Monster

by Dave Zeltserman

  It took my followers several days to recover from my cruelty, but during this time they still crawled about as needed to fill my needs. I do not think I ever felt more detestable as I realized how I deserved them every bit as much as they deserved me.

  One evening as they were roasting a suckling pig for a feast they were preparing for me, their leader approached me with the idea of building a temple in my honor.

  “We have the resources to bring workers here,” he continued. “The trees here would provide all the timber that is necessary, and all the other materials could be brought here. We had so hoped that if we came to this sacred spot that you would appear, and we could build on this spot a temple befitting you!”

  Usually I ignored this person, but in the low state I had sunken into, I grunted back how fortunate it was that I had stumbled upon them here just as they had arrived.

  “Oh, we arrived here four days before you were drawn here by our devotion.”

  I stared at him confused.

  He tittered, adding, “We knew if we were persistent in our devotion you would come to us, and you did.”

  “You had other ceremonies here?”

  “Each night,” he said, quite pleased with himself.

  I tried to make sense of what he was telling me. “You made other sacrifices to me?”

  “Of course, your lord.”

  “Human or animal?”

  “Young virgins each night, similar to the one that you had us release. You would have been so pleased if you could have witnessed them. How young and supple these girls were, and how they screamed before I cut their hearts out. We knew their screams and our devotion would draw you to us at this most sacred and secret location, and it did!”

  The wine had dulled me to where it took several minutes for me to fully understand the evil that he related to me. Once I did, I looked from him to the others. These were not just ridiculous men and women who were bored with their bourgeoisie existence and were now playing as devil worshippers. These were murderers of the worst kind. People who thought nothing of ending the lives of four innocent young girls. As corroded and debased as my soul might have become, I had not yet sunk to their level for I felt a sickening anger over what they had done to their victims. But I was not going to be the one to spill their blood.

  “You have proposed an excellent idea,” I said. I watched as this despicable man’s face brightened with pride and vanity, and I added, “But this is not the place for my temple. I have a preferred location for it.”

  I told him where I wanted him and the rest of my followers to build this temple, and I gave him directions back to where I had encountered the vampyres. I knew the vampyres would still be hunting those grounds. Let them feed well and be the ones to drain these murderers of their blood. It seemed fitting. They wanted so badly to serve Satan, then let Satan’s dark servants get to know them intimately.

  “You do not have to leave now,” I said. “We may have our feast first. Then you and the rest of my devoted followers will head to that site and wait for me there. When I arrive we will plan my temple together.”

  He was so enthralled that I had accepted his idea that it left him speechless, and all he could do was nod enthusiastically like an imbecile. When the pig had finished roasting, they brought me a plate, and as I ate my food and drank my wine I barely paid attention to their boisterous celebrations, nor as they packed up and departed into the night so that they could head to where I was sending them. Straight to a nest of vampyres.

  For the first time in several weeks I was alone, and I found myself relieved to be free of their presence. I stayed seated on the throne that they had built for me and only left it to pour myself more wine. Over a course of several hours I emptied the last remaining barrel, and then later drifted into a drunken sleep. Fortunately the wine kept my mind too clouded to pay attention to any of my dreams.

  CHAPTER 16

  When I awoke the next morning and found the devil worshippers gone, I had a fleeting hope that the last several weeks had been nothing more than a fantastic nightmare. But that hope dissipated as I realized I was sitting on the throne that they had constructed for me, and saw the empty wine barrels littering the ground, as well as the pig carcass from the previous night’s feast. Still, I enjoyed the solitude, and was glad to be free of them. I sat for several minutes listening to the sounds of the forest—birds and frogs chirping their melodies, the wind rustling through the leaves, animals rustling about in the underbrush—and as pleasing as these sounds were, after a short while I still strongly desired to flee this place and the loathsome memories that persisted there. I pushed myself to my feet, but before leaving I searched the area until I found four freshly dug graves. I then smashed my throne so that I could construct crosses from the pieces, and used the crosses to mark the graves. After saying prayers for each of the unfortunate children that lay under the dirt, I once again surrendered to that irresistible urge that I had been desperately trying to ignore, and let it pull me where it wished.

  As my travel continued over the next half dozen days, the trees of the forest thinned, and I soon began entering desolate valleys and striding across rockier terrains. It wasn’t long after that that I could see great mountain peaks off in the distance, and only a few days later that I came across a large and pleasant body of water that I would later learn was Lake Geneva. Following the banks of this lake, I reached the outskirts of the city. In my attempts to avoid the citizens of Geneva, I roamed the hills surrounding it, and ended up overlooking a popular promenade. This must have been a Sunday, for many families were strolling the promenade dressed in their finest clothing.

