#and the ones near Moth? are notes and diagrams

[wolfoftonight]

I am enjoying making this style of photograph way too much

[charlemange1]

Ask of the Lesser (Frankenstein/Lovecraft Works): 3 Even Death May Die

It took me weeks to return to Ingolstadt. My past four years of drifting had taken their toll, and the steps I had run on my initial flight I limped over now. Under normal circumstances, I may well have collapsed from exhaustion, but the hope of what waited in Ingolstadt drove me forward. Past men of high standing that threw bricks once they learned my name and kindly peasants who allowed me to share their nothing for the night amongst makeshift roofs. My final francs were given to these kind souls, while Curwen’s tiara was torn from my hands by a group of uprooted city officials. Even as I strained to open the gates of Ingolstadt University, the hatred in those well-dressed thieves’ tones echoed in my ears:

“Your brother unleashed a monster on the world!”

“No one cares for your kind! Move along.”

“The entire lot of you Frankenstein’s are mad!”

Lies. If they had seen gentle William or how Mama tended to Elizabeth when she fell ill, they would know my family had possessed the most admirable traits known to man! Had Victor not tainted our name, they would.

My clenched fist knocked on the library’s door. I had to swallow my hatred if I hoped to have my family returned.

“Mr. Curwen?” I called. Silence answered, and yet another unnerving piece of Ingolstadt fell into place. There was an absence of wildlife here. No birdsong or crickets reached my ears. All life seemed to have fled the abandoned grounds and left behind the thick silence that weighed so heavily in my lungs. I thought of Mama’s smile the time I had brought her one of those little moths that fluttered around the villa. The memory rooted me.

“Mr. Curwen, I see your light in the window. You have my word that this is no trap. I wish to help you!”

A muffled voice spoke behind the door. “You ran away.”

“Well, you can hardly expect a sane man to accept your claims so readily without some time for reflection! I have had time, Mr. Curwen, and I believe we want the same thing. I can be your assistant!”

“You?” hollow laughter echoed behind the door. “Your mind could not stand such unhallowed work. People that delve into the dark arts I excel at must be driven to the brink and happy to leap off the edge into whatever lies beneath the mist of forbidden knowledge.”

“I cannot talk fancy like that Mr. Curwen, I will not lie,” I admitted. “But surely there is some way I can contribute? Even if it is washing laundry, I can help!” I paused. “Sir, I am his family.”

“Yet your eyes show nothing but disgust.”

“Victor is dead to me, but I can separate the creator from the creation,” I said, resting on my cane. “If raising him means getting my family back, I will support you wholeheartedly.”

The heavy silence lingered, considering. Sliding latches gave me my answer as the door creaked opened. Curwen beckoned me inside with two fingers. For the sake of my family, I would ignore how black his pupils were.

**

“Now that you know my true intentions, I can be honest with you, Ernest,” Curwen said while leading me down the stone halls of the university’s main lecture building. My cane clacked with each step. “I am a merchant by trade, though the great forces that lurk beyond man’s understanding have always captivated me. Your brother was not content to live within the limits set by weak minds either. He was always striving to penetrate the veil, reading of Agrippa and Paracelsus.”

“The alchemists,” I butted in. Victor had spoken of them often at the dinner table.

“Indeed,” Curwen nodded, and I stood a little taller. “I had the pleasure to introduce him to even greater men such as Borellus and Alhazred! Victor wished to know the secrets of Mother Earth, but my research led me down the path of unseen forces that linger beneath the surface of the physical.”

“Black magic?” I questioned.

“Of course. For all our similarities, Victor found power in the physical flesh while I pried life from ungraspable darkness. Here is where my problem lies. Evoking the soul is a simple feat, but restoring the physical flesh for it to inhabit eludes me. My results are warped. Inhuman.” Curwen spat the last word. “Victor could merge both body and soul. While his creation was entirely unique, a little more experimentation could easily lock the souls of the departed into an original frame and make them unstoppable.”

“So you wish to bring Victor’s soul back and learn how to reanimate flesh?” I asked, trying to keep up. Rain pounded against the roof above us.

“Precisely.”

Victor’s pocket journal poked my side. I had read it as the rambles of a madman, but now those diagrams were horribly rational. Be it from shame or fear, I kept the book hidden as Curwen led me into a room of broken stone and makeshift tables crammed with misshapen bottles and bowls. I wanted to read those notes myself before I offered up Victor’s innermost thoughts to this necromancer.

“Pardon the state of my lab,” Curwen said as he kicked aside broken glass. “The univeristy decimated this room after my departure and I have not gotten around to refurbishing it yet.”

