Monster Read online

  Later that morning my host arrived. At least I believed it was still morning, for I had difficulty in my present state judging the passing of time. But it seemed as if only a few hours had passed since those first morning rays of sunlight appeared before I heard a door opening, and then footsteps creaking along a wooden floor. While I couldn’t see him, I recognized his voice when he called out to remark how glad he was that I was now able to open my eyes.

  “Good, good,” he exclaimed with much excitement, “this means that you are becoming stronger, my pet!”

  His voice sounded familiar, and not just because I had heard him the other day. Somewhere in my past I had heard his voice before. When my host sat beside me and leaned over me to peer into my face, I could see his own face clearly. The other day where I saw a hazy blur I now saw well-defined features. His was a youthful but serious face, a face that many would judge as handsome. Thin with a high forehead and a Roman nose. His lips were full and his eyes held a piercing quality. But it wasn’t an angelic face as I had first deluded myself the other day. There was a falseness to the smile that he bestowed upon me, and his eyes while sharp and intelligent had a cruelty to them. As I had recognized his voice, so I also did his face. He had been a customer of the apothecary, and there were several occasions when we had conversed. His purpose at the apothecary had always been to buy compounds for his studies, being that he was a student at the University. From our conversations, I remembered that his field of study was medicine, and at one time we had discussed advances in chemistry at length. With a great effort of concentration I recalled his name. Victor Frankenstein.

  He moved his face very close to mine and stayed positioned that way for a long moment before straightening in his seat.

  “Your eyes are still very watery,” he said, “but your pupils are more defined, less dilated. I would venture to say that you can see far more clearly today, my pet. I would also guess that your sense of hearing must likewise be improving, but for what purpose? What could you possibly make of my words? To you they must sound as the same garbled noises that any newborn would hear. A pity.”

  Once again I was greatly confused. Frankenstein suspected that my hearing was improving, so he would have known I wasn’t deaf. So why would he believe that I would be incapable of understanding his words? We had conversed before, he must have remembered that. Did he think that my injuries had left me unable to understand my own native language? I tried to call out to him for I badly desired to ask him those questions and many more, but I remained mute, for I lacked the strength even to open my mouth.

  Frankenstein left his seat. His presence remained near to me, and I presumed he had set about to vigorously rub life back into my deadened limbs. This was a presumption on my part, for while some of my senses were returning, my skin remained devoid of sensation. Occasionally he would enter my field of vision and that appeared to me to be the activity that he was engaged in.

  While this went on I thought about what had occurred the night before. Maybe I was mistaken. How could I trust my perceptions with everything that has happened? What I thought had been satanic chanting could have been nothing more than hallucinations, perhaps even brought on by the foul-smelling balm that he had applied to my person. Frankenstein was a medical student, a man of science like myself; perhaps during his studies he had discovered a new procedure to restore health to a body as broken as mine. And while I prided myself on being familiar with all materials known to an apothecary, that strange balm that he used could have been a new discovery of his instead of something unholy as I had imagined. As these thoughts consumed me, I felt a great anger that he had interfered with my dying; for by keeping me constrained within the earthly plane he was robbing me of being reunited with my Johanna within the kingdom of Heaven. Eventually, though, I realized that if Frankenstein could truly bring me back to health, then I would have the opportunity to discover and expose Johanna’s murderer and seek justice for my beloved. While my additional days on earth without her company would be torturous, eventually those would pass, and when we were eventually joined it would be with the knowledge that this terrible crime committed upon her had been avenged.

  My thoughts were interrupted by a dizzying sensation as the room moved on me, and I realized that the table I was lying on was being tilted upwards by a hand crank so that I would be in a more upright position.

  “This should help keep your blood from congealing,” Frankenstein said, his voice strained from his exertion. He giggled in a mad sort of way that chilled my blood. “Besides,” he added with a sly overtone, “I am sure you must desire the company of the fairer sex.”

  Before my eyes lay a severed head. I squeezed my eyes closed, not believing what I had seen, maybe even thinking it could have been an apparition, but when I opened them again the head was still there. The head was that from a woman. She had perhaps been beautiful when she was alive, but there was now a horrible gauntness to her features, the cheeks hollowed, the eyes sunk deep within the flesh, only wisps of brownish hair still remaining on its scalp. The skin was grayish in color and had the appearance of parchment paper, and from the way the mouth pushed inwards it gave the impression that the teeth had been removed. The severed head sat in a bowl, positioned so that it was facing me, a short stump of its neck still attached. A milky substance that was about two inches deep filled the bottom of the bowl. For a long moment I stared, transfixed. Then, seemingly, it came alive and its eyes shifted to lock onto mine. I would have screamed if I could have.

