Crouching so that my scalp didn’t hit the ceiling, I left the laboratory. The adjacent room appeared to be a sitting room. Like the laboratory it had been emptied. Beyond the sitting room was what must have been Frankenstein’s living quarters. I went through these rooms carefully, hoping to find something that would indicate where Frankenstein had fled, but these rooms, outside of a few scattered objects of worn furniture, had been emptied also. A dressing mirror rested on the floor of what must have been Frankenstein’s bedroom. Trepidation filled me as I crept toward the mirror. Nothing could have prepared me for the hideous apparition that looked back out at me as I bent low in front of the mirror. My face was that of a daemon. Twisted, distorted, the mouth an ugly knife-slit and the flesh that same strange grayish skin that covered my appendages and hands. A thing of nightmares. My eyes in particular were awful. Watery, and what in normal eyes are white, in mine a yellowish-bloody color. I could barely stand to look at myself, and I turned away from the mirror. I stood frozen for a long moment before searching the rest of Frankenstein’s quarters, but found nothing that could help me.
When I was done I went back to the laboratory so that I could take the blanket that had earlier covered my body, and wrapped it around my middle. I then exited the doorway that led out of the apartment, and found myself at the top of a staircase. Frankenstein must have rented the top floor of a rooming house. Why no one came to investigate my earlier bellowing, I couldn’t say. Perhaps Frankenstein had also rented the other floors so that he would have privacy, but I chose not to investigate. All I wanted to do was leave that cursed place. I bent low and made my way down that narrow staircase. The outer door led to an alley. I stepped outside and stood gasping in fresh air and feeling the sun’s warm rays upon my face as I looked heavenward. Noises from the street beyond reminded me of my situation. I stole quietly down the alley and saw the bustle of men and women as they made their way down the street, and as I watched them I realized I couldn’t leave this way, not without raising a mob against me. Instead I came up with another plan.
CHAPTER
7
I reentered Frankenstein’s laboratory. From there I climbed out of a window and lifted myself onto the roof. The pitch of the roof was steep, but it gave me little trouble and I scrambled to the top while keeping my body low so that anyone glancing upwards wouldn’t see me.
From my vantage point I could see several familiar sites that showed I was still in Ingolstadt: the magnificent tower of the Church of Our Lady, the old ducal castle, the Danube river flowing outside of the city’s walls. These sites alone should have provided me enough evidence that the memories I possessed were real, but I still felt a great uneasiness concerning how much of my memories I could trust. These sites could have been embedded into the mind of any person who had ever been to Ingolstadt. As much as seeing these cherished landmarks raised my spirits, they did not prove that the rest of what seemed so real to me had not been imagined.
I crouched at the top point of the roof and searched the neighborhood until I spotted what I needed, which was on this very same street. The houses were situated so that they were close to one another, and in some cases their roofs were connected, and I was able to climb from one roof to another until I reached my destination. I then climbed down the building I was on and entered a tailor shop. Once inside I secured the door and closed the curtains so that no one from outside could look in. The tailor, a small and thin middle-aged man with even less hair covering his pink scalp than what the Marquis had had, sat hunched at a table as he worked on the construction of a coat. He shouted out his surprise on realizing that someone had entered his store and closed the window curtains without his permission, and demanded to know the reason for this, his voice high-pitched and quavering with indignation. Once he looked up at me his face fell slack, his eyes as fearful as if any other wild beast had wandered into his store.
“You will make for me a pair of trousers,” I told him. “Also a hooded cape, with the hood large enough to hide my face.”
He gulped noticeably, his eyes blinking rapidly as he stared at me. When he could talk, his voice came out in a squeak.
“Who will pay for this?” he asked.
I laughed at his question. How could I not? The sound of my laughter was something horrible and it caused the tailor to shudder and the blood to drain from his face.
“You may send the bill to Victor Frankenstein,” I said.
“He has agreed to this?” the tailor asked.
I did not bother to answer him. A wretched look came over his face as he nodded. “I am busy now,” he told me. “But if you come back next week I will have these articles ready for you.”
I took a step closer to him in order to move further out from the shadows so that he could better see my face.
“You do not understand,” I said. “Neither of us will be leaving your store until you have done as I asked.”
“But look at your size!” he complained. “I am not sure I have the necessary materials in stock to make these items!”
“I am sure you will find a way even if it means tearing up articles of clothing that you have already made.”
He nodded glumly, and after performing the odious task of measuring me, went to work. I watched for a few minutes, and then searched through a cabinet where I found a bottle of wine. My fingers were large and cumbersome but once I was able to grasp onto the cork I pulled it out easily without the need of a corkscrew. I drained the bottle in several gulps. The tailor watched this with amazement.
“I could find several more bottles of wine for you,” he offered.
I stared at him indifferently, not bothering to answer him. Instead, I sniffed out a loaf of bread and cheese that had been stored away, and set upon to greedily consume my meager feast, leaving not even crumbs. The tailor repeated his offer to find me more bottles of wine. Of course I knew his purpose for this; that he hoped I would drink enough wine so that I would be dulled and fall unconscious. I glared at him and suggested he get back to work.
“Are you planning to murder me?” he asked.
“I have no intention of doing so,” I said. “All I want is a pair of trousers and a hooded cape, and then you will not see me again.”
He nodded and commenced his work, silently cutting and sewing material until he had a pair of trousers made for me. I put them on and found them satisfactory. He next proceeded to work on the cape, and was almost halfway done with it when he complained bitterly how he had been saving the bread and cheese that I had eaten as a later dinner for himself.
“So you will go to bed hungry tonight,” I said. “That is not the worst hardship that can befall a man.”
He frowned severely at this, but held back any arguments he might have had for me. While he worked at finishing the cape, I rummaged through his stock and found material that could be used for constructing coverings for my feet. While the skin covering my feet felt thick and tough, I did not know where my future travels were going to lead me, and felt it wise to be prepared in case I needed to visit harsher climates.
The tailor noticed the materials I held and asked about them.