The stench of smoke and that nameless odor I had smelled on Curwen before clung to the surrounding walls blackened by scorch marks. My head throbbed as Curwen led me past pentagrams and other foul symbols overlapping each other on the floor. Despite our mission to bring about life, all I saw was death.

“Where is my brother, Mr. Curwen?”

“Boiled down to the base component of life. I have turned him to salt, and if we succeed, from it I shall return Victor in his entirety.” Curwen paused to study my frown, “The odor will pass with time, it is an undesirable side effect of my process, I fear.”

His voice sounded reasonable enough, but there was a story to those scorch marks I could not quite read. I wanted to quit this place as soon as I could.

“Let us finish your process, then,” I glanced around at the surrounding instruments, wondering what came next. “Do we repeat some spooky phrases or do a little dance? I may not look it, but I am quite good at keeping a rhythm!”

Victor had taught me that. He had made a habit of dragging me from bed night after night to lecture on musical theory and dance in our ballroom. I could never match his skill, but with time I became halfway decent. Victor had never given up on me, he was always saying I could do better, unlike the others who decided I could not dance at all. When I had first showed off my newfound moves, clumsy though they were, he had looked so proud.

I buried the memory as Curwen flipped through a crinkled book titled Qanoon-e-Izla.

“Pace yourself, Ernest. We need the proper supplies before attempting resurrection. That is where you come in, assistant,” Curwen shut the book and the sound echoed off the ancient walls. “I must admit that I never graduated from Ingolstadt. During Victor and I’s second year my work was exposed, and I paid dearly for it. Had Weishaupt still been headmaster, I assure you the Illuminati would have concocted some excuse on my behalf! It is a bloody shame they ran him out too. That is likely why Victor never mentioned me, I was an unsavory character after that.”

You would not be the first person he abandoned!

“How did you escape?” I asked, glancing into a large bowl with foreign inscriptions. “Grave robbery is punishable by death, if I recall?”

“My extensive knowledge of mathematics and traversing fourth dimension enabled my prison escape, though I fear my disappearance has left a high price on my head. Gathering supplies is extraordinarily difficult at present,” Curwen’s high shoulders fell. “You are the only one that can help me, Ernest. A fresh face like yours should not arouse suspicion.”

Curwen looked so small compared to the blackened walls around us. He needed me! The room and all its foul symbols fell away until the helpless man was all that remained.

“I will get whatever you need, Mr. Curwen,” I gave a little bounce and banged my head on an overhanging shelf.

Curwen straightened up instantly and pulled more of that odd jewelry from his satchel. “Excellent. A shipment of supplies is arriving near the docks tonight. Given my circumstances, I initially planned to meet at a later date, but the sooner we begin, the better. My currency should label you a friend. Barter for a wagon with what is leftover, and new clothing, too. The stench clinging to you is revolting.”

“Is it foul enough to wake the dead?” I chuckled, discreetly brushing dirt from my pantleg. Curwen narrowed his eyes, unamused. For all his gentlemanly gestures, the man clearly had little tolerance for humanity. Even so, I reminded myself why I joined him to begin with. “You are very kind, sir. I will not fail you.”

**

Being unfamiliar with the Danube river, I set out in the daylight to scout the docks. The French troops stationed there would likely check all arriving shipments, and I had a nagging feeling that Curwen’s contents were best kept unknown. The earlier rain had slacked off, leaving me to dodge puddles as I passed the few ported ships. How haggard the sailors looked! I could not imagine the strain Napoleon’s sieges had taken on their business.

Despite the bad though, a cluster of children had taken advantage of the sparsely populated docks to kick around an old bell in some sort of game. Their laughter was contagious, and I smiled while watching the carefree faces that could find such joy in the midst of war. A boy in a tattered coat kicked the bell with a force that sent it skidding through the mud to stop by my cane. The children fell silent as I picked up the toy. Resting on my cane with a friendly grin, my free hand wiped off the mud and extended the bell for the boy to reclaim. He glanced at his comrades.

“Cripple!” the boy pointed to me and laughed.

“He wiped his disease all over it,” another sniffed, backing away.

“Do not let him touch you, or you will limp too!” the boy sprang back, excitedly piecing together this new game. With the bell forgotten, the children rushed away screaming and laughing as they jostled one other. My hand fell to my side as they disappeared behind a shop. I gently set the bell upright on a fence and continued to walk, paying special attention to keep each step steady and consistent. William had never minded my limp, when he was brought back, we would kick bells back and forth all day until Mama made us come inside for dinner.

