Frankenstein Lives Again (The New Adventures of Frankenstein) (13 page)

The Monster uttered a deep-throated growl.

“I thought so,” contined Dartani. “Splendid, I have been waiting for you.”

Gort was finally stepping out into the open. The Monster snarled at his approach, letting his fingers ripple out like the legs of yellow spiders. As he took a step in Gort’s direction, Dartani clutched at his arm.

“No, my friend. Gort will not try to harm you. Gort and I are your friends.”

Dartani’s words were hypnotically soothing and the tenseness left the Monster’s arm.

“We will not hurt you,” said the Professor, looking with green fire in his eyes up into the giant’s face. “And you will not hurt us. Am I correct?”

The Monster’s eyes moved curiously in their sunken sockets. The black lips moved, trying to form a word, but only succeeded in creating an inarticulate moan.

“Good, my friend,” said Dartani. “You have come from the castle, have you not? Castle Frankenstein?”

Pointing one hand in the direction of the old fortress, the Monster touched his throat with the other, his fingers touching the coarse stitching where his head had been attached.

“And you cannot speak?” asked Dartani with pretended concern. “A pity. But at least you can understand my words. That is good. For then you will know what it means when I tell you that I am your friend. Your friend. And except for Gort here, your only friend.”

The Monster nodded, his black flowing hair flopping about the large shoulders.

“Good, good,” said the old man. “
Your friend
. And I’m sure no one needs to emphasize the importance of having a friend—a friend you can trust — to someone such as yourself.”

The creature grumbled, slowly nodding his head.

Dartani’s wrinkled brow furled. His eyes seemed to glow brighter in the radiance of the campfire. He reached out with his skeletal hands.

“Here,” he said, “take my hands.”

The Monster responded to Dartani’s quiet suggestion and clasped the Professor’s hands, uncharacteristically careful not to squeeze too tightly. There was the hint of a smile on the creature’s face.

“Good, my friend,” said the Professor, his eyes widening. “And you will also find a calming in my eyes. Go ahead, look into them. Stare into them. Let yourself be drawn into them to drown as if in a green sea.”

The eyes of the giant were already losing themselves in Dartani’s gaze. His brain, newly awakened, was most susceptible to the Professor’s suggestion. The Monster trusted this man who called himself
friend
but the bond existing between them now was something far more potent than trust.

The world into which the Monster had been reborn was throbbing, dissolving away, leaving nothing behind but the calming voice of Dartani and his two scathing eyes.

Gort, dumbfounded, walked up to the demon and waved his hands before his staring eyes. The Monster, completely entranced, did not even blink.

“You did it!” he said.

“Of course, and I admit I put him under much faster than I’d expected. Look at him, Gort, standing there like some lifeless statue right out of my Asylum of Horrors.”

“Sure is an ugly cuss,” said Gort. “Even I look better than him. But now that you’ve got him like that, will he follow your orders?”

“Shall we find out?” answered Dartani, switching his attention to the Monster. “Well, my friend, will you do what I command . . . everything that I command?”

Eyes still staring, the Monster slowly nodded.

“You know, Gort, it’s often said that a person cannot be hypnotized to do something against his own better nature, to kill, for example. Fortunately for us, our giant friend here has no such moral qualms.”

“It’s still hard to believe, Professor,” said Gort, looking about the rigidly standing figure, “that this thing is for real.”

But Dartani was not listening to his driver. He was already climbing aboard the second of the two wagons. Once inside, he crawled over the mannikin of the werewolf, pushed aside the dummy of his voluptuous victim, and rummaged through various other gruesome paraphernalia until his fingers touched an exhibit that had been dismantled and stuffed in a corner.

Gort walked up to the wagon and said, “What are you looking for, boss?”

“I’ve already found it,” replied Dartani, touching the wooden pieces of the device, and then its sharp-edged blade. He looked back at his servant who was peering inside the wagon. “Remember when I said that we would wait to kill Krag, wait to give him a special, painful death, one that will not reflect upon us?”

“I remember.”

“Well, now there is no longer any reason to wait. Krag’s death will be truly in the style of poetic justice. It will be through one of the very instruments he refused to let me exhibit in his town. And the reason for his refusal, the Frankenstein monster himself, will be the very one to wield that instrument of death!”

Dartani turned his ancient body. In his hand was something so heavy that he could barely carry it. But even in the darkness of the wagon, the terrible object could be identified.

