Frankenstein Lives Again (The New Adventures of Frankenstein) (16 page)

“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 the 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.”

“You gave him your word,” said a man seated at Franz’ table. “You must stick to that.”

“Bah!” said Franz in anger, slamming his fist on the table. “What good is an honest man’s word to a murderer? In twenty-four hours, the Monster might slaughter any number of us. I say we forget our promise and go after the demon ourselves. Besides, the twenty-four hours will be up shortly anyway.”

To the bartender, Franz shouted, “Another whiskey!”

The crowd was gradually shifting toward Franz’ opinion on the subject and were grumbling in agreement with him.

“But Winslow said that he was the only one who could destroy the demon,” said the bartender as he served Franz the drink.

Quaffing the whiskey down in a single gulp, Franz replied, “Winslow does little more than talk. We don’t need his chemicals and scalpels to destroy the creature. We have torches, don’t we? Fire can kill anything, even Frankenstein’s monster.”

“Perhaps it is the whiskey talking and not you, Heinrich,” said the bartender, still standing by the table. “You know what Mayor Krag and the police have said about starting riots.”

“Bah! also on the police,” said Franz. “If we wait for them to take any action, we’ll be thanking them for their efforts from our graves. It’s because of Krag, to avenge his death especially, that we must act ourselves. Now here’s my plan. Half of us go off in search of the Monster, taking along torches and rifles, whatever other weapons we can gather. The other half goes to the castle and takes along some dynamite! We must blow up that evil place before Winslow or some other would-be Frankenstein creates another monster in that damned laboratory!”

The crowd shouted their agreement and disagreement.

“Heinrich is right!” a voice cut through the cacophony of voices.

“No!” yelled another man. “Let us wait! At least for a while longer, until the time limit is up. We gave our word –”

“Word?” came another shout. “Promises are worthless when made to Satan!”

The Red Galley Inn was a riotous mixture of conflicting opinions, though most of the discernible voices seemed to be on Franz’ side.

Just then two men burst into the congested inn, their faces twisted with fear. “Heinrich!” one of them shouted.

“Yes,” replied Franz, waving the crowd to a hush, “what is it?”

Johann blurted out his message. “We have just returned from the woods near the castle grounds. We were standing in the clearing near the river that connects with the moat. And we saw — “ His words seemed stuck in his throat.

“Yes?” demanded Franz, rising from the table and pushing his way through the crowd to get to the two men. “The Monster?”

“Not exactly,” said Johann. “But we saw something else… those two horror show wagons that saved the Monster last night. They are waiting, with no sign of the Monster, that Professor or his driver, outside the castle.”

“Did you hear that?” Heinrich Franz addressed the crowd, a wild blaze in his eyes. “The wagons! That means that the Monster has returned to its birthplace and that Winslow has probably made some pact with Dartani! Now nothing will stop us, not even the gendarmes!”

Again the group roared, this time in total agreement.

“Get your torches lit and load your guns!” exclaimed Franz, slamming hard his empty whiskey glass on the table to make certain all eyes went to him. “We’re going out and destroy that horror, Winslow or no Winslow!”

The crowd was a pack of barking animals. They moved and shoved their way through the thick clouds of smoke and pushed out into the dark street. Most of their words were indistinguishable, though many of them could be heard shouting their war cry into the night:

“To Castle Frankenstein!”

* * *

The rain had subsided, but only temporarily. A slight trickle of water splashed against Burt Winslow’s bruised face as he lay beneath the debris that had been a barn. He opened his eyes and saw that night had come. He could see that the sky was still cloudy and knew that the storm would probably soon resume its ferocity.

His wounded shoulder was becoming numb. But there were other pains racking his body. His head ached terribly and movement was almost impossible.

The muddy ground was flush against his face. Wooden planks surrounded him on every side and he was virtually pinned to the earth by the sections of roof that pressed upon his back. Miraculously he had not been crushed to death by the collapsing barn. He felt as though he were trapped inside a coffin, wooden boards flanking him on both sides and above.

