"At the Frankenstein Deathbed" - October 24, 2024
A visit to an isolated cottage in the European woods offers an insight into one of the most notorious scientific figures of the 1800s...
Every Thursday, Silver Gecko Publishing highlights one of my stories, either a work of short fiction, a novel, or an audiobook. This week’s selection is the short story “At the Frankenstein Deathbed”
This story comes from my horror anthology 13 TURNS. As the title suggests, this is inspired by Mary Shelley’s brilliant novel FRANKENSTEIN: OR, THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. I read the book in college, and I thought it was a mixture of beautiful and elegant prose along with existential horror.
FRANKENSTEIN found its way into many stories I’ve written over the years, and almost always it has been inspired by the novel. For a fun Halloween treat, I present the full story here… no need to chase down the rest of the book to finish it.
Still, if you like this story, check out the other dozen I have in 13 TURNS on Kindle and in paperback.
-Kevin Carr
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Illustration by GregorQuendel (@gregorquendel-19912121) from Pixabay
“At the Frankenstein Deathbed” by Kevin Carr
I am a man of God. I have been trained to deal with souls that belong to God. Yet during the harsh winter of 1856, I found myself in a situation that I have never been trained for.
My name is Father Henri Bauer. I serve in a diocese that covers the city of Ingolstadt. On assignment, I had been requested to oversee the death of the son of a forgotten syndic in Geneva, Switzerland. The journey before me stretched across the European countryside, spanning two countries and two languages. The family requested a holy man from the city of Ingolstadt, and I was the one who was most fluent in French. So, the diocese sent me.
It took many days on horseback to traverse the Prussian land, and then the German-speaking land of northeastern Switzerland. I thought I would make it to the syndic’s estate with mild weather always at my back.
I was wrong.
The blizzard hit just as I was approaching the northeast inlet of Lake Geneva. Snow seemed to dump from the stars, kicked along with wind that would make the Devil blush green with envy.
Neither a town nor a village lay in sight. Alone, I aimed my steed into the landscape as the blanket of ice-air engulfed me. I only managed to push my steed into the shelter of the forest before the massive animal began to shudder beneath my saddle.
Dear God, I prayed. Let me survive, if only to fulfill my duty in Geneva!
The horse expelled air from his nose like a thunder blast. It bucked and coughed. With a flailing descent, the beast’s legs buckled.
I scrambled to loose myself from the saddle. With minimal success, I saved my entire leg from being crushed under the great weight of the beast, but I was unable to totally free my foot.
If felt like the bulk of my dying steed practically pulverized the bones underneath my thick boot. Numbness seized control of my body, so I barely felt the pain. However, my heart filled with anguish as I sank into the bedspread of white beneath me.
Surely this must be my time, I thought.
The white firmament above dimmed in my sight as consciousness fled me like a bandit.
• • •
I felt warmth an indeterminate amount of time later. When my nostrils registered the crackling smell of a fire, I realized I had not passed on. Slowly, I cracked my eyes to a dim room that blinded my sensitive nerves.
“How long have I been out?” I murmured breathy through a cracked and dry throat.
“Six days,” a gravelly, crusty voice from the far wall said in French.
I attempted a feeble try at sitting up to look in the direction of the voice, but I found that pain washed over my body quickly and yanked me back to the bed in which I reclined.
“Please, do not try to move too much,” the voice said. “You are wounded, and you need rest.”
“What happened?” I asked in French.
“I heard your horse’s death from here on the front of the storm. We are just a few meters from where you and your steed fell. I came out to find you still alive, but with an injured ankle. The bone had not been broken, but it will be tender for the next few weeks. That was not the worst of the situation, however. A fever held you for the first four days. It almost took you away. But it broke, and now you are awake.”
“Who are you?” I asked.
The figure in the shadows paused. Then, it said, “I have no name given by my father. My friend, Felix, called me Solomon when he lived here. He said my strength was given to me by God. I never told him how wrong he was.”
“Let me see you, Solomon,” I said. “Step into the light. I want to see the countenance of the man who saved my life.”
“I do not suggest that you view me,” Solomon said. “you are too weak. My features are so hideous, I fear that you may not survive.”
“Nonsense!” I scolded. “I am a man of God. I look beneath appearances. Surely you cannot be worse than the lepers my Lord ever faced.”
Solomon paused in contemplation. Then, he spoke:
“Just shut you eyes,” he said as his bulk began to move from the shadows. “If I am too much to behold, just shut your eyes.”
He approached.
I felt the natural, raw fear in my gut gurgle and seethe. Primal rage brewed in my mind. Terror gripped my heart like iron weeds around the life-giving fruit trees. The sight before me could not possibly be human!
Although I fought against the urge, I shut my eyes.
Solomon returned to the shadows without a sound.
• • •
The next few days, little was said between me and the giant. I thought I knew who this monster was. I had heard the great legend of this damnable being. But could this really be the monster? Was this truly the creature that had singly brought down House Frankenstein?
On my third day of consciousness, the creature spoke to me again.
“I have not had much contact here,” he said. “Only the old man and his kin – dear Felix, Agatha, and Safie – were with me in the beginning. But now they are either dead or gone.”
“Come into the light,” I said. “Remove the cloth you hold over your face. I am now prepared to gaze upon you.”