  Frankenstein giggled some more. “I’ll leave you, my pet, to become better acquainted with our dear Sophie.” He walked over to the shelf that the severed head had been placed on and caressed the scalp as if he were caressing a small dog. Frankenstein turned to smile cruelly at me, and then he disappeared from my field of vision. Shortly after that there was further creaking of footsteps along the floor and the sound of a door being pulled closed.

  I squeezed my eyes shut once more and prayed that this severed head would be gone when I opened my eyes again, but not only was it still facing me with its eyes staring vigilantly into mine, but its lips had begun moving. My earlier suspicions proved correct. As that awful gaping hole contorted wildly in front of me, I could not help but notice that it was bereft of its teeth.

  What additional horrors could possibly befall me? Any thoughts that I was being kept alive by scientific means fled my consciousness. There was no longer any doubt that I had woken up in the den of a sorcerer and that the blackest magic was being practiced.

  I shut my eyes again, but the image within my mind of what this severed head was presently doing grew worse than what it could possibly be in reality. I had no choice but to look straight ahead and face it. As I did I realized that the movements of its lips weren’t the result of random contortions, but that it was trying to mouth words to me, her language being French which I understood. I concentrated and was able to make out what she was trying to say.

  Blink once if you can understand me.

  I blinked once.

  A tragic smile touched her lips and her eyes overflowed with compassion. What I had earlier thought of as a wretched thing I now felt sympathy toward. She began to ask me another question, her lips moving slowly and carefully to make it easier for me to understand her.

  Are you able to speak? Please blink once for yes, twice for no.

  I blinked twice.

  Her smile turned ever more tragic. She began once again to mouth words to me.

  My dear unfortunate friend, my name is not Sophie. It is Charlotte, but that is of no importance. If you regain your ability to speak, you must not do so, at least not in his presence.

  She explained that our host believed us to be imbecilic and that it would be extremely dangerous for us if he learned of our intelligence. She further detailed her sad history to me. She had been married to a soldier and was living in Paris when she became tragically widowed. In order to support herself, she became employed as a seamstress. When sh
e lost her employment she had to resort to begging. One Sunday a man whom she believed to be a libertine asked her if she would like to earn money as a chambermaid. While she was suspicious of his true intentions, she was desperate and accepted his offer. He took her to a grand house in the community of Arcueil, which was only a few miles from the center of Paris. Once there, he insisted that they each drink a glass of cognac, and that she drink hers first. She consented, and shortly afterward she became unnaturally tired, and most likely collapsed to the floor unconscious. When she later awoke she found herself in this wretched nightmare. Now all she could do was pray that her nightmare would end and that she be released fully into death.

  It was a heart-wrenching story, and I could feel nothing but the deepest sympathy toward her. At the completion of her tale, her expression suddenly became dull. I was so engrossed in her tale that I failed to notice that our host had returned. Fortunately, Charlotte had.

  “Ah, my dear pet, I believe you have been in this upright position long enough. It won’t do to have all your blood flowing to your feet.”

  He came into view. A curious look showed on his face as he studied me, and he took a silk handkerchief from his pocket to dab at my face. “Your eyes are so watery,” he said. “Some of it has been spilling down your cheeks.”

  After he finished with his dabbing, he used the hand crank to lower the table to a horizontal position, and Charlotte disappeared from my view. Of course I knew I had been drugged when I had visited the beer hall, and when I heard Charlotte’s story of how she had been drugged inside of the house that she had been brought to, I knew we were both victims of the same fiend, our host, Victor Frankenstein.

  At the same time that I had lain drugged in that alley, my beloved Johanna must have been brutally murdered, her blood used to stain my coat sleeves and her locket placed within my trouser pocket. Just as Frankenstein had made Charlotte the victim of a depraved experiment, so must he have similar designs for me. Why, I did not know, but I would have given anything to have enough strength in my hands so that I could force the truth from Frankenstein. But I was defenseless and at his mercy.

  CHAPTER 3

  Four days passed with Frankenstein each night making his unholy visit. First he would apply his foul ointment upon my body, next he would light candles and place them on the floor below me so that they would surround me. After that had been accomplished he would sit nearby and chant in that same evil low voice that he had that first night. While I was unable to decipher his words, they nonetheless chilled my soul.

  It was on the fifth day that he raised me vertically so I would once again be in Charlotte’s company. After Frankenstein had used the hand crank to put me at eye level with Charlotte, he smiled thinly and remarked how we made quite the adorable couple.

  Once Frankenstein departed, Charlotte regaled me with happier tales from her life. As she was telling me about a particularly joyous day from her childhood, she stopped to announce in her silent manner that I was smiling.

  Only the barest trace of a smile, my dearest friend, but you are smiling nonetheless.

  She was right. Without realizing it the corners of my lips had turned up ever so slightly. With a concentrated effort I found that I could move my lips. Not enough to speak, or even to mouth words as Charlotte was doing, but I had movement now where only a day earlier I had none.

