For some reason, I didn’t want to ask what those other experiments were.
“But there’s another possibility,” she went on, scanning more pages from the journal. “I could use body parts that share the same DNA. The left arm from a relative of the original left arm. The right eye from a descendant of the monster’s right eye. But the problem, of course, was finding those people.
“And then you show up!” She smiled. “With my father’s journal! He was a maniac about writing things down. I’m sure that somewhere in his journal is all the information I need to track down every single living descendant of the people who went into his monster!
“Once I use them to create a new monster, no one will ever compare me to my father again!” she exclaimed.
“You mean, after you do the same thing he did?” I asked, still confused.
“Exactly!” she nodded, as if that explanation made perfect sense.
“But how are you going to do it?” I asked her. “I mean, I’m sure all those people are using their feet or eyes or whatever.”
Fran just smiled a creepy little smile. And then I got it. Oh, no! No way!
“Okay, wait. Hang on. You may be cute,” I said, and then wished I hadn’t. “But I just found out I have a family. I haven’t even met them yet! I’m not going to let you use them for some kind of experiment!”
“It’s not an experiment!” she roared. “I know it will work! Just like I know this will work . . .”
Fran pushed a button on the counter next to her. And then I, the stool I was sitting on, my journal, and the bowl of guacamole fell into darkness.
“WHOA!” I cried, falling down and out through an opening in the side of the house. CLANG! A metal flap slammed shut behind me as — SQUOONCH!— I landed in a pile of moldy guacamole. My journal splashed down next to me.
I picked it up and put it in my bag. I was in a small pen with a doghouse.
Fran must have sent me down the shoot that she used to feed her dog!
Only what came out of the doghouse was no dog. Or maybe it had been once. The awful BEAST was clearly one of her experiments.
It growled hungrily. Then, the “dog” opened its mouth (at least, I think it was its mouth) and leaped!
But not at me — at the fresh guacamole. As it snarfed it down, I climbed onto the stool, balanced on my big feet, and jumped over the fence. I ran around the house and back inside through the open front door. But when I got to the kitchen door, I stopped short. What would Fran do to me when I came in?
I counted to three. And then four. And then FIVE. And then I charged into the kitchen! What I saw was even scarier than I had imagined. FRAN WAS GONE! And she had taken Dr. Frankenstein’s journal with her!
The house was empty. Fran could have been anywhere by now. Well, not anywhere. She was probably headed straight for my family! I had to warn them. Only I didn’t know where — or even who — they were!
“Okay, don’t panic,” I told myself. “I’ll figure something out.”
I looked around. On the computer screen were the pages of Dr. Frankenstein’s journal she had scanned in. I could see they talked about my dad and his parts. I started printing them out.
But which body part was Fran after? She could be tracking down any one of them.
I took a deep breath and thought it through. She had run out without closing the front door. She must have seen something that made her jump up and rush out. What could have made her do that?
I looked at the last thing she had scanned from the journal. It was a TOTALLY gross drawing of a pair of feet. When I looked at those feet, I didn’t feel grossed out. Instead I was shocked.
Those teeny toenails! The bumpy ankles. The feet in the drawing looked just like MY feet!
But there was something else that made my hair stand on end: The words scribbled on the bottom of the page. “Subject: Mr. Percy of Victorville.”
Mr. Percy must have been the man my dad got his feet from!
I didn’t even have to type the town or the man’s name into Fran’s computer. They were the last things in her search history. I clicked on the one article in the list that was highlighted in green, meaning it had already been read. It led to an article about Mr. Percy, a famous explorer who lived in a small town called Victorville.
That must have been the location where Fran was headed right now!
I had to get there before she did and warn him! Even though I had no idea where Victorville was or how to get there.
As I jumped up to rush out, I accidentally hit the mouse and clicked on another link. It brought up an article, which said that the famous explorer Mr. Percy of Victorville had died many years ago (I hoped before Dr. Frankenstein got his hands on his feet!).
I remembered what Fran had said: bodies that were dead for too long were no use to her. So I sat down and did a little more digging.
Turns out, Mr. Percy had a son. His name was Robert — and he was an explorer too.
I printed out the most recent article I could find about him. It talked about Robert’s expedition to an island in the South Pacific.
According to the story, Robert didn’t bring any of his high-tech exploring gear with him on this expedition. He had to use what he found. He lived on bananas and used coconuts to mark his trail. Blah, blah, blah. That didn’t really interest me.
But the photo did . . .
In it, Robert was barefoot. He had the same teeny toenails and the same bumpy ankles as I did.
No doubt about it . . . he was my cousin!
The article mentioned that an Explorers Club had sponsored Robert’s trip. That was a couple years ago. I couldn’t find any more recent information on Robert, but a quick search revealed that the Explorers Club was right here in town.
