Frauleinstein

Chapter I: Austria, 1944

Chapter I
Austria
1944

"Gisa, do not run ahead! Wait for me Gisa. Good girl, please find us two seats together."

He looked up, distracted from his thoughts by the commotion at the doors to the train. It was the same at every stop; noisy people would enter, stumble about with their luggage and various belongings, searching for the perfect seat. He had learned simply to ignore them. However most travellers were businessmen, or soldiers. To hear the voice of a woman, and especially a woman with a child, caught his attention. He quickly remembered himself though and looked away, stared out the window.

"Hello. What's your name?"

He looked back, startled by the voice of the child. She stood in front of him, and then sat in the seat directly opposite his. He always wore the hood of his cloak up and pulled forward so that none would see his face. It was only visible from a narrow angle. The tiny girl stared directly at him.

"What's wrong with your face?" she asked, wrinkling her nose.

He was not used to speaking with people. It had been months since he had spoken to anyone, let alone a fearless young girl. And no one had gazed on his face for years. He dared to hope for just a moment; perhaps he was not the horrifying sight he remembered? Perhaps it was possible for others to look at him? Perhaps a merciful God had seen his suffering, and forgiven him his crimes...

"Gisa, do not bother the man!" the young woman gently rebuked her daughter as she caught up to the girl.

Startled once again, lost in his thoughts, and perhaps hoping against all hope that the woman with the beautiful voice would look upon him and smile, he turned to face her. His monstrous bulk, crammed into the tiny seat meant for normal-sized people, brought his face level with hers.

She was beautiful, more so than he had imagined. A young mother, no more than twenty-five years, with hair like sunshine and the face of an angel. In an instant he saw her entire life, from beginning to end; a happy childhood, a caring family, friends at school, falling in love, children of her own, and one day grandchildren. Always someone to laugh with, to share a kind word. Always a hand to hold. He stared into her eyes and knew all this was true, and he watched as her radiant smile changed, fell...

The woman screamed, bringing half the train to their feet. She clawed desperately at her daughter, trying to grab her, pull her away, without taking her eyes from the horror of the creature before her. The child was too big to be carried by her mother, yet the woman lifted her into her arms, hugged her close, never taking her eyes off of him in case he might reach out, steal her back.

The woman took one last look, although there was nothing to see for he had adjusted his hood and averted his eyes. She then turned and ran to the far end of the train. There was nowhere else to go and so she set the little girl down and found two seats. With the excitement over, everyone settled back into their own seats and the train quieted once again. The little girl stole occasional, curious glances in his direction.

No, there was no benevolent God, he thought to himself. At least, none who would ever forgive the crimes of The Monster. It had been almost 130 years, and he had not forgiven himself. How could any other do so, let alone a God of infinite righteousness?

One hundred and thirty years. Another cosmic joke, a heartless prank played on the most miserable being that ever lived, that not even merciful death would end his suffering.

He was not born of woman, as all assumed even as they gazed at his massive frame. No, his beginning was in a laboratory, where the cells of his lifeless corpse were imbued with the spark of life. His first memory was of seeing his creator turn from him in revulsion, horrified by his own creation.

His creator had run from him, hidden. The Monster had gone into the streets knowing nothing, nothing at all. He quickly became lost, and just as quickly learned the cruelty of his existence.

At first he had only wanted to return, to find his creator, to make peace with him and understand him. But as the months and years of his cruel existence continued, this goal changed. He still wanted to find his creator, but for the sole purpose of destroying him. He eventually killed everyone his creator had ever loved, driving the man to madness. The creator and his creation then chased each other across the globe in their attempts to murder one another. Yet in the end, The Monster came upon his creator, already dead.

His final goal in that moment was to end his own wretched existence, and he swore to do so. Yet life will not be given up so easily. When the time came to perform the deed he found his great strength failed him; he could not do it.

And so he continued, living a miserable, endless existence. It was now 1944, and he found himself living in a world more reminiscent of an H.G. Wells novel than anything he had known in his early life.

The Monster was startled to see a flash of yellow in his peripheral vision. Looking down he saw the little girl. She had stolen away from her mother to approach him again, to satisfy her curiosity.

She held a tiny finger to her lips in a conspiratorial whisper. Then she raised her other hand to his with a smile, placing a flower, a small daisy, between his fingers. Her fingers were so tiny, her hand so perfect, compared to his massive, clumsy digits.

She was so close, he could have easily grabbed her, twisted her tiny neck with the fingers of one hand. The little girl had no idea this was possible, although her mother knew. No one could be sure what such a monster might do.

The little girl gave him one last smile, then turned and skipped back to her mother. The Monster was left alone, with his flower. He stared at it for a long time before placing it in his pocket, unsure what to make of this act of kindness from an innocent. The first such act he could remember in, well, possibly ever.

He no longer killed innocents. The knowledge that he once had taken innocent lives brought him nothing but pain. But he would kill again. He had devoted his life to it. He was unable to end his own life, but he would make sure no other such as himself would ever live again. He had destroyed his creator, and he would destroy any others who would place themselves on a throne beside God and dare to create life.

Even now there were those who conspired to follow his creator's plans, to bring life from lifelessness. He was drawn to them, as a shark is drawn to blood. Somewhere, far to the south-east, the life spark within his every cell felt the call of their evil intent.

"Vienna!" called the conductor as he walked through the car. "This train terminates at Südbahnhof Station. Trains available to all points!"

He required a name to exist in this world and so had taken the name of his creator, the only being he despised more than himself. As his creator had been a bringer of life, so was The Monster a bringer of death. He stood with the other passengers, ready to depart and find his next train, moving ever forward to his final destination. He would find them, and they would suffer, or his name was not Frankenstein.