Gort, who had taken more lives than he could remember, felt a cold thrill ascend his spine as the moonlight flashed off the blade of a disassembled guillotine. Instinctively he brought his hand to his neck.

“Here, take this,” said Dartani, struggling to hand the blade over to his servant. “It was not meant to be used by hand, but given someone with suitable strength, it will serve its purpose.”

Gort accepted the blade, being careful not to cut himself on its razorlike edge. The blade was heavy, even for one of his own physical prowess. In the hands of someone considerably stronger...

He turned around to look at the Frankenstein monster, who was still standing like a grim sentinel awaiting his commands.

CHAPTER XII:

Horror Stalks The Streets

Burt Winslow was sitting forlornly at a long wooden table in the laboratory at Castle Frankenstein. His fingers were unconsciously playing with the pair of goggles he had worn during the experiment. His other hand wandered aimlessly through his thick brown hair, mussing it.

Behind him, Lynn Powell was standing. She gently rested her hand on his shoulder and squeezed affectionately. Then she moved close to him, pressing her body tightly against him. But he hardly seemed to notice.

“If only I could have made it understand,” Winslow rationalized, “that I was giving it a new life.”

“I think he did understand,” she replied, leaning close to him so that her long hair fell against his cheek.

The scientist looked up at her, for once ready to listen.

“I have a feeling that’s why he came after you, Burt. I don’t think he particularly wanted to be brought back as a misfit in an uncaring world. Remember, he’s already been through that once before.”

“If that’s the case,” said Winslow, “then it should have hated me enough to kill me. But it didn’t. It could have, by God, but it chose to release me. Unless…” He turned around on the table bench, looking up at the woman he loved and placing his hands on her firm hips.

She smiled.

“You think he didn’t kill you because I asked him not to?”

“After all, you were the one who shut off the machines.”

“I know,” she returned. “But I think he had another reason for letting you go free. If he killed you, that might’ve been too fast, too easy. But I think the Monster is smarter, more devious than that. I believe he wanted you to live.”

Winslow was finally beginning to understand, and the ghastly grin he remembered seeing on the giant’s face was at last starting to make some sense.

“God help me,” he said, lowering his head against Lynn’s chest.

“I know this sounds terrible, but I think he wants you to suffer, Burt, for bringing him back. I think that now that he’s alive again, he plans to stay that way. And whatever he must do to keep alive, whatever atrocities he’ll have to commit –”

“Will be on my conscience!” He drew her toward him, guiding her to sit on his lap, cuddling her like a baby in need of love and understanding, though it was really he who felt helpless at the moment.

She snuggled up closer to him, kissing his cheek, as he rested a hand on her leg.

Winslow shook his head. “If only it could have spoken to me, told me how it felt. But it appears mute. Possibly the years stuck in that ice caused damage to its vocal cords.”

She stroked his head.

“Oh, Lynn. Everyone around here tried to warn me. Even you tried, darling. But I was too stubborn, too self-centered to listen. Too obsessed! I thought I was doing something noble, performing an experiment that would prove something important to the world. What I did prove was that a mad scientist doesn’t have to be an old codger with frizzy white hair and a hunchbacked assistant. Oh, Lynn, I’ve repeated Frankenstein’s mistake.”

A terrible image suddenly flashed before Winslow’s mind and it involved the woman now in his embrace.

“Lynn, you’ve got to get away from here immediately. Away from Ingolstadt, as far as you can go!”

“Leave you?”

“Yes, before another minute passes. Get in the Volkswagen. Drive as fast as you can to the railroad station.”

“But – “ she started, standing as she spoke. “Somehow I don’t believe the Monster would hurt me.”

“It’s not necessarily the Monster that makes me fear for you,” he explained, rising to his feet and holding her shoulders, “but the villagers. They were on the verge of becoming a mob when I first stepped off that train. Think what will happen now once they learn that all their suspicions about me are true.”

“No, Burt, I –"

“Sooner or later, someone’s going to see the Monster. And when that happens, there’ll be mass hysteria, and they’ll be after us. I don’t want you to be around here when it happens. Lynn, you’ve got to do this for me. You’ve got to get away from here!”

“And you?” asked the woman.

“Obviously, I’m staying,” he said. “I brought the Monster back and I am about to assume my responsibility toward it — to its capture and destruction.”

Lynn shook her head. “Nothing you say will make me leave you now, Burt. I also happen to be your assistant, right? So I’m staying by your side — until this whole mess is straightened out.”

