Monster

by Dave Zeltserman

  Jimson weed. The Devil’s trumpet. Hell’s bells. The Devil’s weed. I couldn’t help smiling as I thought of the other names that jimson weed was known as. I listened, though, as Herr Hahnemann explained the procedure for producing a remedy from these leaves, which amounted to little more than generating a tincture, then mixing one drop of the tincture with eight ounces of water and a scruple of alcohol and mixing that vigorously. When he was done with his explanation he saw that I was not going to expose my hand to him by reaching for his envelope, and smiling gently, he placed the envelope instead by my feet. After that he nodded to me and went on his way. Once he was gone from sight, I picked up the envelope and fitted it within a pocket that the tailor had made within the inside lining of the cape. And then I continued on to Leipzig.

  CHAPTER 9

  When Johanna and I would talk of our future life together, my beloved had had only modest wants. She wished to have a home with a small garden where she could grow vegetables and herbs, and she wished to fill our home with many children, having been deprived of growing up within a large family, with her three older siblings dying unexpectedly before childbirth and her mother being unable to conceive again after her own birth. Johanna’s face would light up so when she would tell me about the only true extravagance that she desired. To be able to travel back to her beloved city of her childhood so that she could share with me the many sights of Leipzig that had enchanted her in her youth. The botanical gardens that were the envy of all of Europe, the esplanade where she would stroll on Sundays with her father and mother, the St. Thomas Church where the great composer Johann Sebastian Bach had once been choir director, the city marketplace that she so loved and many other sights that had filled her with such fond and nostalgic memories.

  I had waited until darkness fell before entering Leipzig so that I could roam the city unobserved and seek out Johanna’s grave. It was as if an unseen hand guided me to the churchyard and her grave within it. While it was too dark for me to read her gravestone, I could feel the letters that had been engraved on the small slab of granite and knew that I had found Johanna. I sat on the ground next to where she was buried and felt a great emptiness well up within my chest as I thought of how futile it was that we were now in her child-hood city together, and how even her most modest desires had been robbed from her.

  That afternoon I had picked a bouquet of wildflowers for her. Bellflowers, daisies, wild roses and poppies, all of which she would delight in when I would surprise her with freshly picked bouquets back in Ingolstadt. As I placed these flowers by her gravestone, the gesture just seemed so insignificant. I tilted my head upwards toward the waxing crescent moon and howled out my agony, the sound emanating from me something horrible and unearthly. A great weariness overtook me and I collapsed to the ground.

  My dearest Johanna, I am so sorry I was unable to protect you. You were the finest and most worthy person I had ever known, and nothing could be more monstrous than the crime that was committed against you. This will be avenged, and then I will join you. I promise you this.

  A troubling thought occurred to me. What if I chased Frankenstein to the ends of the world only to find that he was innocent of Johanna’s murder? It was possible that he was simply opportunistic in obtaining my brain for his foul experiment. Another villain for purposes unknown to me could have been behind these crimes, and Frankenstein’s involvement could have been nothing more than to bribe the executioner for the material he sought. I could spend a lifetime chasing him only to see my promise to Johanna go unfulfilled.

  But what else could I do than seek out Frankenstein?

  The weariness that had descended on me left me too tired to think of vengeance. I closed my eyes and tried to think only of Johanna. It took a great effort but soon I pictured her the way she had looked on our last Sunday afternoon together. How contented she was as she rested her head against my shoulder while we sat together on the grassy knoll near the city hall. I could almost imagine the feel of her delicate hand as I had held it within my own. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I desperately clung to these memories. The weariness that I suffered had sunk heavily into my bones and weighed me down like stone. I could barely move and as my thoughts drifted away I fell into a sleep so deep that dreams could not invade it.

  An animal instinct woke me. The sun had barely appeared in the horizon and a gray haziness filled the air. Moving stealthily toward me was a member of the clergy, and he carried a pitchfork as if his plans were to run me through. He was less than five feet from me, and as I was startled awake by his approach, he jumped backward, his large craggy face waxen in the faint early-morning light, his mouth opened to form a rigid circle.