Fran didn’t know any of that — it wasn’t in her search history.
Which meant while she was chasing a dead end (literally), I had a chance to find Robert before she did!
I took out my journal and wiped the last bits of guacamole off it. There were still plenty of blank pages in it, so I taped in all of the scanned pages I had from Dr. Frankenstein’s journal, as well as the article about Robert.
Then I printed out a map of town with the Explorers Club marked on it. I taped that map to a page too.
That’s when I realized: I had used Fran’s computer to do all this! She could probably figure out how to retrieve my search, just like I had found her search!
Even if I tried to smash the computer or delete the search, someone as smart as Fran could probably figure out a way to retrieve it.
But there was no time to worry about that. I had to get to Robert first! Grabbing my journal, I rushed to the door.
And then I stopped.
I ran back to the refrigerator, grabbed all the guacamole, and dumped it down the leftovers chute. I didn’t want the beast outside going hungry. I didn’t know when Fran would come back. I just hoped that when she did, it was without my cousin.
Outside Fran’s house, I opened my journal to the page with the map taped to it. In all the time I’d lived at the orphanage, I hadn’t done much exploring around town. But I had a map. How hard could it be to find the Explorers Club?
Somewhere about the time I stepped in the dog poop taking a shortcut through a park, I realized I must have made a mistake. And not by turning left when I should have turned right.
I mean, I must have made a mistake thinking I could be related to an explorer!
I was just about the opposite of an explorer. I couldn’t find my way anywhere!
A couple hours later, my feet were sore all the way from their bumpy ankles to their teeny toenails. But I had found the Explorers Club.
The building looked like a cross between an Egyptian pyramid, the Great Wall of China, and an igloo. I figured every time one of the explorers got back from somewhere, they must’ve a
dded something from that place to the building.
I pushed on the front door, which looked like it could have come from an Aztec temple.
CREEEAAK. The door swung open.
Inside, the hallway was lined with huge paintings. A sign above them read “Past Members.” One of the pictures showed an explorer being swallowed by quicksand. Another was of a man being mauled by a tiger in a jungle. The rest were even more gruesome.
At the end of the hallway, I heard voices coming from behind a door that looked kind of scary.
(It didn’t smell all that great either.)
But there didn’t seem to be anyone else in the whole building.
So I took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
Inside was a men’s room, crowded with a dozen or so very old men.
“I say,” one of them said to me, “you’re a little peculiar looking for an explorer.”
“Oh, no, I’m not an explorer,” I replied. “The front door was unlocked, so I just . . .”
The old men nodded.
“Hmm . . . must have forgotten to lock that again,” said one of them. “But then, we seem to be forgetting a lot of things these days. We were headed to the dining room just now when we forgot the way and ended up here. Rather embarrassing for a group of explorers, wouldn’t you say?”
I didn’t know anything about exploring or explorers, so I told them I really couldn’t say.
“Anyway, it’s nice to meet a young man with an interest in exploring,” said a tall explorer.
“So tell us, where have you been?” said another. “Anyplace exotic? Nothing explorers love more than a good tale of a trip to the exotic!”
The other explorers nodded excitedly as they crowded around me.
“Well, besides Mr. Shelley’s orphanage,” I told them, “the only place I’ve been is here.”
They all looked disappointed.
“To be honest,” I said, “before this morning, I didn’t even know that there were explorers anymore. Well, except Dora —”
All the explorers let out a groan.
“Sorry,” I said, embarrassed. “I know that’s just a cartoon.”
“Oh, no, that show is based on a very real explorer,” said the tall explorer. “Doratea Emma Maria is a member of this club. An excellent explorer. Just not as good of an explorer as I.”
“Or I!” said another.
“Or I!” echoed the rest.
“You know, those television people actually approached me first,” said the tall explorer. “They wanted to make a show about MY explorations. Only I couldn’t remember them!”
“Doratea always did have a good memory,” said another explorer. “That’s her strong suit. That and her counting.”
He turned to me. “Now then,” he said. “What brings you here?”
I told him I was looking for the explorer named Robert Percy.
“Doesn’t ring a bell,” said the tall explorer. The other explorers murmured in agreement. My stomach sank.
“No, wait!” said the tall explorer. “Now I remember. Robert is a member of this club. But he’s not here at the moment.”
Holy crud! I found him!
I mean, sure, I had to wait for him to come back. But I had waited my whole life to find my family. I could wait a little longer.
“When will he be back?” I asked.
The tall explorer looked at me. “Well, my best guess would be . . . never.”
I stared at the tall explorer. I was sure I must have heard him wrong.
“Could you say that again?” I asked.
“Did you forget already?” He smiled. “Don’t worry. Happens to me all the time. The explorer you’re looking for is on a journey to the last unexplored part of Antarctica.”
