Convicted and cut to the heart by guilt, I stumbled at a shambling run towards the door of the dining room, searching desperately for my family. The occasional sob escaped my lips, so great was my despair. I attempted to reassure myself that it was not too late to act, but remorse still roamed restlessly in my soul. The ornately carved wooden doors gave before me, swinging open with a great noise. Around the table my family sat, all in positions of pensive thought, their supper – so mundane in the face of Justine’s impending trial, and even more so when I considered the fact that I had a hand in her doom – lay untouched in front of them.
No doubt I looked half-mad, with wide, wild eyes ablaze. I cried out my confession in a screech of inhuman agony. “O God, know that I have done a horrible thing. I have murdered poor William and soon innocent Justine shall die by my hand too!” I collapsed onto the end of the table, gripping the cloth for support as I wailed incoherently.
They all gathered around me instantly and began trying to comfort me, burying their own sorrow and worry. I loved them for it, but it was not to be. I was unquestionably guilty, and nothing could avert the weight that had settled deep inside me. Eventually they were able to get the whole tale out of me, how I had created the monster and how I believed that he had killed William.
“Leave me to my remorse,” said I. “The only way to assist me is to save Justine.”
My father laid his hand gently upon my shoulder and raised me to my feet. “Do you think, Victor, that we shall leave you alone in your troubles? Do not deceive yourself. We shall stand by you in all. Therefore, let us finish our meal and go out to the forest where you saw this monster. We shall overcome it and take it back to the court as evidence, dead or alive.”
My tears became bright tears of joy as the others nodded. “Thank you,” I managed to say before my brother led me off to my bedroom to get some rest.
“We shall come with you in an hour,” whispered he as we entered my quarters.
-
The moonlight that filtering through my window danced across my eyelids and awakened me. As I glanced at the clock, I realized with a jolt of horror that in half an hour we would be off to the woods to capture or kill my monster. The very words I applied to the creature convicted me yet again. It was my monster – my problem, not for me to endanger my family with. The foul imitation of humanity must be destroyed. It could not be captured, for it would only break free. I must take back the life which I so foolishly gave to it.
Thus, I set off to the dark forest to seek the monster. At my first resounding step into the forest – a step in the right direction, a step towards the light – I saw that my way was lit by the crescent moon. I considered it a sign that my endeavor was smiled upon by heaven. I followed the faint track in the undergrowth, only to find myself hopelessly lost in the woods, in the middle of a wild tangle of ivy and knee-high grasses.
I do not know how long I spent in the woodlands, but soon I heard familiar voices – those that I most wanted to hear, and those that I least wanted to hear in that place. My family had followed me, and they were calling my name in loud and ever more desperate voices.
I circumvented a tree and walked down among them. “Call me not,” hissed I. “The monster is a cunning beast. It will seize upon the least clue of our arrival and find us!”
As I said this, the mockery of humanity that I had created leaped from behind me, knocking me to the ground. It ignored me, however, and set about the gruesome work for which it had lured me here. I could not watch as it liberally baptized the ground with the precious blood of my loved ones. It then turned to face me.
The rags which were all that was left of my beloved Elizabeth’s garments were caught on a branch of an oak tree weakened by the massacre. As the murderer drew nearer, the rags caught at his crudely made body and the heavy branch descended upon him like a fist of judgment, pinning the once mighty monster to the earth. His struggles weakened quickly as I grasped my sword eagerly and advanced, ready to bring justice upon the beast’s head. He barely twitched as I brought my blade down. I lifted the repugnant twice-perished head. My flesh crawled at the touch of the body, and I could see tiny blisters beginning to form on my hands.
Seeing the sun approaching its noontime position, I hastened from the accursed spot, determined that the court should hear of this, the real murderer. Then should Justine be acquitted and my hand be recognized as innocent of her death.
I stalked up into the courtroom steps, flinging open the door and holding out before me the head of my creation. Justine stood in the position of the defendant, staring sorrowfully downwards – worried, no doubt, about the absence of friendly faces in the crowd. She looked up upon my entrance. When she recognized me, her expression turned hopeful, but when she took in the rest of my appearance and the head I grasped firmly by the hair, her countenance fell again. Undeterred, I rushed up the steps to the judge.
“Honorable sir!” exclaimed I. “I have here the head of poor William’s true killer!” I held up the head so the judge could meet its blank, expressionless eyes. I stared at him, willing him to understand. O, could he not see the cruelty in that face? But here the judge surprised me. Rather than dismissing my evidence, he started up as one who had seen a supernatural manifestation and exclaimed in horror.
“You see?” asked I triumphantly. The judge turned his countenance upon me with a great and terrible expression and summoned the guards. They bound me in chains before I could continue.
The judge addressed the court as I exited the room. “This head that was brought in belonged to the Earl de Vere, who, you may recall, was interred a year past. The statement is unreliable. Proceed.”
My heart sank. I was to give my own life and bring everyone else down to Hades with me. There was no chance of me saving anyone. I prepared myself for death. But even death was to avoid me, as I was deposited in an insane asylum.
Since the blisters had developed upon my palms, the welts had inflamed and enlarged. Furthermore, they had spread up my arms. I did not know what the malady was that afflicted me, but I could not pretend that I was unafraid. A slow, torturous death is the worst kind, and the agony it brought me in the last days was unimaginable.
Worse still was the guilt I suffered the days I heard of a headless brute that roamed the countryside, killing innocents. I had no doubt it was my monster, and the severing of its head had not ended its miserable life. I looked forward to the ending of my own life, looking for relief of a sort. It was not to be so. When I died, I was free of physical pain, but the mental pain yet torments me. I cannot rest until I have freed the world of my curse. Life is a terrible gift.
And so it is that I tell you this tale from beyond the grave. You who hear my words, know that I regret my contributions to the gross product of humanity. I wish to destroy this plague upon humanity, but I know not how. Should you kill this monster, I would be eternally grateful – and finally at rest.
-
He sprung from the cabin window, as he said this, upon the ice-raft which lay close to the vessel. He was soon borne away by the waves, and lost in darkness and distance.