Winslow thought again of Dartani and the unknown plan that involved the Monster. And he thought of Lynn alone at Castle Frankenstein.

With great determination, Winslow pushed himself forward, managing to crawl through the slime, his fingers digging deeply into the mud. He was sliding along, motivated by his own worries. At last he pulled himself out from under the weight of the debris and found breathing suddenly easier.

Standing erect, he stretched his limbs, then saw the bloodied human hand protruding lifelessly from the ruins.

Gort! he thought. The brute’s large frame must have taken most of the impact and, ironically, shielded him from an otherwise crushing death.

Thunder and lightning roared overhead. Instantly Winslow thought of the creature that had first come alive in such a storm. He staggered to the spot where the wagons had been, noticing that the trail left by the wheels was still visible. If only he could follow them before they were washed away by the coming storm.

Winslow gasped. He saw the direction that the tracks led, noted which way the road the tracks intersected with led. He knew that somewhere in the distance, unless Dartani’s wagons veered off to one of the connecting trails, waited a hill atop which was perched Castle Frankenstein.

“Lynn!” he exclaimed, running toward his Volkswagen while another crack of lightning illuminated the sky.

Frantically he rushed inside the car, started the ignition, threw the vehicle into gear and sped along the muddy road. He heard another deafening clap of thunder and prayed that the wagon tracks would lead him someplace other than where he suspected. But deep in his soul, he knew that they would not.

* * *

There seemed nowhere that Lynn could run. She was still fighting off the last vestiges of Dartani’s power, but all avenues of escape seemed blocked to her. Running past Dartani might return her to his full control. If she reached the front door, the Monster, in response to his master’s command, could easily stop her. The bedroom and its door lock might provide her with a brief respite, until the Monster tore down the door with his brute strength. Then she would be faced with leaping to the moat outside the bedroom window or surrendering.

There was also the option to fight Dartani, but there was always that threat of his mesmeric eyes. Lynn opted for an impulse and began to rush up the staircase, tearing free of his clutch in a single burst of energy, taking two or more steps at a time.

“No –!” commanded Dartani. “Look at me!
My eyes
.’”

Even though not looking back, the little control that Dartani still had over her could be felt. An unseen hand seemed to be guiding the woman, turning her head in the old man’s direction. But she struggled to look ahead.

He took two slow steps up the stairs, his hands shakily reaching out ahead of him.

Lynn heard a roar of thunder, followed by what almost sounded to her like an automobile engine.

“
My eyes
.’” the Professor repeated, more forceful this time.

As she reached the top of the stairs, she felt the full force of his command, and unwillingly fell to his power. She turned to face him, her hands falling away from her tattered shirt, her breasts spilling out to his delight. He took yet another step, the grin on his mummylike face revealing his triumph. “You thought you could get away from Dartani,” he said. “But no one gets free from me!”

Then she made one last effort to gain freedom from his will. Though it was not in her character, she forced herself to scream, hoping that the cry of desperation would have the effect she desired.

She had not expected her scream to alert the man now dashing across the castle courtyard and toward the building.

Winslow, catching a glimpse of the torchlights showing through the trees, felt sick. He knew what the circus wagons parked outside meant and hoped that he had arrived in time. The scream originated in the laboratory, which is where Winslow immediately ran. His heart sinking, Winslow stopped to see the figure of Dartani ascending the stairs, his prize standing half-naked at the top of the steps, apparently unable to move.

“Lynn!” shouted Winslow.

Hearing Winslow’s voice, Dartani, who was almost upon the woman, paused. “You!” he hissed. “You should be dead by now! Then if you are here and Gort is not…”

His green eyes burned toward the Frankenstein monster and it was only now, his attention completely on Lynn, that Winslow noticed him. “You!” Dartani commanded. “Kill the intruder! And this time do not fail me!”