The Widow of Frankenstein (1987)

It was a normal gray day in Transylvania. A cold wind blew over the murky moat surrounding the dilapidated castle and rattled the kitchen windows. Only the dead skeletons of the nearer trees could be seen through the dense fog and a strange unearthly moaning could be faintly heard above the gusts of wind.

All of this went unnoticed by Victor Frankenstein VII as did his breakfast which slowly congealed on his plate. As the wind continued to rap at the windows behind him, Frankenstein sifted through the morning papers, pausing every now and then to sip a bit of tepid coffee. From deep inside the castle somewhere, an aging grandfather clock bonged nine times and his servant, Igor, entered to clear the breakfast dishes. Frankenstein continued to page through the newspapers. The state-run papers were useless, they only wrote of how the peasant farmers’ crop yields continued to increase (but failed to explain why they were all starving to death). One by one, the useless pages dropped to the cold stone floor on the side of his chair until a story caught his eye. It was deep inside a small underground free-press newspaper. Frankenstein read the story aloud.

“Another woman was found mutilated near the swamps. Her arms are reported to be missing.” Igor, hunched over the dishes (because he was a hunchback) smiled slightly, showing his seven yellow teeth. Frankenstein continued to read.

“Footprints were found leading away from the scene, but were too faint to be followed far. Bloodhounds proved to be useless after the trail disappeared near the river.” Igor’s smile vanished as Frankenstein whacked him with the rolled up newspaper.

“You have to be more careful, Igor,” said Frankenstein icily.

The grandfather clock announced it was 9:15 as the two men opened an oaken door a foot thick. It gave out a long satisfying creak and welcomed them into the darkness beyond. Igor leaned into the void and flipped a switch, flooding the dungeon with light. Frankenstein sighed and blew out his flaming torch. It just wasn’t like the old days.

The laboratory was filled with pieces of machinery and rows and rows of jars. Frankenstein checked several of them. The body parts in each floated in a gel-like solution, kept alive from nutrients in the gel and a small amount of electricity. His great-to-the whatever-power grandfather had perfected a process and with a little surgery, he had fabricated a monster. It was an impressive albeit uncontrollable achievement. Too bad the villagers hadn’t seen it that way.

Frankenstein washed up and smiled. The memories of the rampaging monster stirred up a lot of nostalgic feeling. Back when science was a philosophy and human life meant nothing. The good old days. Too bad old Victor didn’t have the equipment he had now. He was going one step farther than his predecessor had.

He was going to make the perfect match for himself, a wife.

Igor washed up as well and together they began the operation. Igor took the torso from the jar and cleaned it off while Frankenstein hooked it up to a life-support machine. Igor added a leg and Frankenstein slowly attached it with a surgical laser. Several hours passed as they tested various nerve endings and then sealed them. Slowly, the number of stored body parts diminished and by nightfall, only the head remained in transit.

The head proved to be a trial of patience. Every nerve, blood-vessel and muscle fiber had to be painstakingly reintroduced with a body so the brain would function normally. Night gave way to dawn before Frankenstein pulled off his gloves and bloody smock. The operation was complete.

“God may have created the world in six days, but I’ve created fun in one,” laughed Frankenstein. Igor didn’t understand the joke (being a hunchback with seven teeth), but he jumped up and down anyway (Frankenstein still had surgical instruments in his possession).

The men surveyed their handiwork. She was beautiful beyond description. Igor had certainly grabbed the best parts of every woman he murdered. Frankenstein inspected her closely. With laser microsurgery, the seams hardly showed and would heal without scars.

He went to his chambers for a cold shower. Frankenstein considered the next phase. Though he had updated many of the techniques left from his ancestor, he still needed a large violent electrical storm to complete the process and bring the woman, his wife, to life. The voltage necessary could only be simulated by a nuclear reactor (and he certainly didn’t want to mess around with one of those).

A crash of thunder pulled him away from his thoughts. The awakening could be done tonight! Frankenstein called for Igor to ready the proper equipment and then paused for another cold shower.

Igor hobbled about the laboratory. He put the body on a suspended platform and raised her to the ceiling. He threw a switch and the ceiling opened for the body to continue its ascent. The rain pelted Igor and lightning crackled across the sky. Frankenstein fairly flew down the stairs and steeled himself against the wind whipping down the from the hatchway and prepared for the final phase. On the roof, battered by the storm, the life-giving device was repeatedly struck by lightning. Again and again, bright flashes connected with the steel mesh. The electricity built up inside massive storage batteries until they could hold no more. The tremendous power was unleashed, pouring through the body. Frankenstein shouted in triumph above the chaos and brought her down from the heavens.

At the first glance, she appeared as lifeless as before, but then she began to breathe; shallow at first, but deepening as they watched. After a few minutes, color returned to her skin and her eyes flickered open. They moved around the room, pausing once on Igor’s hunchback then stopping on Frankenstein’s face. She smiled.

“Igor,” commanded Frankenstein, “get my lady some clothes. I’ll be in my chambers.” With that, he left them. It was time for another cold shower.

When he got out, she was already waiting for him in his chambers. Her smile wide, she walked over to him.

“You are a very handsome man,” she said huskily. Frankenstein smiled and reddened slightly. She caressed the skin of his face and he enjoyed her light touch. She had such beautiful hands. They were wasted on the woman they were from…

Such thoughts were put aside as she kissed him. Frankenstein held her in his arms with only one thing on his mind. The woman yielded to his desire with only one thing on her mind.

He never felt the knife.

She stood alone in the laboratory clad only in a negligee. In a jar lay the head of Frankenstein, a very surprised and hurt expression on his face. She smiled and patted the jar lovingly. It would be all right soon. In the jar next to the head floated Igor’s sexy hunched back. She thought of others. The milkman she had seen making his rounds had such big, strong arms and perhaps the legs of the mailman or even the paperboy.

The smile grew as she continued to plan. With the perfect husband done, she could be put together a few kids, maybe even a dog.

Transylvania would never be the same.


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