, confused, and the blankets fell to my waist. My storybook and Victor’s pocket watch lay in the windowsill, left there for me.

  Where am I? I wondered, looking around the modest hut.

  A short distance away, a middle-aged woman was hunched over a fire, where a kettle whistled with steam. She must have noticed me, because she turned in my direction and her eyes lit up amid the muted light.

  “Oh, you’re awake!” Her lips parted in a toothy smile. The woman hurried to my side and rested a hand on my shoulder. “You mustn’t exert yourself,” she added, propping a pillow behind me, which felt as soft as air. “How are you feeling? You’ve been asleep for a long time.”

  I started to respond, but I choked on the words, and no sound escaped my lips. My throat was painfully dry.

  “Would you care for some tea?” the woman asked, and I nodded gratefully. She poured some tea from the teapot into a cracked teacup, which she extended to me. I took the teacup and swallowed the hot liquid, savoring the sensation as it soothed the inside of my throat.

  “Thank you,” I said, overcome by the kind gesture. “It’s very good.”

  “Would you like some more?” I nodded eagerly as she refilled the teacup. “I’m Dot.” She was a thin woman, probably in her late forties. Her skin was reddened and wrinkled from long days spent toiling under the sun. There were only a few strands of black remaining in her otherwise gray hair, which was mostly hidden under a grain-colored coif. She wore a weathered gray cloak over a linen smock and a brown, patched kerchief, along with a full, ankle length skirt that also looked as if it had seen better days. “And this is Old Agnes,” she said, gesturing to an elderly woman sitting in a rocking chair and smoking a pipe. Agnes smiled at me, revealing a mouthful of gums. “She was my husband’s mother. We’re the last ones left, after the pox took him and the children, God rest their souls.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” I said, nursing my tea.

  Her smile was undiminished. “They’re in a better place,” she said with confidence. “Now then, what’s your name, dear?”

  “Persephone,” I answered, taking in the hut with fresh eyes. There wasn’t much to look at. There were two more cots closer to the fire, a table and two chairs, and a pile of dirty vegetables in a dark corner of the room. There were no books in sight, or any of the finer things I’d grown used to in my time with Victor.

  “Penny,” Dot answered, repeating the name loudly for Agnes’ benefit. Her accent was different than the Scottish brogue I was accustomed to hearing. “What a lovely name.”

  I tried correcting her, but Dot had shortened my name to Penny, and to her, Penny I would remain.

  “Where am I? What is this place?” I asked.

  Dot laughed, a gentle, sincere sound that warmed my heart more than the fire ever could. “Why, you’re in Devonshire, of course.”

  England. I had wandered farther than I thought.

  “We found you alone,” Dot said, regarding me curiously. “Will there be anyone looking for you?”

  After a long pause, I shook my head. “No one,” I said. “I am alone.”

  Dot just smiled and tapped her foot against the floor. “Well, from the look of things we stumbled upon you at the right time. What were you doing out by yourself, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Running away,” I said, imagining the state I must have been in when they found me. I had been washed, my hair combed and brushed. My ruined d
ress had been torn away, replaced by a simple blue gown and plain white bodice. Dot must have noticed my scars, but she made no mention of them to me. I looked away, overwhelmed by her kindness. “I have nowhere else to go.”

  “I thought as much,” Dot said with a curt nod, as if mulling something over. “More snows will be coming soon, and Devonshire isn’t rightly safe for a young lady to be traveling alone in the winter. Why not remain here for the season? Old Agnes will be grateful for the company, and I could use another hand around the farm. Truth be told, we’re having a hard time of things without my husband. I’d be grateful for the help. We don’t have much, but I’d pay you what the land is able to afford.”

  Overcome by emotion, I wrapped her in a tight hug. Dot was surprised at first, but wrapped her arms around me and patted me on the back.

  “There, there, Penny. Why don’t I fix us some supper? It’ll be dark soon. We’ll get started first thing in the morning.”

