Chapter Text
November 16th, 12:40 AM
Here follows the account of my greatest success, or perhaps failure; that remains to be seen. Everything I know has been inverted. As yet, there is no one to whom I can confide these events, great and terrible, but I am not at peace, so I have hastily transcribed them here to clarify and pacify my mind concerning these matters.
Lightning flashed, white light illuminating my lab in harsh bright increments. On the table, my creation convulsed violently, the first sign of life! Elation coursed through me like fire! I laughed in triumph, the sound drowned out in the storm's fury. His leather restraints creaked, then snapped as the convulsions continued. A…sound issued from it's throat – I know not how to describe it, like a wail, a cry, harsh and broken. I only know that it carried the deepest sorrow I have ever heard. Even Elizabeth, my father, and little William did not weep so at the passing of my dear mother. The sound was unearthly and I shuddered, elation quenched in sudden horror. The creature slipped from the table, great limbs still twitching, like a newborn, or like a man insane. He lay on his side, those horrible sounds issuing brokenly from his throat.
The powerful hands came up to clutch its head, and the wailing changed to something that rose and fell like speech. The massive body thrashed as if in the throes of some terrible dream. The great hand jerked out pushing back an unseen threat, colliding with the metal table leg. With an awful groan the metal gave under the creature's hand, metal and man crying out together. He was, I distantly realized, horribly strong.
My foot crunched glass and I realized I had backed across my lab. Truly, it was an awful sight. The creature's skin had not warmed with life - it was a greyish, deathly pallor, his frame huge and crisscrossed with scars. His hair fell lank over his face, to his great heaving shoulders. Many of the carefully stitched seams and incisions dripped with thick dark blood. I had poured a meticulously brewed elixir into the incisions designed to stimulate the flesh to join, even before he had been given life, but the tissue still needed to grow together to form one frame and heal itself. With a start, I realized he could do himself great injury with all this thrashing and convulsing.
His wails had given way to shuddering breaths, broken by whimpers grating from his throat. Suddenly I remembered that his face and brain were those of a convict – perhaps he was haunted by the crimes of his past life. I resolved to wake him and try to comfort him. My creation could not be allowed to rip himself apart in the first hour of life; I would not so easily allow my experiment to fail.
I gingerly approached, thinking uncomfortably of his great strength. I did not know how to comfort him. My thoughts flashed to my dear Henry and his unceasing kindness to me, and I resolved to copy the methods he used to draw me out of my melancholy fits.
I knelt slowly on the floor before my creation. I refrained from touching him, wary of his earlier convulsions and struggles. I shuddered to think how my flesh would cave like the table leg under his hand.
"Whatever sorrows you dream of, know that it is only a dream. That life is past," I said, trying to sound comforting and also to make myself heard over the storm, still howling like a living thing.
The creature's shuddering breath paused. He heard me!
"You are safe here. I will - "
"NO!"
The sound was loud as thunder. His wide eyes stared into mine. The sclera were yellow, but his pupils were pale and stormy. He jerked his arm out, knocking me flat. I found myself on my back, the vaulted ceiling of my laboratory lost in darkness above me. My chest ached. What happened?
I heard shuffling sounds, and suddenly his face was above mine, impossibly concerned. Clumsy hands lifted me, and the creature held me, clutching me to his chest as if I were his only friend in the world. One great hand encircled the back of my head, fingers slipping through my hair, until his thumb came to rest against my neck, just under my jaw.
Dazed, I did not resist. My head came to rest against his collar bone – I could hear his heart, the one I had carefully chosen and sewn into him with my own hands, beating steady and strong. Something soaked into my hair, and I realized the creature was crying, his salt tears dripping into my curls. His skin under my cheek was warm – I felt the ridges of puckered skin against the thread I had pulled through his tissue. Something warm and wet leaked from it, and for an impossible moment I fancied that his scars wept too.
But I smelled blood. I was being embraced by a corpse. Horror sprang up, and I longed to struggle free from his arms, but my body was still dazed and sore. I shuddered. Waves of panic rose in me – I felt his arms like steel bands around me, I could not get enough air, the smell of blood and decay was thick in my nose, and under it a stinging Sulphur smell - the elixir. My stomach churned and clenched. I felt bile creeping up my throat.
"Calm yourself, Victor. You are a scientist, not a dreamer. You can endure."
I tried to breath deeply through my mouth and ignore the mingling stench. Desperate to think of something other than the blood leaking onto my face…and hands… I realized dimly, I focused on counting the thunder of his heart, just under my ear. He was newly born, and could be unstable physically as well as mentally.
His skin was warm under me, and his thumb pressed into my neck. His hand was so large that he cradled my whole head in it, and could easily crush it. I shivered at how vulnerable I was and panic surged through me again. Suddenly I had the notion he was checking my pulse. I couldn't shake it even though there was no way for the newly born creature to have that instinct.
I felt my breathing growing fast and shallow. My thoughts grew scattered and I could not distract myself from the horror of my creation's embrace – the smell of death, the blood under my fingers, his thumb pressing into my pulse point.