  “You are lying on hallowed grounds, daemon!” he swore at me, his eyes wide as they reflected a mix of fear and self-righteousness. “Do not blaspheme this area any further with your presence. Begone!”

  “And what makes you so certain that I am a daemon?” I asked.

  “Your hideousness marks you as such!”

  My hood had fallen off my head during my sleep, exposing the full grotesqueness of my appearance. But I was not about to be chased away by this man.

  “You do not know the goodness in my heart,” I said. “Now leave me so that I may grieve alone.”

  He spotted the flowers then that I had placed by Johanna’s grave, and his eyes took on a wicked look as his chest swelled with piety and a false bravery.

  “One can only wonder at the evil nature of the witch that has been buried in this grave to attract a daemonic creature such as yourself. She will need to be dug up from these sacred grounds and her body burned. Now begone!”

  He moved forward as if to stick me with his pitchfork. I grabbed it from him with the same quickness that I had displayed during my battle with the wolves. I rose to my full height so that I towered above him and only then did I snap the pitchfork in half and toss the pieces to the ground. The priest stood in front of me trembling, fear striking him so greatly that he couldn’t speak or move.

  “The child who rests here was of pure innocence and goodness,” I said. I also trembled, but with me it was out of a burning rage. “If her grave is disturbed I will squash your head like a grape, and the vengeance that I will wreak on your church will be something horrible. Do you understand me?”

  He was beyond speech, but his head nodded enough to show that he understood me. I turned from him before my rage led me to murder, and fled the churchyard. I kept running until I was out of the city and in the woods beyond.

  Over the next seven days I kept vigil over Johanna. I found a great oak tree that I would climb each day, and with my keener vision, be able to watch for activity within the churchyard that Johanna was buried within. At night, under the cloak of darkness, I would visit her grave and rest by it. I was prepared to carry out my vengeance if her grave was disturbed, but the priest had heeded my words. After those seven days, I was satisfied that Johanna would be allowed to rest in peace, and I left the area of Leipzig and headed southwards toward my homeland of Bavaria.

  While I kept vigil over Johanna I had many hours to sit in solitude and reflect on the violence and rage that now swirled through my heart, and these emotions frightened me. As Friedrich Hoffmann I had led a gentle life with barely any harsh thoughts pervading my mind, and certainly never any regarding revenge and murder. Now I was consumed with such thoughts, and it worried me that my soul might become as coarse as my outer appearance. What would vengeance ultimately bring me if these violent thoughts twisted my soul so that it would become unrecognizable to Johanna once I was finally allowed to quit this earth? But how could I ignore my promise to her? How could I allow such a terrible crime to go unpunished? These contradictory positions weighed heavily on me, and after many hours of pondering them I decided that I would find Frankenstein and force him to admit the truth to me, and after that I would decide what I needed to do.

  I wandered aimlessly for several days as the thoughts of how I would find Frankenstein tortur
ed me. During these travels I avoided villages and cities, and headed instead into the darkest, most unknown regions of the forest, with my diet consisting solely of berries and mushrooms and nuts that I was able to forage. While I rested several times, I did not sleep. My mind was too troubled with thoughts for sleep to have been possible.

  One morning I broke through a dense thicket of thornbushes and small trees to find myself at the base of a valley. As I peered down into it, I saw acres of vineyards growing. I had been under a heavy shelter of elm trees and black locust and mountain ash that had made the forest seem like night, but now as I stood in a clearing I could see the sun was already present in the sky, its rays warm upon my face, and the pleasantness of the scene filled me with a serenity that seemed so foreign to me. I made my way further into the valley to inspect these vines. When I reached them I sampled several bunches of grapes and tasted their sweetness and stood puzzling over this mysterious vineyard. It was then that I spotted to my right a great stone structure that appeared to be a monastery. This made as little sense to me as these vineyards. I knew I had traveled deep into the forest, far from any village or city, so why would a monastery be out here? I moved back to the edge of the woods so that I could investigate this mysterious monastery without being seen.