  True to her words, we woke early the next morning, when the rooster crowed at first light. With her husband’s passing, Dot indeed had her work cut out for her—I suspected the farm would have been difficult to manage even when he was alive. In better days, the farm Dot inherited from her husband had produced a livable income for the family, and after many years of leasing it had been purchased outright. They raised chickens, pigs, sheep, and cattle year round. During the warmer months they harvested grain and potatoes.

  Lately, the farm had fallen on hard times, and Dot was at her wit’s end just trying to keep it going. The fence was broken or missing altogether in many places, and many animals had wandered away or been taken by emboldened predators, who freely approached the hut without fear of reprisal. It was a short walk from the hut to the barn, which had long since fallen into disrepair. Apart from a cramped tool shed nearby, these were the only buildings for miles.

  Victor had instructed me in science, mathematics, and literature, but he had never taught me about this world—probably because it was a life he did not know or understand. Our days were long, the work brutal and difficult. There were no books or instruments with which to amuse ourselves. In our precious free time, which was little, the women filled their bellies and rested by the fire in anticipation of the next day’s labors, though I kept my distance from the flames, which continued to instill a cold dread in me.

  Despite the hardship, Dot and Agnes approached life with an unshakable zeal. Dot quickly revealed herself as the kindest human I had ever known. She never had a cross word for anyone. Each night, she prayed for the souls of her departed loved ones, and for Agnes and me, never once asking for anything for herself. Old Agnes had a hard time hearing, and it was difficult for her to move about, but her stories were better than anything I had read in the cottage study’s stuffy texts.

  As time passed, I grew to care dearly for both women. I did not mind the farm work; in fact I reveled in my labors, which gave me a chance to return my hosts’ many kindnesses. I took quickly to the chores, and my near-endless stamina and increased strength allowed me to carry more than my share of the load. I chased away predators, herded and fed the livestock, and began repairs on the fence and barn.

  We weathered the winter together until spring finally approached. I spent much of those first days in constant fear that the creature would show up to destroy the domestic tranquility I had discovered. As time passed, I allowed myself to put him out of my mind. Regardless of everything that had happened, a part of me still missed Victor, and yet my feelings toward him were muddled and complicated. He had lied to me from the beginning, first withholding what I was, and then about why he created me. He had concealed the truth about Justine to spare himself, and worst of all, he had summarily rejected me. I frequently spent hours staring at the pocket watch long after the others had gone to sleep pondering these questions, but for the first time, I was content to be where I was, among friends.

  One evening I crept inside the hut at dark after making repairs to the fence, the last snow of winter melting under my feet. Inside, I found Dot again in prayer. Agnes was deep in sleep on the cot near the window, her snores the only sound in the quiet night. I lingered in the doorway, watching as Dot knelt in front of the crucifix that hung from the wall, her hands clasped in front of her.

  “Penny,” she said after a moment, opening her eyes. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “I was just watching you pray,” I said, unfastening my cloak.

  “I’ve never asked you,” she said quietly, her gaze fixed on the cross. “Are you a believer?”

  “I don’t know,” I answered. I remembered reading the story of Lazarus with Victor and hoping it could be true. Victor had called Justine a person of faith, but I still struggled over how a benevolent deity could allow evil in the world. I wished I shared her certainty.

  “Would you read to me?” she asked, revealing an old Bible that had been carefully wrapped on one of the shelves to protect it from the elements. “It belonged to my husband. Neither of us ever learned how.” She handed me the old, leather-bound book, and I accepted it with reverence.

  “Of course,” I said, opening to the passage she requested. When I finished reading, her eyes were misty with tears.

  “I wish you could have known them,” she said. “My children, I mean. There were five of them. The eldest would have been nearly grown by now—my Thomas.” She shook her head. “He fell in the pond once, you know, after it had frozen over. For three days he was cold as ice. He pulled through. He was strong, like his father.”

