Dave Zeltserman: Monster

“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 memories 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.

“Almost done, my pet,” Frankenstein grunted as he tugged at the thread. “I do so regret the delay, but obtaining the necessary material was not easy, nor was the labor necessary to build you this new arm. But I do expect it to be as functional as the one I needed to remove. We will see.”

When he was done he applied more of that foul-smelling balm along the area that had been stitched.

“This will set us back, of course,” Frankenstein muttered, as if to himself. “A pity. But let us hope this new arm will take. In the meantime, your blood has remained stagnant for too long and we need to get it moving again.”

He used the hand crank to raise me. After he left, I surprised Charlotte by mouthing words to her.

What am I?

A sadness pervaded Charlotte’s features as she realized what I was asking. She attempted a fragile smile toward me.

You are a gentle soul. I can read that much from your eyes.

But what of my appearance? What am I outwardly?

I do not know.

I begged Charlotte to describe me. Pain squeezed her features for a moment, but then she attempted a whimsical smile.

You were missing an arm. That has been replaced. But myself, am I not missing a whole body?

Please, Charlotte, I beg of you. How do I appear?

You are very large. Let us leave it at that, and please do not make me say any more. Tell me instead of happier days from your life so that both our spirits may be lifted.

I relented and did not press Charlotte further for details. I told her of how when I first saw my Johanna I was completely enraptured by her beauty, and later how nervous I was when I attempted to work up the courage to first ask her to join me on a Sunday stroll and how my spirit soared when she said yes. I tried to maintain a happy countenance as I related my history to Charlotte, but I was deeply troubled, for how could I trust my memories after the lunacy I had fallen into? The image that I carried of myself was of a man of fair complexion and slight build. That grotesque appendage taken from my body shattered this image. If my body was that of a monstrous creature, then how could I believe my other memories to be true? From words Frankenstein had spoken earlier, he seemed to be of the belief that he created me. If that were true then maybe he had also created the memories contained within me that now seemed so dear. Was it possible that I, Friedrich Hoffmann, never actually existed? And if that were so, is it further possible that my beloved Johanna was also nothing but a figment of my imagination? It was both horrible and joyous to think that that could be the case. Horrible to think that a being as wonderful as my Johanna was never really a part of this world, and that the love and passion that I was so sure I felt toward her was only imaginary. But it was joyous to think that if all this was purely illusionary then the sweet Johanna that existed within my memories never had to suffer the cruel fate that I imagined had befallen her.

I was so caught up in my thoughts that I failed to notice Charlotte’s expression dimming or the door being opened, and was in the midst of relating a story to Charlotte when Frankenstein appeared in my peripheral vision. Terror filled me with the thought that I had betrayed my secret knowledge to him, and worse, betrayed Charlotte’s confidence, but when Frankenstein laughed out loud I realized that wasn’t the case.