The Hammer Horror Omnibus (21 page)

When Paul brought a dozen villagers to the house that night with the story of a dangerous monster being loose, it was to find no monster. And foolishly, in my desire to suppress any further investigations and any possible scandal, I denounced him as an agitator and trouble-maker. There had been no monster such as he described. I was Baron Frankenstein, and I was shocked that my own villagers should have been seduced by this man’s glib inventions. I ordered them to go home and ordered Paul to leave the district before I instituted proceedings against him.

He left the district—and took Elizabeth with him.

I have said that I acted foolishly in so firmly denying the existence of the creature. For a week later some interfering shepherd, who had no business to be on that part of my land in the first place, noticed a peculiar conformation of recently turned earth in the woods, and began to dig into it. Why it should have occurred to him to do so I cannot say: it was but the last in a long series of ironical blows dealt me by fate.

In the grave which he exposed was the mutilated corpse of Justine.

They would not believe that I was innocent of her death. When I told them how the monster of my creation had torn her apart, they shrank away from me and reminded me that I had scorned the notion of any such monster. I tried to explain, but they would not listen. In their eyes
I
was the monster. Justine had been expecting a child, and I had murdered her. The more I cried that it was a terrible accident for which I was not responsible, the more their detestation of me hardened.

I sent out a plea for Paul Krempe to come forward and testify. He did not appear. I implored eminent scientists to inspect the apparatus in my laboratory while I explained how it could be used to create life. I offered to demonstrate the whole sequence of experiments to them. Grimly they said I would not be allowed that much time in this world. And on all sides I was accused not merely of murder but of blasphemy.

The priest to whom I have told the story cannot make up his mind whether I am mad or wicked. He has listened, but none of it means anything to him. He will intercede on my behalf with nobody—and if he did, it would be of little use, for who would make any sense out of his meanderings?

Late today came the worst moment of all. A last hope flickered and began to burn . . . but I should have known that my trust in old friendships was a vain one.

Paul Krempe came to see me. At last he deigned to show himself. The pathetic little dwarf who is my gaoler, and whom I truly think regards me with respect and a strange affection, showed him in with a flourish. I fancied I detected in the dwarf’s sad little eyes the hope that my wishes would be granted and that here at last would be a reprieve.

A great weight was lifted from my heart. Paul, after all, was not going to fail me. He would tell all that he knew. The truth would come out. The rest of the world would have to accept that Justine had been killed not by me but by a creature which, admittedly, I had constructed, but for whose wayward savageries I could hardly be held responsible. Paul knew. His conscience could surely not permit him to remain silent any longer. He must have been trying to hold out, to let me be executed so that Elizabeth would be his; but now he had seen where his duty lay.

I sent for the priest so that he could be a witness to all that was said.

“I knew Paul wouldn’t fail me,” I said. “He will verify everything I’ve already told you.”

The priest blinked. He gave every sign of being frightened of learning that what I had said was true. Better, in his eyes, that I should be executed than that these unpalatable facts should be firmly established.

Paul was shown in by the dwarf. I put out my hand, longing to clasp his in mine. But Paul stood sternly aloof.

He said: “I have come with a message from Elizabeth.”

“She will speak, too?” I said eagerly.

“She wishes you to know that she forgives you and that she will pray for you. I have implored her not to think of the past, but she would not rest content until I promised that I would speak to you before the end.”

“Tell them, Paul. Tell the priest here—and later we will make a declaration to the authorities.”

“Tell them what?”

He was being wilfully obtuse. “About the creature I made,” I said as patiently as possible. Patience was not easy with the shadow of the scaffold darkening over me. “Paul, you were the only person ever to see him alive. Elizabeth caught only a glimpse, but you
know.
You and Justine . . . Justine must have seen him, but she can’t help me now, can she?”

“Justine,” he said thoughtfully; “the girl you murdered.”

It was like a knife in my bowels. I said: “But I didn’t. You must realize that. He was the one. He . . . it . . .”

“Who, Victor?” Paul’s steely calmness brought fear welling up in me again.

“The creature.” I was trying to maintain my dignity, trying not to shout at him. “The creature we made together. Don’t keep up the pretence any longer. You’ve got to tell the truth now.”

Paul glanced at the priest and slowly shook his head. As though this had been a signal he was expecting, the priest left the cell.

I clutched Paul’s jacket. “You must tell them! You know what’s going to happen to me. Only you can save me. You must tell them. I’ll make you speak. I’ll make you . . .”

We fought in the confined space of the cell. It lasted only a few seconds. The guards rushed in and dragged me off him. Paul dusted himself off and gave the guards the same false, regretful look he had given the priest.

This was the only time during these degrading proceedings that I broke down. I began to scream.

“You must tell them, Paul. You’ve got to save me. You can’t let them . . . can’t let me . . . Paul, I’ll promise not to carry out any further experiments, but
tell
them. Tell them now!”

They held me back as he went out of the cell with his head hypocritically bowed.

The priest was waiting outside.

Paul said: “There’s nothing we can do for him now.”

And he left, doubtless to insinuate himself even further into Elizabeth’s graces.

I sobbed helplessly. I am ashamed of myself for showing such weakness, but this final betrayal robbed me temporarily of all self-control.

Now I am myself again. They shall not see me flinch. And even at this eleventh hour I feel that somehow there must be an answer. There cannot be such injustice in the world. I am Baron Frankenstein, and I cannot believe that I shall die. I cannot believe that I shall ever die. I who have created life—how can they presume to take life from me?

There must somehow be a way to cheat death.

The Revenge of Frankenstein

1

O
n the morning of my execution I was asked if I had any last statement to make. I replied only that I was innocent of the crime for which I had been sentenced to death. Then I was led by two guards to the yard where the scaffold stood grim and bare in the cold morning light.