“An Antarctic explorer?” I sputtered, unable to think of anything else to say.
“Quite a mouthful, isn’t it?” said the oldest explorer. “That’s probably why there are so few.”
“And now it seems there will be one less,” the tall explorer said with a sigh.
“This is the last email we received from Robert,” said the oldest explorer, taking a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket. “Before all contact was lost with him. I can’t remember how long ago.”
“We keep forgetting to go after him,” said the tall explorer. “Besides which, we are probably too old to do it anyway.”
The others nodded sadly. Except the oldest explorer. He smiled and pointed at me.
“But you’re not old!” he shouted. “You’re the youngest explorer here! You could rescue him! Here, take the email. It might help you.”
He shoved the email into my hands.
“But I’m not an explorer,” I reminded them. “I don’t even know where Antarctica is! How would I even get there?”
None of the explorers had an answer for that.
“I’m headed that way,” said a voice.
Everyone turned. Standing there in the open door to the men’s room was a woman who was probably thirty years old. Or maybe forty. (It’s kind of hard to tell when people get that old.)
“Doratea!” exclaimed an explorer.
“In the men’s room!” exclaimed another.
“Bah,” scowled Doratea. “Is it not an explorer’s duty to go where others think she cannot?”
All the explorers had no choice but to nod and mutter that she was right.
Doratea turned to me. She wore an old leather pilot’s jacket over a purple shirt and orange pants. A pair of flight goggles sat on top of her jet-black bangs.
“Vamanos,” she told me. “Let’s go!”
* * *
BZZZZZZZZZZZ!
I was trapped in a giant, buzzing blender that was shaking me to pieces.
I woke up from that dream to find myself being rattled in my seat as it bounced in the small cockpit of Doratea’s seaplane. The buzzing came from the engines, which felt like they were about to shudder the plane apart.
“You have slept for a while,” said Doratea, her eyes fixed on the cockpit’s window, or windshield, or whatever you call it. “We are nearly there. I hope we are not too late. Roberto has not communicated in over a week. He may not have very much time left.
“He is my boyfriend,” she added in a worried voice.
“How do you know Roberto?” she asked.
“Oh, I don’t know him at all,” I replied. “But he’s my cousin.”
I told her my story. (I left out a couple of the embarrassing parts.) It took a while. It would have been easier to just let her read my journal, but her hands and eyes were busy flying the plane.
Doratea smiled grimly when I was finished. “I see,” she said. “Well, it seems we both have very good reasons to want to rescue him. Luckily for us, I have this map!”
Doratea nodded at the map on the floor between us.
Her map! If it were anything like the map on her TV show, we’d definitely find my cousin!
“How does it talk?” I asked, grabbing the map and trying to find its mouth.
Doratea looked like I had just picked my nose and offered her a taste.
“It doesn’t talk,” she replied. “It is a map.”
“Oh,” I nodded, not wanting to risk saying anything else that would sound so dumb.
“But,” she went on, “this map can still tell us many things. It’s a copy of the map Roberto took with him on his expedition. Look.”
“What do these symbols mean?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” replied Doratea. “Those dotted lines must be different paths Roberto considered. But I do not know which one he took. That we will find out together after we land.”
“We are muy circa — very close,” said Doratea. ”Look . . .”
I looked out the cockpit window. I knew I should have been i
mpressed. But everything was just white.
“So this is Antarctica,” I said, trying to sound excited.
“No,” replied Doratea. “This is a cloud.”
She pushed down on the steering wheel or whatever you call the thing that drives a plane. As we nosed down, the engines rumbled louder and louder.
“This,” shouted Doratea, “is Antarctica!”
Suddenly, there it was!
The snow was so bright in the sun it almost glowed. The whole thing looked like the top of a vanilla frosted cupcake.
It was the most beautiful continent I had ever seen.
As I stared down, I saw a ship, or a sloop, or whatever you call the kind of boat rich people own, sailing toward the shore. Doratea saw it too and shook her head.
“Scientific vessels travel here. Sometimes cruise ships. But private yachts like that one?” Doratea shook her head again. “That should not be here.”
The yacht was too far away to see who was inside. But I knew. It was . . .
I quickly told Doratea all about Fran.
“I had planned for us to land and search for Roberto together,” said Doratea. “But from what you say, I do not think we want this Señorita Kenstein to join us.”
I definitely agreed with that.
“So we need a new plan,” said Doratea. “How will we get to Roberto? First, I will drop you off with the map. Next, I will fly over the ship to lead Señorita Kenstein away. Then, I will fly back and join you. And that’s how we will get to Roberto.
“Now,” she added, “are you ready to jump out of this airplane?”
The Frankenstein Journals Page 2