The Frankenstein Murders (24 page)

The question of the effects of electricity and electrical storms came to me, and I posed it to Dr. Bosch.

“As I mentioned before, many of our patients are affected by storms and the phases of the moon. The moon, Luna, after which all my patients are named lunatics, gives rise to the belief that there are those who are affected with a kind of insanity that is dependent on the changes of the moon; the most dire time being when it is full. Although mostly the result of superstition rather than science, this belief is not necessarily unfounded.”

I asked if there were particular times when fits of this kind happened to Dippel.

“His reaction to you was unexpected, however, I doubt I will ever be able to claim to have tapped all the mysteries behind what goes on inside Dippel's head. When he first came here as a patient, one of the things I looked for was some sort of pattern to his behaviour. Electrical storms do disturb him, but with Dippel I was certain something else prompted him to fits. It took me some time, but I managed to identify at least one cause. Ours is neither a rich nor illustrious institution. Although some inmates have family to support them, even on rare occasions to visit, Dippel has no one. There is little to fund this asylum, and so it is not always possible to afford luxuries such as meat for dinner.

“I have also followed the suggestions of others and experimented with a vegetable diet to see what effects it might have on those who exhibit violent behaviour. Most specifically, I have watched to
see if indeed eaters of flesh are stronger and therefore potentially more violent than eaters of plants. Admittedly, I had my own doubts about this theory, as anyone who has seen a bull graze all day will agree. A vegetable diet and passivity do not necessarily go hand in hand.

“As you have seen with our patients, they can be alarmingly and suddenly possessed with the strength of many,” the doctor explained. “Dippel's fits were directly related to the times he was given meat. He repelled from it immediately, throwing the food away from him and clawed at himself. We have taken meat off his diet completely, and it seems to have had beneficial results, although you can see how thin he grows. He eats very little and seems pleased to watch his body waste away.”

I asked the doctor if Victor Frankenstein's activities have worked on the weakened mind of Dippel so far as to motivate the man to commit murder.

“Dippel can be violent, but he has yet to be caught attempting to hurt another person. This does not preclude his incapacity of such a misdeed.”

The hour was growing late, and so I brought my visit to an end. Although glad to have been witness to Dr. Bosch's work in the asylum, I was disappointed not to have spoken with Dippel. Dr. Bosch assured me that I might visit again in a few days, when the effects of the man's fit should have passed.

Dr. Bosch offered to have one of his staff employ a coach to return me to my lodgings; but, after the confines of the asylum, my greatest desire was to clear my head of the strong sounds, images, and stench of so many unhappy beings. It was still early in the evening, and it had begun to rain a little, but I should soon be back at my hotel. Not a quarter of an hour into my walk, I began to regret my decision to travel on foot. The rain had increased and the alleys I passed had darkened considerably. A flash of lightening lit up my path in a stark black-and-white image, but revealed nothing. The lone figures I had earlier seen lingering in the doorways and skulking in the shadows had since found themselves shelter and warmth elsewhere.

As I passed one alleyway, my nostrils were assaulted by a sudden fetid odour not unlike those I had encountered in the asylum. I felt a sharp blow to my head that knocked me to my knees. Before I was able to recover, I was pummelled and kicked. I covered my head with my arms for protection. It was too dark to see clearly and my eyesight was no doubt affected by the initial blow to my head. My impression of my attacker was of a distorted and grotesque figure. He kept grabbing at the collar of my coat as if he would steal it away, no doubt after the wallet, watch, or other valuables stored in its pockets.

Next, I heard a sort of shout, and for a moment I was alone, my back against the cold dampness of a stone wall. I tried to regain my
breath and bearing. A looming figure approached me, and I prepared to defend myself yet again. My relief was immeasurable when, with the aid of a timely flash of lightening, I discerned that it was Mutt who stood before me. The lightening revealed his features made pale, and the scar that ran down the side of his face and neck glowed white. Mutt is good with a knife, but his greatest weapon is his strength and speed. I have seen him disarm an assailant and push him to the ground before he knew what was happening, yet never before had I been quite so thankful for his awful presence. He had returned to the inn with news he felt I would most definitely want to hear and then had set out on foot to meet me at Dr. Bosch's asylum, arriving in time to come to my assistance.

Of my attacker there was no sign, but there remained the strong unpleasant odour of the man — for indeed I was certain it could only have been a man, so overwhelming and powerful was the attack. For a fleeting moment I wondered if one of Dr. Bosch's inmates, even Dippel himself, had managed to escape, and followed me. Recalling the strong bars and locks, as well as the prone and exhausted figure of Dippel, I realized the unlikeliness of this conjecture. Spooked by madmen and shadows, and with a sharp pain in my head, I myself was conjuring up the impossible.

Gratefully, I accepted Mutt's assistance to see me safely back to our hotel. Mutt wished to impart to me some news he had, but my head pained me greatly and I was in no mood for conversation of any type. Revelation of Mutt's discovery would have to wait until the following morning. That day, I had seen many kinds of madmen, and was attacked by another, and my only thoughts were for the quiet, solitude, and rest I would find in my room.

The pain in my head was not significantly improved the following morning, and I was strongly inclined to stay in with the window coverings closed against the light. This would have been the summation of my day, had not Mutt insisted that I go with him to the east side of the city. Mutt did not volunteer the reason for our short journey by carriage, and as my bruises ached anew with every motion, I was too preoccupied to ask. After the carriage stopped, Mutt quickly disembarked and disappeared while I stayed to direct the coachman to wait as we would not be long. Only then did I realize that Mutt had passed through the gates of a cemetery and was standing beside a modest-sized headstone.

I demanded to know why he had brought me to this place when I had reached his side.