“I guess, deep down inside, I wanted to hear you say that,” Winslow said. “But I’d still prefer your leaving.”

“You used to say I was the best assistant you ever had. I intend to keep that distinction, and also prove to be your most loyal one.”

“You know that it’s up to me to destroy the beast,” he said.

“But how?” she inquired, puzzled. “You’ve told me many times that the Monster is immortal, that he can’t be killed.”

He turned toward the table, his hands searching through the collection of medical instruments scattered haphazardly upon the white cloth covering it. “I didn’t say kill, I said destroy. There’s a difference. And this will be my weapon.”

The scientist lifted before his eyes the surgical scalpel that flashed in the laboratory’s artificial light.

“Remember,” he continued, “Victor Frankenstein created the Monster surgically, putting it together organ by organ, bit by bit. Now, if I can somehow capture the Monster before it kills anyone or creates too much damage and bring it back here to the laboratory, I should be able to knock it out cold with that gas, then reverse Frankenstein’s procedure and rid the world of that horror forever.”

“Reverse?” The realization of what Winslow meant made Lynn wince.

“That’s what I said.” Winslow squeezed the scalpel until the sweat in his fingers made it slide about in his grip. “The only way to really destroy the Monster is through dissection… taking it apart piece by piece.”

* * *

Mayor Krag’s bed was probably the most comfortable bed in all of Ingolstadt, which was why he was able to fall back asleep after his earlier incident in the street. He tossed over several times in his bed, hiding himself beneath the bed covers, hoping that the pounding at his door was merely part of his dream. Anything in that nightmare would have been more welcome than the shadowy faced giant that had invaded his slumber, snarling at him through a whirling red sea of blood.

But the pounding was not part of a nightmare.

Krag’s eyelids fluttered open. He rubbed the dried particles of sleep from his eyes, then sat up. With a dissatisfied look, he turned toward the door which was shaking from the rhythmic rapping.

“Who is it?” he grumbled. “Don’t you know what time it is? Go away!”

The plea was not honored. The knocking became even louder. A voice called out from behind the door. “Krag, open up! Quickly! It’s me!”

“All right, I’m coming, the Mayor complained, still not knowing the identity of the man behind the door. “All right, damn it all! You don’t have to shake the house apart with your damned knocking!”

Wishing he could be back asleep, even with the nightmares, Mayor Krag stood up on his tired feet, lit the oil lamp on his chest of drawers, wrapped his robe about him, then slid into his slippers, grumbling, “Who in his fool mind would be up at this time of night and have the gall to wake up the town mayor?” He shuffled his way to the door as rapidly as his weary overweight body would permit. “Oh, I’m coming! Now stop knocking, will you?”

Quickly the Mayor made his way to the front door of his house and unlocked it. He was eager to identify and possibly arrest the intruder for disturbing his peace. Opening the door he saw his old friend Heinrich Franz. But this was not the same brave and often time foolhardy Heinrich he had known for so many years. Rather there was a strained look about him that seemed to distort his features. His eyes were wild, red, and there were uncharacteristic wet streams running from them.

“Heinrich!” Krag gasped.

“Thank the Lord in heaven that you are here!” exclaimed Franz, grabbing him by the robe sleeves.

“What’s happened to you, my friend? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“If only I had,” said Franz, his voice cracking. “But it was no mere fleshless phantom that I saw.” His breathing became heavier as he continued. “It’s alive and I saw it! Alive!”

Krag was already beginning to comprehend. “What? Do you mean...?”

Franz lowered and raised his head, a look of terror paling his face. “I saw it! The Monster! The Frankenstein monster!”

“But how can you be sure it was the Monster? None of us has ever seen it. All there have been are the legends, the stories passed down through generations.”

“It was the Monster, all right. A giant, he was, almost ten feet high... with skin like a deadman’s, all stitched together.”

“Where?” asked Krag, believing now what he was hearing.

“In the woods. Near the old Frankenstein place. Braun and Ulrich were here with me. The demon killed both of them like they were ants. Oh, it was the most terrible thing I have ever witnessed!”

He covered his eyes, sobbing as he recalled the egregious incident.

“I…" he cried, “managed to get away before the Monster could reach me. But he’ll find me – find all of us! We’ve got to protect ourselves. Get him first!”