  As I crept through the woods toward this structure, a group of monks appeared as they ambled toward the vineyards to pick grapes. I found a spot where I could watch without their knowledge. I had been without the company of man for many months, for I could not consider Victor Frankenstein or his guest, the Marquis, members of the race, and I took comfort in watching their simple labors. Even though I was apart and hidden from them I felt their camaraderie. I was still puzzled over the existence of this hidden monastery, but I took joy in watching these men pick their grapes. All of them were dressed in the same modest manner: brown robes with a rope tied around their middle and with leather sandals protecting their feet. There was a simplicity in their lives that I longed for. I was so involved in watching them that I had failed to notice that one of their members from the monastery had discovered me, for he was now standing next to me. I didn’t realize this until he had placed a hand lightly on my shoulder.

  “You seem to be enjoying our brothers’ labors,” he said.

  He was dressed in the same style of brown robe and sandals as the monks who worked the vineyards. A short, round man with a circle of graying hair surrounding his pink scalp. His eyes shone only with benevolence as he smiled at me. I understood why my instincts had failed to alert me of his approach. There was nothing to fear from this man.

  I turned my look away from him and back toward the monks and their labor.

  “Ever since I was old enough to be employed, I have worked diligently,” I said. “My current idleness does not suit me. So, sadly, I must find my comfort in watching others enjoy their labor.”

  “And how were you employed?”

  “As a chemist.”

  “Why are you no longer employed as such?”

  “Because I am no longer fit for the company of man,” I said, my voice dropping to a low and awful whisper. “Can you not tell from the ungodly nature of my voice? My appearance is likewise hideous.”

  To prove this I removed the hood from my head.

  “My son, did this happen from a terrible accident? A fire?”

  I turned back to look at him, and was surprised to see that his expression only reflected concern. Not even a hint of fear or disgust could be seen.

  I nodded. My voice was only a soft rumble as I told him, “At one time I was as fair as any other man, but I suffered a cruel fate. When I awoke, this is how I looked.”

  “And this is why you have wandered off into the middle of the forest? To hide from man?”

  “For the time being,” I admitted. “I was surprised to find a monastery in such a hidden part of the forest. It seems like an odd place for it to have been built.”

  “This is the perfect location for us to have built it,” he said. “We are far from the intrusion of governments and warring armies. France’s invading forces won’t stumble upon us here, nor our own Prussian armies. Here we are free from the troubles of the world to make our wine and live our lives in quiet contemplation, and a hidden road allows us to sell our wine without fear of discovery. My name is Brother Theodore. How may I address you?”

  “My name was once Friedrich Hoffmann,” I said. “Of what monastic order are you?”

  Brother Theodore chuckled at that, his round body bouncing under his robe. “Of one that you have never heard, Brother Friedrich, I assure you.” His smile turned more solemn as he continued to gaze at me. “Here we do not judge men by their appearance but by what is in their heart, and we will grant any lost traveler sanctuary. We offer a simple life here; the quiet companionship of your fellow man and an honest day’s labor. What do you say, Brother Friedrich, would you like to quit this idleness that you earlier expressed unhappiness with to once again seek the fulfillment that honest labor can provide?”

  “I have a mission that I must carry out,” I said.

  “Surely this mission does not have to be carried out today? We can offer sanctuary for a day, a month or a lifetime, whatever your soul requires, and Brother Friedrich, I sense a great uneasiness within you, and I believe you could benefit from rejoining the company of your fellow man, even if it is only for a day.”

  My gaze was fixed on the monks toiling in the field below, and I felt overwhelmed with the desire to join them. “I do not know,” I said.