One of my guards was a huge ox of a man. The other was a twisted little creature named Werner, a dwarf who was stronger than he looked, but whose strength could not compensate him for the wretchedness of his warped body.

They offered to bind my eyes, but I refused. I was calm. I wanted to see what was happening. When the priest met me at the exit into the yard of death and began to advise repentance, as he had been doing for some considerable time now, I politely rejected his advances.

We walked slowly towards the scaffold. Within the prison I heard the mournful howling that prisoners invariably set up on such occasions. Nobody looked down on the scene, however: that was forbidden. At least in this enlightened country of mine I was, thanks to what little influence I had left—mainly financial, I may add—not to be made a public spectacle.

I glanced down at Werner. He gave me a quick grin. I trusted this meant that all was well.

The dwarf was my last hope. In the middle of the night, sleepless and fretful because there was so much to be done with my talents and so little chance that I would ever be able to do it, I had turned to the dwarf and made a bargain with him. He had always been half inclined to believe my story of a living creature which I had made, and now I set out to convince him of the skills which I had learned during my experiments. If he saved me from the scaffold, I promised to give him a new body. He was very ready to listen to an offer of this kind. His objections were easily overcome. He wanted to believe that I was telling the truth and that I could do what I said. If I was to escape from death and from this prison there would be risks to run—but when the prize was a fine new body, Werner was willing to take such risks.

I had to leave the details to him. He would not or could not tell me how he planned to accomplish the escape. But that sidelong grin was reassuring.

Unless it was all a ghastly joke . . . I saw myself mounting the scaffold and dying while they laughed at me, laughed at my gullibility in believing that I would be snatched from the jaws of destruction.

Our little cortège stopped at the foot of the steps leading up to the scaffold. The executioner looked down at me appraisingly and then at the priest. The priest began to intone. The dwarf glanced at his massive companion and jerked his head to indicate that the man should go back into the building. They exchanged a knowing wink. I foresaw that this was going to cost me whatever money I could lay my hands on; but I had no intention of complaining or of haggling over terms.

The priest finished. The words he had been offering up to heaven on my behalf were the last he ever uttered. The dwarf leapt suddenly upon him and in a trice had pinioned his arms behind his back. The executioner sprang down from his platform and, while I stood spellbound, the two of them hurried the priest up the steps.

It was all over in a matter of seconds. The rest of the plan was carried out with admirable speed. My little friend Werner might have an inadequate body, but he had a nimble brain. Before the morning was well advanced I found myself a free man in the streets of the city. The dead priest would be buried as Baron Frankenstein and there was no reason why any suspicion should ever arise. I drew in several deep breaths to convince myself that I was indeed alive and my own master again. A heady sense of freedom intoxicated me. Not merely had I put the prison walls behind me: I had shed my old self and carried none of the burden of old mistakes and old hatreds. It was true that I could not touch my riches—but my true wealth had always been in my mind and my creative fingers. I would choose a new name, a new home, and a new future.

I found rooms above a tavern and sent down for a hearty meal and a flagon of rich red wine. After eating and drinking my fill I felt at ease with the world. It had treated me badly, but now I was in a position to fling down a fresh challenge. The revenge I sought was not a vindictive one. All I asked was the admission of the so-called experts in my scientific field that I had been right, that I had gone far beyond them, that Frankenstein had been wronged by his detractors. I would make them bow to me. I would show them up as the doubting fools they were.

Perhaps it would never be possible to claim my full recompense. Having once shed my identity I could not safely resume it. Too many ugly rumors had festered in the valley below my home. But whatever name I might adopt, I would somehow, some day ensure that the credit for those early researches went to the distinguished predecessor who was in fact myself. Whatever triumphs I might achieve, the pioneering successes of Frankenstein should not be kept from the pages of history.

It would take time to build up the necessary finances for further research. As an unknown I would not have access to fully equipped laboratories or to scientific conclaves where new theories were discussed. Working entirely alone, I must somehow find a way of acquiring apparatus and the basic essentials for creation.

I could undoubtedly obtain employment as a doctor. If I chose the right place and built up confidence in me, I could stealthily carry on my own operations under cover of my profession. A slow process—but a practical one.

The noise from the tavern grew clamorous by the middle of the evening. I would have quit the premises and sought a quieter place in which to think out my plans without interruption, but I considered it wiser to lie low for a time. The Frankenstein face was not unknown in this city, and I did not want it to be recognized so soon after my execution!

When I had established myself, I would search once more for cadavers in good preservation so that I could begin painstaking reconstructions once more. First of all I had a promise to fulfil. I had guaranteed that Werner should have a handsome, healthy body, and I intended to see that he was not cheated.

Werner was to call on me this evening. He had remained on duty at the prison to ensure that there was no hitch in the disposal of the priest’s corpse, and he was to report to me when everything was settled. Then we would make plans for our next meeting.

There was a gust of bawdy laughter from the tavern. I longed for peace and solitude, but forced myself to reflect that the boisterous noise of life was preferable to the stillness and solitude of the prison cell or, even worse, the grave.

A light tap on my door was almost drowned by the noise. I waited, and the sound came again, louder this time.

I opened the door to reveal the dwarf, hopping impatiently from one foot to the other. When I let him in and offered him a chair he could scarcely stay still. Intelligent as he was, he naïvely hoped that I could somehow achieve a miracle at this very moment. I had to calm him down and explain that the transformation would take a long time. Even when we had started the actual work, the process would be long and painful; and until I was securely established again, with time and money and materials to spare, we could not even start.

His pathetic clown’s face twisted woefully. I feared for an instant that he was about to threaten me or accuse me of going back on my bargain. But he was too anxious for that—too anxious to be made hale and magnificent. If he had to be patient, he would be patient.