Solomon was hesitant. But soon, he relented. With a sweeping movement, he pulled off the crude veil and stepped into the sunbeam cutting across the cabin.
My heart pounded, and my fear surged. But I forced myself to look. I would not allow my eyes to draw away this time.
After the first few seconds of initial shock and terror, my eyes began to delve deeper than the physical horror. A troubled soul began to emerge. It was Solomon’s eyes that drew my primary sympathy. They were human eyes. Although each came from separate bodies, they radiated feeling and warmth.
“I know who you are,” I said.
“That,” Solomon said, “does not surprise me.”
He moved across to the fireplace where a fat kettle of broth simmered. Ladling about a half-liter into a bowl, Solomon then returned to my bedside, no longer concerned to cover his appearance.
“Years ago,” he began, “a young girl was lost in these woods. She stumbled upon this cabin while my companions were away. Why is it that the innocence of a child allows them to see without fear? She did not fear me. In fact, she pitied me!
“I told her my story. I told her of my father’s blasphemous act to create me. I told her of the anguish I felt from the rejection I had received in my birthland. Never once did she look away. In the end, she even shed tears over my life.
“As she left, this frail young girl, she vowed to bring out my story. I never once expected her to succeed.”
I struggled to sit up, my muscles screaming.
“But Solomon,” I said, “the story she told was not true. You are not the one she told of in the book.”
“I know the story is different,” he replied. Then, he reached to a bookshelf at the far end of the room and removed a leather-bound edition. “I have read her tale. Hers is a story of what could have been. If Felix had attacked me while I spoke with his old, blind father, I would have been driven from this home. If everything I loved came crashing down on me, as new as my being was at the time, I definitely would have been thrown into a rage.
“The book is not my whole story, but a story of my father. It is a book of his sins. It is a warning for others who walk the razor’s edge when they steal from the gods.”
I looked upon the gentle beast, and my heart broke.
“Come with me,” I said. “Come with me and set the story right. Show everyone that you are not a monster. Come with me, and I will help you.”
Solomon sighed and lowered himself onto his legs on the floor.
“I cannot,” he said. “I am happy here. I am peaceful here. I do not want to leave. I never want to face the myths about me. I do not want to risk becoming what has been written.”
Solomon rose and left the room. I was alone with a cooling bowl of broth. As I began to feed myself, I heard the creature’s shuddering sobs come through the walls.
• • •
Two days later, the snow had thawed. My ankle had healed enough for me to move fairly well with a cane. The time had come for me to leave Solomon.
The nine-foot giant escorted me to the nearest road, and then ducked into the underbrush as a passing carriage picked me up.
The carriage took me to Geneva where I was able to buy a new horse and travel to the estate dubiously named House Beaufort.
As I rode up to the amazing building, an elderly couple met me on the front steps. The old man rushed to me, and in seeing my collar, grasped my hand to kiss my ring.
“Dear father,” he said. “My name is William Beaufort. My brother is upstairs. He is gravely ill. I am so glad that you could make it. We were terribly worried about you.”
I dismounted and grabbed my cane.
“I apologize, kind sir,” I said. “The blizzard caught me blind. Fortunately, I found shelter to wait out the storm. The Lord was surely with me these past days.”
William nodded and began to escort me into the house. He nodded towards his female companion and said, “This is Elizabeth, my sister-in-law.”
I looked at the woman.
“Elizabeth...” I said.
“Hurry,” she said softly. “My dear husband, Victor, needs you in his final moments.”
I saw through her eyes. She knew of the lie she led. William, however, was too young. He had been a mere child when the family had changed their name to protect themselves from public embarrassment. But Elizabeth knew. And, beyond her eyes, I could tell that she realized that I was not ignorant either.
Elizabeth and William led me up a great stairway and into a large bedroom that smelled of stale air and a sick body. The man under the covers looked as ancient as the sea and as exhausted as the Lord at the end of the sixth day.
“Please leave us,” I said. Elizabeth and William obediently quit the room.
He appeared to be sleeping as I approached, but he looked up at me when I looked over the bed.
“Hello, Victor,” I said.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” Victor said. “My time is here.”
I removed my coat and knelt at the bedside. Taking his hand, I softly said, “Do you have anything to confess?”
The old man looked up at me with pained eyes. “I’ve had these dreams,” he said. “Everything I love is lost. The nightmares have plagued my life for years. In my mind’s eye, I have seen my dear brother William with his neck broken as a child. I have seen my father’s honorless death. I have seen my lovely and gracious Elizabeth struck down on our wedding night.”
“Yes, Victor,” I said. “I know.”
“I have sinned beyond the expression of words,” the dying man said.
“You are forgiven for all your sins,” I said.
Victor shot up to a sitting position. His eyes burned.
“You do not understand, father,” he said. “What I have done has blasphemed the Lord. It was deplorable work. You will never be able to fathom the terror I have produced. Could I ever be forgiven for these sins?”
I smiled, lowering his body back to the covers.
“I do understand, Victor. You have sinned, and you are forgiven.”
“But for this...? This can never be set right!”
“It is set right,” I said softly. “Your haunting beast poses no threat. A random act of kindness by a random family has set things right.”
“I’m sorry for my sins,” Victor said.
Then, without another sound, save a final exhalation of breath, the soul of Victor Frankenstein left this realm.
THE END