"Let me go," I said, quiet.
The great body continued to shake with sobs. He did not hear me. Reason fled. I needed out.
"Let me go!" I screamed, shoving against his heart with all my strength.
The creature startled, then went still. It was as if he had forgotten I was there, or did not expect me to move at all. Gently he pulled me back from his embrace and set me on my knees, his hands moving to my shoulders, engulfing them completely. I stared into his face, transfixed.
My creation was hideous. Lips, blackened and shriveled, a knotting scar across his cheek, dark veins visible through the grey, translucent skin – I brought a monster out of the grave. And his eyes. Watery and yellowed with death, welling with tears and staring straight through me, piercing me with their longing.
I could not move, such was the effect of my creature's visage on my overwrought mind. How had it all gone so wrong? He was supposed to be beautiful. I brought my hands up to block out the sight, but it would not leave my mind. I became aware that I was speaking – crying out.
"Demon! Devil! Get away!"
Suddenly I felt his hands, huge and gnarled, take mine. Fear stiffened me. I waited for pain – for what else could come from such a being? But my hand was simply drawn away from my face, and held, with an almost reverent gentleness.
The creature was making sounds again, the same two, over and over. These were not uttered with pain and fear, but with a questioning air. The sounds were thick and sluggish. It seemed my creation was laboring to work his tongue. I distantly recalled that I had cut out the convict's tongue and stitched in a lawyer's tongue in my quest for perfection. A giggle escaped my lips. It all seemed ridiculous now that I faced a monster.
The sounds kept falling from his blackened lips: "Vih…." "tur…"
Could it be… could that creature be calling my name? I opened my eyes, shocked, only to be met with his nightmarish face.
And his hands still clamped my shoulders. Why would he not let me go? My fear turned to anger – anger that failure had stolen my dream.
"Let me stand, damn you!"
I struggled to rise, but those huge hands kept me rooted to the floor. It was no great exertion for him.
"I am your creator, wretch! I said, let me go!" I cried, hating him with my whole being.
I clawed at his arms and writhed in his grip, my foot connecting with his stomach. He grunted in pain, and his eyebrows lowered. Haltingly, he pulled me close, inevitable, no matter how I struggled to push him away. A gnarled arm wrapped across my back - his heavy hand descended on my head – unendurable!
"You – hideous failure!" I roared, throat aching.
I heaved for breath. A shudder passed through him, but he did not loosen his hold.
"You'll get nothing from me!" My voice broke.
His fingers began to move in my hair. His touch repulsed me.
"Go to hell!"
I slammed my fists against his unyielding flesh. Though the impact cruelly jarred my arms, his remained closed fast about me.
I panted, strength fading.
"Leave me," I hissed, slumping.
Still he held me, impossibly gentle. My breaths shuddered; I began to sob. My anger left me, leaving me powerless and ashamed in his grasp.
"No." I felt his ribcage vibrate with the word.
"…What?"
Willlln-not. Leave," he said, slow and thick.
Implacably, he stared at me, the same implacable compassion that so often animated the face of my dear Clerval. How this filled me with horror, and with shame; the face of a man, staring at me with the kind of tenderness I had rarely ever witnessed, perhaps only in the eyes of my beloved Elizabeth or my dearest friend.
Those eyes I knew what I had done – I felt sure of it.
He stared straight into my face with love.
Slowly he brought his hand towards me, thumb brushing my cheek, brushing away the wetness. I endeavored to master my tears, but they kept falling. My heart was overburdened – anger, shame, regret, compassion, for this creature whose heart was far larger than my own.
I brought my hand to his cheek, mirroring the gesture. How small and pale my hand looked against his face, rough and scarred like a mountain. But no, he was living flesh under my fingers. I had done it – created life, and yet, keen as a dagger in my heart, I knew that he was more alive – more worthy of life – than his creator.
The storm waned around us, thunder giving way to a steady rain. My tears cleansed me, but left me empty, and a fog of exhaustion engulfed me. I did not sleep, but my mind churned fragmented thoughts, unheeding of what was before my eyes.
A bought of coughing shook me out of my lethargy. I became aware that we were still kneeling together, his hands bracing my shoulders. My knees ached and I was chilled and damp. I knew I had to move, but I was so tired. My creation startled at my coughs. He too had been lost in exhaustion. A faint sound of pain issued from his lips.
I needed to make sure he was stable – do something about the blood. He needed more of that elixir to finish sealing his seams. I looked to my operation table where he had lain for many months, but it seemed cruel. He was no longer a lump of flesh to be prodded about. My bed. I would take him up to my living quarters and look him over there.
I rocked back on my heels and gained my feet with embarrassing exertion. Extending a hand to him, I asked, "Can you stand?"
Moving would be an arduous process – his movements were coltish and jerky.
His eyes followed me as I rose, and he nodded. He stood slowly, stumbling once he reached his full height. I darted under his arm and he fell against me, making us both stagger. Stumbling and shambling we progressed down the stairs to the living space under my laboratory. He towered over me, and I wondered at myself for making him so large. With each movement I could hear his flesh settling against itself with a faint squelch. I shivered and tried only to think of the next step. He needed rest, a thorough examination, and food. And then perhaps a bath.