  “You must miss them a great deal.”

  “Aye,” she answered. “I’ll see them again one day, but I’ve work yet to do.” She blew out the candle, her smile still visible in the moonlight. “Try to get some rest, Penny. Once the snows clear, we’ll make the journey to the village to sell off some of the livestock.”

  Spring arrived in short order, and not long after that the three of us made the half-day’s journey to the nearest town. A remarkable transformation had begun as winter faded, replaced by vibrant, flourishing vegetation as far as the eye could see. The farm had endured the weather better than expected, and animal losses were minimal. With demand for food in the village sure to be great, Dot was certain our cattle and sheep would fetch a reasonable price.

  As we moved through the village, I noticed several women perusing various powders and paints, which when applied to their faces gave a semblance of natural-looking color.

  “What are they doing?” I asked Dot. My hand unconsciously traced my unnaturally pale face.

  "They're cosmetics, dear," Dot answered with a hint of disapproval. She proceeded to explain what it was used for. I could tell Dot found the subject distasteful, as if spending money on one’s appearance while others were struggling to feed themselves was immoral.

  I watched the stark transformation in the women’s faces as we passed, captivated by the potential of this new substance. With some slight modifications to my appearance, it might even be possible for me to look like the others.

  I helped Dot set up shop, and then I wandered about as she and Old Agnes peddled their wares, taking in the sights and sounds of everyday life. Given my experiences at Loch Aberfrey and Perth, I lingered at a distance, preferring to watch unobserved. The people here were altogether different than what I had encountered before. Almost all were poor and hungry looking; most were struggling to make ends meet, and yet they treated each other with friendliness and respect. Even if my naive belief in the goodness of mankind had been wrong, perhaps the creature’s dismal view of humanity was also incorrect. It occurred to me that maybe the truth lay somewhere in the middle.

  After a time, I noticed a few books among a shopkeeper’s display. They seemed abandoned, almost an afterthought, a reminder that most of the villagers were likely illiterate. I approached and looked through the books, enthralled, having been starved of reading material for so long. Dot had paid me a modest wage to do with as I pleased, and I gladly paid a few coins for a book, ke
eping the rest as savings.

  Book in hand, I was about to leave the shopkeeper in search of Dot and Agnes, a smile on my face, when something caught my attention. A father and his young daughter were walking hand-in-hand through the village, taking in the sights. I followed quietly, drawn to them by something deep inside me. On a whim, the father spun his daughter around and swung her through the air, hugging her to his chest, and I made eye contact with her from across the crowd. I had never seen anyone so happy.

  Without warning, the girl and her father faded, replaced by a scene from the past. This time when the flood of memories came, I remained dimly aware of my surroundings in the present, and thus successfully maintained my composure. I looked into the crowd, but what I saw was a kind man, tall and strong, holding my small hand in his as we approached a shack.

  My father. I clung to the precious memory of this man who I had loved so deeply, and yet could no longer remember even his name. He whistled loudly, a happy tune I hummed along to as I skipped alongside him, wearing flowers in my hair.

  “Come along, Justine,” he said cheerfully as I lingered by the river, watching the sunset. My heart melted at the sound of his voice. “Your mother will have dinner waiting for us.” He hoisted me onto his shoulders, and the sound of my laughter echoed across the sky. There it was ahead—my home, before I came to live with the Frankenstein family.

  We lived in an impoverished area of the city, one shack among many packed together, but despite our modest circumstances, it was a good life. My father was a dockhand, or else a fisherman. I wasn’t certain. This distant recollection was hazier than the memory of my death. Some things remained clear, while others—such as the shack’s interior or the sound of my voice—were lost to me forever.

  When we entered, my siblings flocked around my father, clamoring for his attention. He hugged and kissed each one on the forehead, though he reserved a special wink for me. He squeezed my hand before approaching my mother, who was working over the stove, her back to us. When he kissed her on the cheek, she brushed it aside and turned to face us.