  I stayed hidden on that hill and watched as these families paraded together; husbands and wives walking side by side, with the wives’ hands invariably lightly touching their husbands’ arms, and their children following behind them. After spending weeks with those detestable devil worshippers, I sat spellbound watching these good and gentle folks, and witnessed only expressions of happiness and contentment on their faces. At first this soothed me, but before too long these sights caused me to long more than ever for Johanna’s gentle touch on my arm. It seemed so utterly cruel that the two of us could not be parading together with all these other happy people. I was about to quit this hill and my observing of these perfectly normal families before jealousy consumed me, when by happenstance I spotted them. An older man walking arm in arm with a young woman who, given her age, must have been his daughter, except that with her blue eyes and golden hair and gentle features she bore no resemblance to him. Behind them walked a young man of around twenty and a child who could have been no older than six. These two bore a strong resemblance to this older man. All three of them—the older man and what must have been his two sons—had thin, narrow faces, and high foreheads as well as strong aquiline noses, and they walked with what could only be thought of as a stately bearing. These three also bore a striking resemblance to Victor Frankenstein, so much so that I knew they must be related, although I could not see any cruelty or malevolence in their eyes or mouths. As I watched them I fought back an impulse to rush down from my hiding place and confront them. Instead I followed them back, unseen, to a grand house situated on the western banks of Lake Geneva.

  I soon learned that they were in fact related to Victor Frankenstein. The older man was Frankenstein’s father, the two boys were his brothers, and the young woman was supposedly his cousin, although from the lack of any physical resemblance I guessed that she had been adopted. Upon this knowledge I was seized with wicked thoughts; thoughts of using torture to force them to divulge my enemy’s location, or even murdering one of them to draw my enemy out from wherever he was hiding. I was ashamed of these thoughts, and assumed they were brought about by the torment that I had felt earlier over my transformation and longing for Johanna. It was possible that these were good and innocent people. I saw no evidence from their bearing or expression to convince me otherwise, and I was content to spy on them and learn what I
could about Victor Frankenstein.

  Over the next several weeks I hid among them. Whenever I could I would spy at them through windows and eavesdrop on their conversations, and when their house was empty, I would climb an outside wall so that I could slip undetected through an open window. Once inside I would search through whatever letters I could find. I soon became convinced that they had no idea where Victor Frankenstein had gone off to, and that they were also goodhearted and charitable people. I further decided that they had no knowledge of their relation’s evil activities. From what I could tell, the father, Alphonse Frankenstein, believed his son was merely studying medicine at the University of Ingolstadt, and was greatly concerned that his son was not responding to any of his letters. I also learned that the young woman, who was named Elizabeth Lavenza, had indeed as a small child been adopted by Alphonse and his departed wife during an act of kindness while traveling in Italy. This young woman, Elizabeth, believed herself to be intended for Victor Frankenstein, and that they would someday be married. I could not understand this for she appeared to be a gentle and good person, and all I could imagine was that Victor Frankenstein must have used his dark magic to bewitch her also.

  Once I came to the conclusion that they could not help me find Victor Frankenstein, and that watching them any longer would be a fruitless activity, I left them and gave myself up once more to the invisible force that seemed intent to pull me southwards. I have since read the lies that Frankenstein recounted to Captain Walton, and of all of them none were more calculating and egregious than that I had murdered his youngest brother, William, and had caused a servant to be blamed for the murder by placing a locket that William had on his body within this servant’s clothing. I can only imagine that Victor Frankenstein told this as one last cruel attempt to mock me—to accuse me of committing the very same act that caused me to be executed for my Johanna’s murder. When I left Geneva, Frankenstein’s young brother, William, was alive and well. What fate befell him later, I could not say.

  The terrible urge that pulled on me sent me heading toward the great mountain peaks south of Geneva. Before long I was scaling these peaks, and doing so as easily as if I were a mountain goat. Even though it was now summer, I was climbing cliffs of ice and trudging through snow. This went on for days, and I soon began to wonder if I was being driven to an icy grave, for I could not imagine life being sustained in these conditions. I was still wondering why I was being sent to travel to such an inhospitable environment when I saw it.

  The ruined castle.

  The very same one that had haunted me so.

  CHAPTER 17

  I stood breathless, the ruined castle within my view. It lay high upon a treacherous cliff of sheer ice, and had the same menacing quality to it that it did in my dreams. For a long moment I remained paralyzed, unable to breathe or even move, and then all at once as if waking from a dream I gasped in a lungful of air and came back to life. And then I was racing across the glacier toward this castle.

  The cliff was well over three hundred feet high and the ascent to the castle ran almost vertically. Often I had to strike my fist through the ice walls of the cliff in order to gain a hand hold so that I could continue climbing upwards. At times I thought I would drop to my death, but eventually I reached a level area and saw that a more passable path wound down the opposite side of the cliff. This path was better suited for man, and was littered with what looked like recent wheel and animal tracks. The surface was almost entirely of dirt and rock, with only small amounts of ice present. Even with the more stable surface, the path looked steep, and would be difficult for most men to navigate. A warm flush of excitement heated my skin as I thought what these recent tracks could mean, but I tried to remain calm.

