Frankenstein Lives Again (The New Adventures of Frankenstein)

by Glut, Donald F.

  Gort’s knee violently thudded into Winslow’s stomach, the scientist moaned and buckled forward.

  “We’re leaving, Gort,”* said Dartani, briefly getting his henchman’s attention. “You know the plan and where to meet us.”

  In the moment that Gort looked up and acknowledged his master with a nod of his head, Winslow was at him again, slugging him back against another of the shaking barn walls.

  To the Monster, the Professor said, “Follow me outside!”

  Again under Dartani’s control, the Frankenstein creature lumbered outside after his master, Winslow glimpsing the giant black-dressed form making his exit.

  As Winslow and Gort grappled, the doctor heard the whinny of the horses. He managed a glance out the broken window to see the circus wagons, the Monster at the reins, rolling out of view. Momentarily caught off guard, Winslow groaned as Gort socked his head with a force that felt like it could fell an ox. Blood streaked across his face and, a second later, Gort’s massive bulk was pressing onto him.

  Winslow felt sick, not only from Gort’s repeated blows, but also because he had failed to prevent the escape of Dartani and the Monster. Unless something were done right now, the Professor might succeed in carrying out his secret plan. Given that the Monster was involved, Winslow knew that he had to defeat his foe.

  But Gort had become a human gorilla, battering away with fists like rocks. Winslow managed to duck a few times, letting those fists slam into the walls seemingly numb to the pain. With each such blow, the walls weakened more.

  He had to act quickly, effectively, before Gort finished him.

  Commanding all of his physical might, Winslow clasped his hands together to form one powerful fist, then slammed hard into the other man’s face.

  Gort collapsed to the floor, moaning.

  Regaining his breath and clearing his eyes, Winslow watched Gort begin to revive with remarkable recuperative prowess. Already the oaf was reaching out for the gun he had earlier dropped. There was murder burning in Gort’s eyes.

  But Winslow, with the agility and speed of a trained athlete, was too swift, managing to duck inches away from Gort’s path of bullets. Gort continued firing at the doctor, who was bounding for the cover of a pile of wooden crates.

  The scientist heard the barn walls creak and saw the wall ahead of him sway ominously to the rhythm of his opponent’s gunfire.

  As Winslow leaped for the boxes, another shot resounded through the old barn. He felt a burning pain tear into him from behind. Then he collapsed in a heap behind the piled-up crates.

  * * *

  Lynn sat nervously on the old couch in the living room of Castle Frankenstein worrying about Burt. She had done her best to relax and try to take her mind off her missing co-worker and lover, having slipped out of the uniform that only reminded her of the previous night’s tragedy. Now wearing a more casual pair of cut-off jeans and a shirt, she tried to read. But always her thoughts went back to Burt who had gone off in the early morning to find the Monster.

  Anything might have happened to him, she realized, from being attacked by the giant himself to falling prey to the increasing rain. She would not be able to relax until he returned, assuming of course that he would.

  When she heard the noise of pounding at the front door, Lynn wished that Burt had had time to replace the lock with something more substantial than the crudely rigged wooden crossbar. Surely Burt wasn’t making that racket. It sounded more like the impact made by a battering ram.

  Anyone might have been out there, she told herself, including those dangerous villagers. The townspeople, she knew, were now more deadly than dynamite and she had no intention of letting them inside the castle. Even though they had seemed sincere enough about their twenty-four hour ultimatum, she didn’t trust them. When last she saw Franz and his crew they were thirsting for bloody revenge. Perhaps they had decided not to wait out their leader’s time limit after all.

  She said nothing, knowing that if it were in fact Burt out there that he would call out to her. Uncrossing her legs, she dropped her book and shot to her feet as she saw the heavy door begin to shake under the impact of the pounding. Instinctively she reached for the loaded revolver that Winslow had entrusted to her before he left. Then she waited, her finger becoming moist on the trigger.

  Somehow she knew what to expect as the door suddenly burst open, almost dropping off its hinges. Standing in the doorway, arm still held out from thrusting open the door, was the Frankenstein monster. Stooping to accommodate his height, the Monster stepped into the building.

  Lynn’s body tensed. The Monster seemed different from the irate beast that she had encountered the night before. Remarkably he seemed even placid or unaware of his surroundings, his eyes watery and staring not exactly at her but at a space to her side.

  As unnerving as the Monster himself was the creature that was now following him inside the room. He was ancient and not unlike some humanoid bird of prey in appearance. And there was a delighted cackle sounding from his shriveled lips.

  “Oh, my,” he said, obviously pleased by what he was feasting his green orbs upon, “but I never expected to find an angel in Fankenstein’s castle!”

  Feeling a sudden chill sweep over her as though she were stripped naked, she pressed her trigger finger reassuringly against the small piece of metal.

  The man was incredibly old. But he was gawking at her like some teenager might stare at a nude photograph at the moment he reached puberty. His eyes were like green magnifying glasses, unconcerned with her revolver, but scrutinizing every inch of her body. She could feel his gaze as it crawled up along her long bare legs, followed the curves of her hips and then stopped at her breasts. Instinctively her free hand reached for the buttons she had left open and shoved them through their respective holes.