  Charlotte was smiling at me also, but a darkness descended over her features and she cast her eyes downwards before looking up to meet my own eyes again.

  When he lights his candles each night, there are five of them. I believe he places them on the floor to form the shape of a pentagram.

  I had suspected that also. The Devil’s hoofprint.

  The sound of a door opening interrupted us, and from the way Charlotte’s expression deadened I knew that our host had returned. His footsteps made a dull hollow sound as he entered the room. When he came into my field of vision I could see that same false smile of his that I had grown to know and detest.

  “Ah, my pet,” he said with utter condescension, “one should hope that you haven’t been too forward with our dearest Sophie, for I assure you she is of the highest virtue.”

  He broke into a giggling fit after that, which ended only due to his exertion in turning the hand crank to lower me. Once I was lowered back into a horizontal position, he stood looking over me with a gleam of perspiration along his forehead. He sniffed several times. His smile disappeared as his eyes bored into mine.

  “There appears to be a problem. But perhaps we will be able to catch it in time.”

  I also recognized the stench that he had detected. The smell of decaying flesh. I had noticed it earlier. It was faint, but still present. Frankenstein next began to poke his finger along my body. I knew this for I was beginning to develop a finer sensation along my skin.

  “Ah, the source of the trouble,” he murmured softly. “Well, let us give it time and see if we can reverse this.”

  He was out of my field of vision so I could not see where his stare was fixed upon. I had the sense that it was my left arm that showed signs of decay, but if he had poked me there I didn’t feel it. This change did seem to create a more somber expression upon Frankenstein’s visage. When I spied him next, his brow had become deeply lined, and an anxiousness pulled at the corners of his lips. He left the room without another word, seemingly deep in thought.

  That night Frankenstein returned to perform his usual nocturnal rituals. By morning the stench of flesh decaying had grown more obvious. When Frankenstein appeared, concern lined his face. I was ambivalent. While I wished for the opportunity to grow stronger so that I might force the truth from him regarding myself and Johanna, I also welcomed the release that death would give me. From out of the corner of my eye I could see Frankenstein’s expression growing ever more troubled as he examined me. He was brooding as he walked away. When he appeared again a short time later he held a saw. Without so much as a word he went to work.

  While the sensation was dulled, I felt the saw blade biting into my flesh. Frankenstein was cutting my left arm off directly below the shoulder blade. It seemed to take a great effort on his part, as well as quite a long time. During it I felt little pain, not much more than a tugging sensation. When he was done I caught a glimpse of the appendage that he had severed, and I could hardly believe what I saw. It was something monstrous, both in size and appearance. How could that have come from my body? Gnarled and muscular, with dark black hair growing in clumps along it. Other than the unearthly translucence of the flesh, it seemed more of what would’ve been cut off from a giant ape than any human being. The knowledge that that came from me stunned me and sent me spiraling into a deep despair. I was barely aware when Frankenstein departed, carrying away that unearthly appendage.

  Up until then I had assumed that Frankenstein was using his dark arts to repair my paralyzed and badly broken body, but how could that still be the case? Unless I only imagined what I saw. After all, wouldn’t having my arm cut from me as if it were only a limb from a tree leave me in a state of shock? How could I trust my senses after that? Perhaps I had long ago fallen into madness and everything that I believed I was perceiving was only a nightmarish illusion. Charlotte, Frankenstein’s nocturnal visits, the ungodly appendage taken from my body. I wished to believe that. If I was insane then none of this would be true. I tried to hold onto that belief, but doubt slowly wormed its way into my thoughts, and as hellish as these events were I had to believe them to be true.

  So what was I then? Was my previous body taken away to be replaced by something hideous? How? A horrible thought entered my mind. Did Frankenstein somehow trap my spirit into some sort of unearthly creation of his? That arm could not have come from any known animal in nature. Frankenstein’s evil words came back to me. My magnificent creation. Was that what I was? A creation of his? An even more horrible thought occurred to me. Could I trust my sense of self? If I were truly an unearthly being that he created, was it possible that my m
emories were only imagined? Could it be that Johanna never truly existed?

  If I could have I would have roared in agony. But I lacked the strength to do so. All I could do was lie where I was. I lacked even the strength to weep.

  CHAPTER 4

  My host maintained his nocturnal rituals. It was three days after Frankenstein had cut off my arm that he came to me to sew a new appendage to my body. A glimpse that I caught of it showed it to be of a similar nature to what had been removed. By this time I had more movement than I had had previously. I could open my mouth enough where I would be able to mouth words to Charlotte if given the opportunity. I could also move my fingers slightly on my remaining hand. I kept this from Frankenstein. I did not want to let him in on the knowledge that I was gaining strength, as feeble as my progress appeared. I further restrained myself from showing any change in facial expression as Frankenstein performed his sewing.