Drunken laughter reached me as a group of men staggered my way. I recognized the half-buttoned coat of the man who had attacked me outside the tavern. My head ducked as I hurried down a small alleyway before being noticed. The short jog left me panting and I clutched a wall to steady myself.

“Are you alright, sir?”

My muscles stiffened at the familiar voice. Of all the ports in all of Europe, why must he be here?

“Sir, you are deathly pale?” A gentle hand touched my shoulder and I slapped it away.

“I assure you that I am quite fine, Walton,” I hissed, turning to meet the captain’s gaze.

“Ernest?” Walton’s sunken eyes widened. “By god, what are you doing in a place like this?”

“I should ask you too. Given the popularity of your biography on my brother, I had thought you would be off living a life of luxury?”

Walton shifted his boney frame on the gravel. Since bringing me the news of Victor’s fate, his formally dark beard had become matted and white. He had lost weight too, I noticed.

“Believe me, Ernest, if I had known the backlash my book would cause you, I would have never put it to print!” Walton’s head hung. “I only wished to benefit mankind with your brother’s cautionary tale. I did not think—”

“How your creation of ink would affect his surviving family?” I muttered, eyeing the drunken stragglers down the alleyway. “My family were good people. Victor was the exception, but now the Frankenstein name, the name of my good father, will be forever linked with madness and the highest forms of human depravity!”

“You have every right to hate me,” Walton closed his eyes. “But do not take that rage out on your brother. I know you believe that Victor was insane, but I saw his creature with my own eyes, Ernest! My printed account lacks the emotion I heard in his tone. He was devastated over what he had done. Of the pain he caused you!”

I knew that. After Elizabeth was murdered, the withered husk that was once my brother had told me a tale of graverobbing. Of unhallowed texts and a monster lurking in the shadows. Victor had pleaded with me and a bloody magistrate to help him kill the monstrosity. He was so scared. So desperate to confess and beg me for forgiveness.

Yet I had called him mad. I arranged for Victor to be institutionalized so he could not harm himself in his manic state. Somehow, he caught wind of my plan and disappeared the following morning. He was in a casket when we met again.

Victor had not related that bit to Walton. His narrative left me to fade into the background. I kept telling myself he skipped my betrayal out of indifference. Yet that night he had sounded so worried for my sake. He had come to me and I turned him away.

If he had spoken the truth from the start, would you have believed him? Or would you have locked away the one person capable of stopping that monster? You would have, right? Victor knew that. He knew the only chance to save you was staying silent.

Heat spread throughout my body, whether from shame or rage, I did not know. All I knew was that I refused to let the man who had capitalized on my family’s tragedy upheave my life any further.

“What does it matter if Victor regretted what he did?” I snapped. “He ought to! He is the reason everyone is dead!”

“Ernest,” Walton’s tone was pleading. “You are a good man who deserves none of this pain. Staying in Ingolstadt only fuels your bitterness. Come live with my sister and I! You cannot hope to survive in the real world with your impairments.”

“I am stronger than you realize,” I muttered. Go with Walton? The man who had held a torch to Victor’s sins for all the world to see?

Who had comforted my dying brother while I was absent. Who did not see me as an extension of Victor and offered an escape from my nomadic life on the run. I eyed the abandoned bell in the distance.

Once, I might have accepted such an offer and left the bad memories behind me. But why settle for replacements when my true family was just within my grasp? I was with Curwen now, and we would amend Victor’s past mistakes instead of moving forward with our lives. I shook my head and Walton’s hand lowered. He seemed to view me for the first time.

“Ernest,” Walton’s tone shook. “Why are you in Ingolstadt when you know full well what Victor did here?”

I shrank away. Walton had seen what Victor had been reduced to. He would never condone a repeat of his work, no matter the good intentions.

“It was nice meeting you, captain,” I started down the alleyway, faking confidence. “But I must be going. Seeing how little you considered me when you published Victor’s account, you have no right to take an interest now.”

That struck a nerve. Walton was too good. Too kind. He did not deserve to be caught up in this mess. It was cruel of me to weaponize his mistake when he had only meant well. I saw his head lower and knew my words bound him in place. Guilt pricked me as I rushed away, but it was a small price for what Curwen had promised.

NOTES:

Regarding the Illuminati, Adam Weishaupt founded it at Ingolstadt University in 1776, and considering pop culture associates them with the new world order (you know, that thing Curwen’s kinda trying to bring about), I had to give them a place in the narrative. Frankenstein is Illuminati confirmed and you shall not question this head cannon.

And mathematical teleportation? Hmmmmmmmmm, where have we seen that before?

(Feel free to comment with thoughts/suggestions, I'm always looking to improve!)