  I followed this path to the top of the cliff, which led me to a small stable situated behind the castle. I wasn’t surprised to see the team of donkeys that were housed within the stable, nor the wagons that were also held there. Donkeys would have little trouble navigating that path, at least during these summer months. Once winter arrived this path would be impassable for either beast or man. The fact that the donkeys were alive and seemed to be in good health meant that the castle was indeed being inhabited as I had surmised, even given its apparent ruined state. My pulse raced quicker and a fury filled my mind as I imagined my enemy, Victor Frankenstein, so close.

  I was barely aware of my surroundings as I strode to the main gate of the castle. Malignancy dripped so thickly from the stone walls that I could almost taste it in my throat. I did not know how I knew Frankenstein would be there, but I knew that he would, just as I knew that he had somehow summoned me to this godforsaken place. I trembled as I stood by the gate. Images of Johanna and her sweet smile and the way she would blush when I would steal a kiss flooded my mind. I thought about the life we were supposed to have together and all that I had lost and all that was stolen from my dear Johanna, and I burst through the gate roaring in fury, my heart in agony as if it were being torn apart.

  The hall that I had stormed into held several craftsmen who were working to restore the castle to its former grandeur. I eyed them quickly but none of them were Frankenstein and he was all that I cared about, so I paid little attention as they fled the hall. I stood where I was, bellowing my rage, knowing that it would bring Frankenstein to me.

  And it did. He wandered cautiously into the hall with a curious look upon his face. I raced toward him with every intention of throttling the truth from him regarding Johanna and Friedrich Hoffmann, but as I neared him I dropped to my knees, helpless. With my head bowed I told him in a guttural whisper that I was there to kill him.

  “H-How is this possible?” he asked, his voice excited with fear. “How is it that you can talk?”

  I groaned miserably at my situation. Here he was, my most detested enemy, less than an arm’s length away and I was powerless to grab hold of him. I could not understand this.

  “Why wouldn’t I be able to talk?” I growled futilely at him.

  My stare lowered to the marble floor. It took a great effort for me to look at him, and all I felt was shame as I saw that he had recovered sufficiently from his fright and now showed only that haughtiness that I despised so greatly.

  “You shouldn’t be able to talk, at least not this fluently, for you have barely the brain of a one-year old.”

  I laughed at that, but stopped abruptly as I saw a cruel, calculating glimmer in his eyes.

  “Why is it that you wish to murder me, my pet?” he demanded, his voice soft but snapping at me as if a whip.

  “Because I suspect you of murdering my betrothed, Johanna Klemmen, and arranging for me to be accused and executed for that crime. All so that you could gain access to the brain of an educated man.”

  His eyes widened and his sickly white skin drained of whatever color it possessed. For several long moments he seemed incapable of speech. When he was able to find his voice again, he asked me who I thought I was.

  I cast my eyes down again and told him that I was once Friedrich Hoffmann.

  “This is remarkable, truly remarkable,” he muttered excitedly. “I never would have dreamed that you would possess your past intelligence. My most wondrous creation, I could not possibly express to you how exciting this development is, or how surprised I was to see you in such attire, or to be speaking such to me. How about your memories? How much do you remember from your past life?”

  I forced myself to look up and meet his eyes. “I remember,” I said. “I remember that a villain slipped a poison into my ale at the beer hall so that I collapsed unconscious in an alley. I remember the next morning how I was awoken by a mob, and that my beloved Johanna’s locket had been placed on my person so that I would be accused of her murder. I remember my execution, every blow that the executioner made. I remember them in detail so that I may return the favor someday.”

  Frankenstein stood stroking his chin, a sly look slowly forming in his eyes. “You are right of course about my using Friedrich Hoffmann’
s brain as material in constructing you,” he said at last. “But I believe you are being unfair with your other accusations. You could not possibly have any supporting evidence to accuse me of these deeds. Is it not reasonable that I only took advantage of your execution to gain access to the material that I sought? Could not my involvement consist simply of bribing the executioner for your body so that it would not go needlessly to waste, and that I had nothing to do with the events which led to your being accused and convicted of this woman’s murder?”

  “Are you saying that you are innocent of my charges?”

  He pursed his lips as he studied me. “I am not saying one way or the other,” he replied mockingly, “for I do not have to. But I am curious why you believe me guilty of these deeds.”

  I looked away from him and pressed my lips firmly together so that I could avoid answering him.

  “Answer me, my pet.”

  I tried, but I could not keep from answering him. It was as if I were being compelled by some unknown power to speak, just as I had been compelled to travel to this cursed place.

  “I know how you murdered Charlotte,” I said. A feeling of utter disgust welled within me for betraying Charlotte, but I was incapable of resisting Frankenstein no matter how hard I tried to keep my lips pressed together.

  He raised an eyebrow at that. “Who is Charlotte?”

  “You call her Sophie.”

  He trembled with excitement as he asked me why I believed he murdered his Sophie.

  “You had her drugged. She was murdered as she lay unconscious, and her head removed from her body.”

  “I did this?”

  “You hired a villain to do this deed for you.”

  “Is it not possible that I instead hired someone to procure me the material that I sought, believing that it would come from a dead body, and that I had no knowledge of this crime of which you speak? But never mind. How do you know this?”