Mutt, by way of response, motioned towards the headstone. Peering down at it so that I might better read what had been etched into its surface, I discerned that carved into the cold marble of the headstone were the names Safie and Felix DeLacey. The dates of the deaths, nearly two decades earlier, occurred too far back in time for these two to have been personally involved with Victor Frankenstein or his monster. Before I made any hasty conclusions about the relevance and meaning of the gravesite, I desired to speak with the caretaker, who might provide more
details about the two interred therein. The caretaker of the Ingolstadt graveyard was a bent and garrulous old man, who spoke as if chewing a mouthful of some thick substance, yet I was able to understand most of what he said.

Pointing to the headstone, I asked him what he could tell me of the couple who lie there.

“Why, many years have passed since they were brought. French they were. Fell mortally sick. Influenza? Consumption? Died within a week of each other. The corpses were not pretty, so wasted by disease. The coffins were light.”

Mutt's face was expressionless, but I am not so certain that mine was similarly so. Finding Safie and Felix alive might have provided vital clues towards finding a solution to the mystery of Henry Clerval's murder, but now it seemed that the DeLacey family would not provide any answers. Mixed in with this disappointment was my certain knowledge that yet another potential source of information was not to be. When in Germany, the monster was said to wear a laboratory coat taken from Victor Frankenstein's rooms in Ingolstadt. In one of the pockets, the monster found Victor's journal in which the four months preceding the monster's creation are described. This was from where the monster learned of its origins. I had cherished a small hope that somehow this journal would be recovered; but, like Safie and Felix DeLacey, the journal was likely not to be found, if indeed it ever truly existed.

Determined to gain something worthwhile to aid in my investigation, I decided to direct the conversation towards another topic. A peculiar gravesite had caught my eye, where a large slab of grey stone had been placed on top of the mound. I questioned the caretaker about it.

“Some have taken precautions against grave robbery, but such is not the reason for the slab atop that grave. Ten strong men it took to move. 'Twas not put there to keep someone out, but to
keep her in.” He paused for a moment, pressing his wrinkled lips together.

“That is the grave of Bess Hartman. Died a fortnight after her wedding day. Poisoned by her husband some said. He married her for her dowry. He loved another he wanted to marry, and marry he did — not six months after her funeral. The morning after his wedding day, he found Bess's decayed body upon his doorstep. She was returned to her grave, but the next morning her rotten corpse was once again upon his doorstep. He ordered that slab to be placed there to trap her wandering spirit inside.”

Although I said nothing to the caretaker, who obviously had relished the telling of his supernatural tale, I was immediately suspicious of the story. In my mind, the movement of the woman's corpse was most likely owing to some human cause, perhaps a vindictive relative of hers, or some demented prank by an enemy of the husband. For indeed, a large stone might stop a human, but it would not so easily halt the unnatural powers of a ghost. If the spectral force behind that event had been capable of both raising the dead and setting the corpse down upon a specific doorway, then a large stone would be an insignificant impediment. No, the culprit would have had to have been human. Once again, I directed my questioning to a topic of greater relevance to my investigation. I asked if grave robbing had ever been a problem in the cemetery.

“Definitely. There are now two men to guard the place at night.”

When I asked how long the stolen corpses had lain in the ground before they were stolen, the groundskeeper indicated only a matter of days, a week at most. The corpses would thus have been in an early state of decay. I asked the caretaker if he had ever seen a man such as Victor Frankenstein or the monster. The groundskeeper could not recollect anyone fitting either of those descriptions, but when I described Dippel, the old man seemed to remember such a figure. If Victor Frankenstein had created a monster, then likely some of its monstrous parts had been
gleaned by Dippel from that very cemetery. I thanked the groundskeeper for his assistance, and the man moved on to continue with his duties. I stood contemplating the rows of headstones and crypts and wondered how many other churchyards had been desecrated, their residents pulled from the ground and used in scientific experiments.

Dear Edward,

Your flattery and your approbations upon my most excellent care of my nephew are to no use. I am well-satisfied with the arrangement, and I challenge anyone to discredit the care your little boy receives in his aunt's home. You would not wonder at our naming him the Little Master if you could see how he struts. I made over one of his cousin's suits and now Master Freame promenades, handsome in his new attire. You will not divert me from chastising you and reminding you that your son needs his father. He is a happy enough child, and yet I know in my heart that he longs for your presence and greatly wants your influence in his life. Sad enough it is that he has lost one parent, but your absence make his orphanage complete.

You do not, I am afraid, take into consideration the seriousness of our situation. Your child has nearly succumbed to a perilous fever. The doctor visited daily, and was quite uncertain of recovery, as the child had grown thin and pale. But he has rallied. Each day sees him a little fatter and with more colour in his cheeks. His health would be assured, I am convinced, were you here to oversee the rest of the healing. He misses his father.

Surely, at then end of this investigation, which has already taken up so much of your time, you will come home to us. Although I do not doubt the seriousness or necessity of the cause you now undertake, I remind you of your obligations at home. Evil deeds and injustices should not go unpunished, however, dedication to another family's troubles have led to the neglect of your own. You must return to us. So much time and care should not be given only to strangers. Our father is dead, as is our brother, to whom Father should not have entrusted the management of the family estate. A great deal of time has passed since the money and lands were lost to gambling and drink, and our brother in turn lost to his weaknesses, dissipations, and addictions. You have lost a wife and an inheritance, yet all of this must finally be put behind you. I beseech you, return to us.

Ever your loving sister,

Susannah

Victor Frankenstein describes his monster as preternaturally strong, of great size, with limbs supple and of great strength. It was more than a match for a man. It climbs mountains with ease and bounds across ice fields with superhuman speed; it is able to withstand deprivations, lack of decent food and shelter, the coldest temperatures affect him little. The monster is in fine physical shape, and intellectually superior to most, learns languages and how to read without instruction, only through observation.