  “Let me sit with you for a spell while you consider it,” Brother Theodore said, and he sat on the ground nearby me, his gaze also fixed on the monks working the vineyards below us. After a half hour in this quiet solitude, I asked Brother Theodore how the other monks would react to the hideousness of my appearance.

  “The same as me,” Brother Theodore said. “They would recognize a troubled but gentle heart, and they would welcome you without hesitation.”

  I sat with a heavy heart as I contemplated Brother Theodore’s offer while at the same time being pulled to keep my promise to Johanna. Then, almost as if Johanna were whispering in my ear, I had this sense of her telling me that for now I should accept the solace that Brother Theodore was offering.

  With tears flooding my eyes, I told Brother Theodore my decision.

  CHAPTER 10

  They had no brown robes large enough to fit me, so it was decided that for the time being that I could continue to wear my cape. The cell I was assigned held a cot and a window, and nothing else. The cot was too small for me, and Brother Theodore agreed to let me fashion some bedding out of straw and blankets. Even so, the space making up my cell was too small to allow me to lie down unless I did so on my side with my knees pulled to my chest.

  Instead of working the vineyards, it was agreed that my great strength could be better utilized in pressing the grapes, and I was soon performing the labor of twenty men. My first evening when I sat with the other monks around the large dining table that held over sixty men, the other monks showed me the same compassion that Brother Theodore had. At Brother Theodore’s urging I had left my face uncovered by the cape’s hood, and none of the other monks displayed any distress over my appearance, nor did any of them appear to notice the monstrous construction of my hands. Instead they only favored me with warm smiles and gentle nods and the good cheer of camaraderie.

  Dinner was a simple meal of bread, cheese, greens and wine, but it was difficult to remember a meal that I had enjoyed more. After the meal’s completion we all returned to our cells for quiet meditation and sleep. At no time were words spoken, or were they necessary.

  I didn’t sleep that night, but I enjoyed the solitude, and the next morning as the sun broke into the sky, I left my quarters refreshed and ready for a day of productive labor.

  Words were rarely spoken within the monastery, with the monks preferring to communicate through simple gestures and warm smiles. After the completion of my second week,
Brother Theodore approached me as I cleaned the vats. I was surprised to hear his voice as he told me that due to my efforts the monastery had produced a record amount of wine.

  “You are spoiling us, Brother Friedrich,” he continued. “Because of your labors we are finding ourselves able to spend more of our time in quiet contemplation. You have been a godsend to us, and I hope that being amongst us has been equally good to you.”

  “It has, Brother Theodore,” I admitted. “More and more I am feeling the same contentment that I did in my former life.”

  This was mostly true. Not only did the brothers make me feel welcome, but they also treated me as if I were an equal member of their brotherhood, and at times I would even forget about my hideous appearance. But I didn’t tell Brother Theodore about the pull on my soul that I felt nightly to seek out my enemy, Victor Frankenstein, nor the troubling nature of my dreams when I would sleep. They were always the same, always filled with a dark foreboding. As with the pull that I would feel on my soul, these dreams were also urging me to leave the monastery and head southwards. Always that ruined castle would be lurking in the background beckoning me, and at times I would even hear Frankenstein’s voice taunting me. Whenever I would wake from these dreams it would take a great effort on my part to stay within my cell and not flee the monastery for the dark woods beyond. More and more I tried not to sleep at night, but with my daily labors I was finding sleep harder to ignore, and would drift off every third night or so for several hours only to wake in a disturbed state.

  That night I had slept, and Brother Theodore sensed the uneasiness within me, for a sadness showed in his eyes as he favored me with a smile.

  “There is still much troubling your heart, Brother Friedrich,” he said.

  “Less each day, Brother Theodore,” I told him, which was again mostly true. The unease from the night before would usually leave me once I had rejoined the company of the other brothers and been fully engaged for several hours with my daily labor. For the rest of the day I would barely feel the pull on me to leave.