  “Wh-what do you want?” she asked, stepping backwards a few feet and holding the gun in his direction.

  The old man smiled hideously. His gaze was still surveying her body like a living entity. “Originally I came here with my giant friend for one purpose only. It seems now I have another reason to be here!”

  Lynn’s eyes shifted only long enough to glance at the robotlike Frankenstein monster.

  “Oh, you won’t have to use that gun against my friend,” said the man. “He’s completely under my control. Besides, it couldn’t harm him anyway, as you may already know.”

  “If I use this gun,” she answered sternly, “it won’t be against him. Now tell me, who are you and why are you here?”

  “You may call me Professor Dartani,” he said courteously, advancing toward her and raising both of his talonlike hands. “And that revolver will prove to be useless against either of us.”

  Lynn wished that her shirt hadn’t been so clinging, that her shorts were not so form-fitting. Unsuccessfully she tried not to breathe so heavily and to arrest the rising and falling of her chest. She had never taken a human life before and didn’t want to now. But Winslow had taught her how to shoot on the target range, and if it meant saving herself from this vulturelike lecher…

  “You won’t shoot me,” he said, his eyes widening.

  She felt ill. His eyes were boring through her clothing like a pair of green X-ray cameras. The Monster, she knew, was now the least of her worries.

  Her fingers began to pull back the trigger, her thumb cocking the weapon. “Keep away from me,” she threatened. “I’m warning you, stay back!”

  “You… warn me?” mocked Dartani.

  In that instant she knew that she could not take this man’s life. But she still wasn’t about to let him touch her with those claws. Her other hand clenched into a fist. She had no qualms about using her fist or knee to ensure that the Professor would never again harrass her or any other woman.

  But Lynn had not reckoned with the power of Dartani’s eyes. There was something about them that was slowly forcing her to relax her fist, to loosen the fingers that held her gun. A moment later she heard the weapon drop against t
he floor, but her eyes did not follow it. They were gazing into the eyes that stared at her, drawing her to them like living magnets and sapping her will to resist. Lynn’s spirit fought to escape and lash out at the terrible figure now shuffling his way toward her. But her limbs were as if paralyzed.

  He was Dartani.

  And his will now completely dominated her!

  Unable to move, she felt the clammy touch of his hands as they roved along her naked legs and caressed her shoulders. She wanted to shudder but could only remain motionless as his bony hands probed her long hair and twined some of the auric strands around his fingers. She heard his moan of approval as he grasped her shirt and tore it open, felt both the coldness of the night air and his breath against her exposed breasts. When he firmly clutched her waist and rested his withered face against her chest, Lynn prayed that she could die.

  “You are so beautiful!” Dartani gasped. “More beautiful than the one in the woods! More beautiful than any woman I have ever seen. And it has been such a long… long time… since…”

  He pressed his bony body closer to her.

  There was no longer need to prefer death. Surely she must already be dead, she thought, as she fought to break his spell and pull herself away from his grasp.

  Because this could only be Hell.

  * * *

  The pain in Winslow’s left shoulder felt like fire. But luckily Gort’s bullet had only grazed him. Blood flowed from the wound, but the crimson fluid was already beginning to clot. Yet, the important fact was that his blackout was only temporary and that he had revived soon enough to fire back at the human ape now slipping behind his own tower of crates at the other end of the barn.

  Gort seemed to have an unending supply of ammunition. Bullets ripped continuously into Winslow’s concealing crates, sending up sparking wooden slivers. More fire burned through the wall behind the scientist, making it precariously wobble. As soon as Gort’s gun clicked empty, he was thrusting more ammunition into its cylinder and firing back at his foe.

  Emptying and reloading his own weapon, Winslow blasted two shots which missed his opponent only by inches, embedding themselves in the wall behind him. Momentarily Gort’s scowling, blood-streaked face reacted to the wall, which swayed and creaked behind him. Then he returned Winslow’s fire.

  Again the scientist fired.

  In evading the shot, Gort rammed his body against the wall. At the moment of impact, a foreboding opening formed to show the darkening sky and let in some of the rain. Gort’s almost simian countenance peered up from behind his crates and an obscene curse roared from his mouth.

  Winslow, again thinking of Dartani and the Monster, emptied his revolver, letting the hammer click a few times against the empty shells in the cylinder.

  Smiling sadistically, Gort goaded him, “You’re out of bullets, aren’t you? And you’re not gonna have time to reload if I can help it! You’re through, punk – but I’m just starting. ‘Cause I got four more shots in this gun and a whole pocketful of ammunition. And I’m gonna make sure it takes all four of these slugs to kill you... real nice and slow.”

  Laughing now, Gort arose from the pile of boxes and stalked his seemingly helpless prey. His eyes were staring at Winslow, searching for something, most likely a look of terror that the doctor refused to give him. This angered the brute who should have been watching Winslow’s hands instead of his face.

  As Gort advanced, Winslow’s fingers frantically ejected the empty shells from his gun and thrust in his last cartridge.