We reached the top of the stairs, and pushing the door open, we stumbled sweating over the threshold. Sunlight fell across my wretchedly disheveled apartment – clothes, books, and a few dishes littered every surface and crowded the floor. Embarrassed, I glanced up at my creation, but he did not take in his surroundings, head drooping. He breathed heavily and his mouth was drawn with lines of pain.
I half-feared my strength or his would give out before we reached the bedroom, cramped and vacant. But there was the door. I began settling him into my bed, childishly small for his frame. Daylight streamed in, illuminating my dusty and unused bedclothes, now stained with blood. He was naked, I realized with shame. What need had an experiment for clothes? But here was a man.
I pushed him back, and he curled onto his side, like a child or a cat. I bundled the blankets over him as well as I could, given I had laid him on top of them. Short-sighted. It would have to do - at least someone was using the bed.
Though he took up the whole bed, he somehow looked small and uncertain. His skin was rough and warm, and he smelled. But he looked comforted. I peered into his pupils to check their dilation, and then checked his pulse. 62 beats per minute. Low, but acceptable. He seemed stable, but stared into my face, confused.
"I'm sorry," I mumbled, cheeks heating. "I was checking your vital signs. I needed to know your condition was stable." He looked accepting, or perhaps resigned.
I left him to fetch some water and whatever food I could find. I'm afraid I had only the remnants of a bread loaf, a few withered apples and the odd piece of cheese in the apartment. My eyes fell on a book of poems given to me by Elizabeth, which I had left carelessly strewn on the table along with a half-eaten breadloaf, a lantern, and a number of tomes about human musculature, and I decided to carry it back to the bedroom and read to the creature, as Elizabeth or Henry had so often done for me when I was ill. I grabbed stacks of books and shifted them onto the floor, my efforts laughable in the face of the squalor I had created.
I became aware that the creature was calling out, distressed – he was speaking – or trying to, but the sounds fell thick and garbled from his tongue. I could understand nothing but my name.
I hurried back.
"You needn't be afraid of my leaving, I've only gone to fetch a few things." I perched on the edge of the bed and pressed the food into his hands. "Do you…know how to eat?" But his blackened lips curled into a smile and slowly, he ate.
"You need to rest," I told him. "I've brought a book of poems. I thought it might soothe you if I read." He looked up. I dare not leave him in the room alone.
"Why?" His voice was breaking. I could not tell if it was rough from disuse or tears, for he was crying again.
"It's something Henry and Elizabeth do for me when I am ill. It settles me – I'll leave you in peace," I cut myself off, suddenly hesitant.
But he put out his hand and took hold of me. "Stay." His eyes looked wide and haunted. Again I was reminded of William – the way he looked after a bad dream, desperately wanting me to stay yet attempting to seem unaffected in childish pride.
I moved to settle on the floor, but he shifted, uncurling his knees to create a space for me on the bed, and tugged my wrist until I gave in and sat, exhausted.
"Twice or thrice had I lov'd thee,
Before I knew thy face or name;
So in a voice, so in a shapeless flame
Angels affect us oft, and worshipp'd be," I began, smiling as I thought of Elizabeth.
Of course she had given me love poetry. I paused, a too-familiar cough scratching up in my throat.
My creation lay on his side, and had curled around me so that my arm pressed against his legs, and my back was to his broad chest. An hour ago I had done everything to escape this but I was so tired, and a chill had sunk to my bones. I hardly noticed the blood-slick and the smell for his kindness.
"Still when, to where thou wert, I came,
Some lovely glorious nothing I did see," I continued, allowing myself to slump back.
I could feel his deep, even breaths. His warmth was like a furnace behind me, and my side-long glance met quiet eyes.
My voice had trailed into silence. I was too tired. Soon I would have to sleep… which entailed movement. Better to stay and finish the poem.
"But since my soul, whose child love is,
Takes limbs of flesh, and else could nothing do,
More subtle than the parent is
Love must not be, but take a body… too," I murmured.
The page blurred before my vision. My creation's arm came up to brace my sagging shoulders and I surrendered to fatigue.
Hours ago, I carried this body through the night, his whole frame wasted by suffering – inflicted by these hands. I watched his last breaths fog and dissipate and I – I was left alone in the arctic dawn.
I faced a world without the one man who could bear to face me – to justify my existence or to absolve it. I had shown myself to him aboard Walton's ship expecting to meet his knife, but he had extended the hand of compassion to me– this wretch! I could not go on; I must follow him.
I built Victor a towering pyre, determined to do something good with my hands before I destroyed them. I settled him carefully on the wood and struck sparks at the base. I could not bear to leave him and laid myself down beside him, waiting for the flames to purify us both.
Impossibly, I awoke at the moment of my birth. Victor is restored to me. I know not how or why I was given this gift, but I will not leave this man – this fragile and brilliant soul.