“And how do you propose to do that?” asked the Mayor. “It is dark and—”

“Damn the darkness!” said the villager, looking up at Krag with a scowl of hatred on his face. “We have torches, don’t we, and according to the old legends, the demon fears fire! We’ve got to organize the townspeople, light torches, and hunt the Monster down like an animal! Destroy it! Burn it to ashes before it can kill anyone else!”

Krag could smell the beer on his friend’s breath, but knew what he had seen was not the result of over-indulging.

“I’ll call the police,” promised Krag. “We’ll comb the countryside for the Monster. Where did you last see it?”

“Near the moat in front of Castle Frankenstein. He’d been walking away from the castle and in the direction of the town. He’s probably headed this way at this very moment.” Franz appeared to be on the verge of collapse.

The Mayor placed a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Go home, Heinrich. You’ll be no good to any of us in the state you’re in now. You’ve been through too much. Calm down, rest, try to sleep. Then, when you’re back to your usual robust self, you may join us in the chase.”

“I’d like to go, but –” he said, shivering. “Y-yes, perhaps you are right.”

Heinrich Franz left the house and Krag bolted the door shut behind him. From the window, the Mayor watched the man hurry down the street and how he seemed to be avoiding every shadow that he encountered. Krag could not blame him.

Then the Mayor turned to the telephone. Once his call was made, the gendarmes would be out in full force, seeking out the Monster from their horses. But before the town official could put through his call, the pounding began anew, this time at his back door. Perhaps there was another sighting of the Monster to report, he thought, setting down the telephone receiver.

“Who is it this time?” he complained, sauntering toward the back door.

There was no verbal answer save for something that vaguely reminded Krag of the low growl of an angry dog. Of one thing he was certain, however. The person knocking at his door was physically stronger than Heinrich, for the door shook, almost buckling, with every impact of that unseen fist.

“Who is there?” asked Krag with a distinct flutter in his voice.

The light thrown into the room by a streetlamp outside revealed that the door was literally shaking on its hinges.

Krag could feel the river of perspiration chill his brow. His heart thundered in his breast as he saw a white crack splinter toward him, flying off the wooden barricade. There was but one being the Mayor could presently think of with such inhuman strength.

The Mayor stepped back, his round face suddenly appearing long, his eyes registering the terror now felt in his soul. As he slowly moved, another great jagged piece of wood flew through the air. Following it through the door and into the sanctity of his house was a yellow fist, formed from an enormous hand that seemed to be stitched to a yellow arm.

A moment later the entire door flew from its hinges and fell to the floor.

The intruder was a huge and monstrous silhouette in Krag’s open doorway —an awesome giant clad in black with a face worse than any that Krag had heard in the old legends or experienced in his worse nightmares. There was a glassiness in the figure’s hooded eyes and a low, sepulchral snarl issuing from its partially open mouth.

“The Frankenstein monster!” roared Krag.

But it was not merely the creature’s size and appearance that brought an icy feeling to Krag’s limbs, but also the thing in the giant’s other hand, that metallic object that flashed in his eyes from the streetlamp light.

“Oh, my God!”

With a fearful attempt at escape, Krag ran into the bedroom, the Monster advancing with enormous strides that covered the same distance in seconds. The creature’s huge hands smashed aside everything that happened to stand in his way. His movements were mechanical, as if they were guided by someone else.

Reaching his bureau, Krag flung open one of the drawers, the oil lamp shimmering as he rummaged through the stack of shirts to find the luger he always kept loaded and ready for burglars. He spun around, the weight of the pistol giving him a momentary sense of security, as the towering horror lumbered toward him.

Without thinking, Krag fired the gun into the Monster’s barrel chest, the bullets tearing through the black turtleneck sweater. For a second or two, the brute stood there, staring down at the smoking bullet holes. Then a snarl came to his face, obviously resulting from the pain caused by those wounds. But the creature seemed not to be otherwise affected by Krag’s bullets. Infuriated, the Monster lunged for Krag with his free hand, the shiny weapon in his other hand reflecting the light of the oil lamp.

Krag continued to fire until the gun was empty.

“You’re .. . not dead!” he exclaimed as the empty hand of the Monster caught him by the hair, trapping him where he stood, preventing him from taking another step. He saw the Monster’s other hand rise ominously into the air and could see in full view the heavy weapon in his hand. Krag had seen such a blade before, but only in pictures, and recognized its peculiarly angled edge that supposedly ensured a swift and nearly painless death.