  Slowly, Gort raised his weapon, training the barrel at Winslow’s leg. Then a look of horror burst onto his face as he finally saw Winslow’s gun and the spike of flame that erupted from its barrel. A river of scarlet gushed from the space between his staring eyes. There was no cry of pain, for he was already dead as his 280-pound carcass began to topple backwards.

  Winslow knew already what the result of his expertly fired shot would be, but it was too late to do anything about it.

  Gort’s corpse crashed hard against the wall and through the decaying timbers.

  From above him, Winslow heard the ominous sound of wood splitting and cracking. Looking up, he saw the roof giving way and falling down upon him. He ran desperately for the door, but he wasn’t fast enough, for even that was caving in with the walls and roof.

  In that final moment of attempted escape, Winslow thought not of the Monster or his master, but only of Lynn, alone in this foreign land where violence and death threatened her from every shadow.

  Then the entire barn collapsed upon him, burying him in a mountain of wooden debris.

  CHAPTER XIV:

  History Repeats Itself

  Though it was hard to believe, Professor Dartani had moved away from the young woman, then grasped her by the wrist to force her into the laboratory.

  Following them like some monstrous sentry was the Frankenstein monster.

  “I’m afraid I’ll have to wait a while before I take my pleasures with you, my beautiful creature,” said Dartani as he began to search about the laboratory. “There will be plenty of time for a – a vast eternity for both of us.” He began to cackle.

  While the Professor rummaged through Winslow’s equipment, Lynn did her best to fight off his psychic influence. Luckily her own will was strong; it had to be to survive the life she was living with Burt. But so far she had only been partially successful in shrugging off his control. She pressed her body against the cold wall and tried without success to cover her breasts with the tattered material of her shirt.

  The longer Dartani searched for whatever it was he was looking for, the more control Lynn regained over her own will. She pretended to remain under his influence, even as he found in an inconspicuous drawer an old book and raised it high above his head. Lynn could see that the volume was The Journal of Victor Frankenstein.

  “I’ve found it!” Dartani exclaimed triumphantly, his eyes glaring at the book’s lettered cover. He lowered the journal and leafed with reverence through the two centuries-old handwritten pages. “Just what I have wanted ever since I discovered that the Frankenstein story was true and the Monster – that being who has survived the passage of time unscathed by the years – actually exists.”

  Lynn still did not respond, but continued to wage her silent battle to free herself of Dartani’s power.

  He turned toward her, clutching the book covetously against his bony chest. “Do you know what this journal means to me, my dear? What secret it holds that I have wanted – needed – ever since the fingers of time dragged me closer to the realm of Death?”

  She tried pushing closer to the wall as he advanced toward her.

  “My life has been devoted to training my mind,” he said, “to developing the psychic abilities that I was born with so many decades ago. But I have grown old. My natural life cannot be much longer. And in my many years, I have begrudged myself of many of life’s pleasures.”

  His eyes looked her up and down.

  “But this book by Victor Frankenstein,” he continued, “has the solution to my problem. Its writings contain the secret that the alchemists sought but failed to discover – the secret of immortality, of eternal life! With the secrets in this book, I, Dartani, can live forever. No, I will not find my youth restored. That is lost forever. But even living throughout eternity in this shriveled body is better than living but a generation as a young man.”

  Lynn shivered as much from what he was saying as from the damp air circulating through the castle.

  “As an immortal,” he went on, shuffling closer to her, “I will have much time to plan and execute my plans. And with the assistance of the Monster and with my own ever-developing psychic abilities, I’ll have great power. Soon other people will fall prey to my will and rally to me. First, this country will become mine. And in the centuries to come, other lands will become mine for the taking! As for you, my beautiful angel –”

  Lynn was now inching toward the stone staircase.

  “Your
beauty is absolute physical perfection! Never have I, in all of my years, seen such beauty as yours. Your youth and loveliness must be preserved for all time and, thanks to Frankenstein’s journal, it can be. We shall reign throughout eternity while the rest of the world ages and dies! Just the two of us! I, as the master, and you as my eternally youthful bride!”

  Remaining quiet was now impossible. His power over her seemed to be at its weakest now and Lynn boldly stepped closer to the stairs, silently resting a foot on the first step.

  “You’re ... insane!” she said, her mind fighting to regain its full independence.

  “You think so?” he hissed, grasping her wrist with a force belied by his feeble appearance. He grinned and she smelled his foul breath as he moved closer to her. “You will have an entire eternity to change your opinion!”

  * * *

  The Red Galley Inn was buzzing with patrons, even this early in the evening. The place was filled to its capacity with beer-guzzling townspeople. The room was alive with the noises of grumbling voices and clinking beer steins.

  But the atmosphere of gaiety that so traditionally characterized the inn was now gone. A cloud of solemnity had settled amid the clouds of smoke as more villagers than ever crowded into the place. They were herded together like animals, occupying every table and chair, every vacant space.

  Business was better than ever before, but the inn owner was not smiling. He, like everyone else at the Red Galley, had a grim face. Yet no one’s face was as grim as that of Heinrich Franz.

  “No word from Winslow yet,” he grumbled as he drank. Maybe we shouldn’t have waited. Maybe we shouldn’t have given him twenty-four hours.”