Frankenstein giggled some more. “I’ll leave you, my pet, to become better acquainted with our dear Sophie.” He walked over to the shelf that the severed head had been placed on and caressed the scalp as if he were caressing a small dog. Frankenstein turned to smile cruelly at me, and then he disappeared from my field of vision. Shortly after that there was further creaking of footsteps along the floor and the sound of a door being pulled closed.
I squeezed my eyes shut once more and prayed that this severed head would be gone when I opened my eyes again, but not only was it still facing me with its eyes staring vigilantly into mine, but its lips had begun moving. My earlier suspicions proved correct. As that awful gaping hole contorted wildly in front of me, I could not help but notice that it was bereft of its teeth.
What additional horrors could possibly befall me? Any thoughts that I was being kept alive by scientific means fled my consciousness. There was no longer any doubt that I had woken up in the den of a sorcerer and that the blackest magic was being practiced.
I shut my eyes again, but the image within my mind of what this severed head was presently doing grew worse than what it could possibly be in reality. I had no choice but to look straight ahead and face it. As I did I realized that the movements of its lips weren’t the result of random contortions, but that it was trying to mouth words to me, her language being French which I understood. I concentrated and was able to make out what she was trying to say.
Blink once if you can understand me.
I blinked once.
A tragic smile touched her lips and her eyes overflowed with compassion. What I had earlier thought of as a wretched thing I now felt sympathy toward. She began to ask me another question, her lips moving slowly and carefully to make it easier for me to understand her.
Are you able to speak? Please blink once for yes, twice for no.
I blinked twice.
Her smile turned ever more tragic. She began once again to mouth words to me.
My dear unfortunate friend, my name is not Sophie. It is Charlotte, but that is of no importance. If you regain your ability to speak, you must not do so, at least not in his presence.
She explained that our host believed us to be imbecilic and that it would be extremely dangerous for us if he learned of our intelligence. She further detailed her sad history to me. She had been married to a soldier and was living in Paris when she became tragically widowed. In order to support herself, she became employed as a seamstress. When she lost her employment she had to resort to begging. One Sunday a man whom she believed to be a libertine asked her if she would like to earn money as a chambermaid. While she was suspicious of his true intentions, she was desperate and accepted his offer. He took her to a grand house in the community of Arcueil, which was only a few miles from the center of Paris. Once there, he insisted that they each drink a glass of cognac, and that she drink hers first. She consented, and shortly afterward she became unnaturally tired, and most likely collapsed to the floor unconscious. When she later awoke she found herself in this wretched nightmare. Now all she could do was pray that her nightmare would end and that she be released fully into death.
It was a heart-wrenching story, and I could feel nothing but the deepest sympathy toward her. At the completion of her tale, her expression suddenly became dull. I was so engrossed in her tale that I failed to notice that our host had returned. Fortunately, Charlotte had.
“Ah, my dear pet, I believe you have been in this upright position long enough. It won’t do to have all your blood flowing to your feet.”
He came into view. A curious look showed on his face as he studied me, and he took a silk handkerchief from his pocket to dab at my face. “Your eyes are so watery,” he said. “Some of it has been spilling down your cheeks.”
After he finished with his dabbing, he used the hand crank to lower the table to a horizontal position, and Charlotte disappeared from my view. Of course I knew I had been drugged when I had visited the beer hall, and when I heard Charlotte’s story of how she had been drugged inside of the house that she had been brought to, I knew we were both victims of the same fiend, our host, Victor Frankenstein.
At the same time that I had lain drugged in that alley, my beloved Johanna must have been brutally murdered, her blood used to stain my coat sleeves and her locket placed within my trouser pocket. Just as Frankenstein had made Charlotte the victim of a depraved experiment, so must he have similar designs for me. Why, I did not know, but I would have given anything to have enough strength in my hands so that I could force the truth from Frankenstein. But I was defenseless and at his mercy.
CHAPTER
3
Four days passed with Frankenstein each night making his unholy visit. First he would apply his foul ointment upon my body, next he would light candles and place them on the floor below me so that they would surround me. After that had been accomplished he would sit nearby and chant in that same evil low voice that he had that first night. While I was unable to decipher his words, they nonetheless chilled my soul.
It was on the fifth day that he raised me vertically so I would once again be in Charlotte’s company. After Frankenstein had used the hand crank to put me at eye level with Charlotte, he smiled thinly and remarked how we made quite the adorable couple.
Once Frankenstein departed, Charlotte regaled me with happier tales from her life. As she was telling me about a particularly joyous day from her childhood, she stopped to announce in her silent manner that I was smiling.
Only the barest trace of a smile, my dearest friend, but you are smiling nonetheless.
She was right. Without realizing it the corners of my lips had turned up ever so slightly. With a concentrated effort I found that I could move my lips. Not enough to speak, or even to mouth words as Charlotte was doing, but I had movement now where only a day earlier I had none.
Charlotte was smiling at me also, but a darkness descended over her features and she cast her eyes downwards before looking up to meet my own eyes again.
When he lights his candles each night, there are five of them. I believe he places them on the floor to form the shape of a pentagram.
I had suspected that also. The Devil’s hoofprint.
The sound of a door opening interrupted us, and from the way Charlotte’s expression deadened I knew that our host had returned. His footsteps made a dull hollow sound as he entered the room. When he came into my field of vision I could see that same false smile of his that I had grown to know and detest.
“Ah, my pet,” he said with utter condescension, “one should hope that you haven’t been too forward with our dearest Sophie, for I assure you she is of the highest virtue.”
He broke into a giggling fit after that, which ended only due to his exertion in turning the hand crank to lower me. Once I was lowered back into a horizontal position, he stood looking over me with a gleam of perspiration along his forehead. He sniffed several times. His smile disappeared as his eyes bored into mine.