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One morning, awakening in my humble hovel, I set about to my daily routine. I went to collect firewood for my neighbors, whom I had been anonymously aiding over the months, and snacked on berries and nuts I found along the way. After carefully setting the wood upon the doorstep of the DeLacey home, I wandered back to my poor hut, and busied myself with cleaning, as the dust and dirt my feet tracked in covered the floor.
During this bout of cleaning, I was reminded of the papers in the pocket of my old torn jacket, which sat crumbled in the corner, unused since the wintertime. Delicately, I unfolded the pages and reread through them. I understood more of the words and symbols written since I had last read it, having been more educated through watching the young fellow teach his foreign acquaintance their spoken and written language.
Long had it been since I thought of the man who wrote these journal entries, signed Victor Frankenstein, and not until this moment had I any interest in meeting him. Previously, I had dismissed him as some high creator, simply bringing me to life and sending me out into the world with no other purpose for my creation. But, as my thoughts wandered to my stay in this small hut, observing my neighbors, and learning more about this interesting society, I began to think of what this Frankenstein thought of me. Were there more like me? I was clearly abnormal compared to the DeLacey family, and nothing alike to their foreign guests, however I was closer to them in visage and mind than to the birds and rabbits that inhabited the forest alongside me.
Frankenstein’s pages included an address, which I could only assume was his home, or at least his workplace. I had a fairly accurate grasp of how addresses work, although I had no access to a map or guide to know in which direction the address was located. But, to my ardor, the very next day, the DeLacey’s had misplaced a travel guide, probably left over from their guests’ travels, and I was able to obtain it, and found the exact area in which Frankenstein dwelt.
Before I left to face my creator, to ask him questions of why I came into being, and of if I was alone in this world or if he had created more of my kind, I set to gathering essential materials for my travels. I wanted to move lightly, so as to alleviate myself from further burdens and to move as fast and efficiently as possible.
It took a few days until I was able to see the city that the address was nestled in. It took another day until I was able to enter, as I waited to go into the city under the cover of night. With a bit of trouble locating all the correct street signs and house numbers, I finally came upon the matching address written on the pages in my pocket. Recalling what I had seen from various visitors to the DeLacey household, I took the doorknocker in my fist and ardently hit it against the wood of the door. The sound reverberated through the house, and it didn’t take long until I heard hurried footsteps making their way to greet me.
In front of me stood who I could only assume was Victor Frankenstein. He was dressed in what looked to be nightclothes, and his countenance was shroud in confusion, which soon turned to abhorrence. He threw up his hand and began yelling frighteningly at me.
“Horrid creature! Since your awakening, your grotesque and formidable physique has haunted me, and my nightmares have been overturned with the horrors you could commit to humanity. Where have you been, monster? Who have you stalked and tortured, for I know you’ve done more than the crimes which have filled my mind endlessly since your departure from my sight?”
I looked down upon my creator, a strange emotion of despair clouding my mind, for I had done nothing that deserved this retribution. “I simply came to ask a favor of you.” Victor seemed shocked at my casual and concise response and stuttered a bit in his next words.
“I will not listen to your request until you have recounted to me all that you have done in your time away from this place, the place of your creation.” Victor gestured to me to come inside, and led me to a room I remembered vaguely as being the construction place of my body. He sat me down on a long bench and settled himself across for me in an armchair. “Now, tell me, where have you been? What have you done?”
I began the long story of my life with candor, refusing to be cursory in my tale, indulging Victor in every detail of my existence. I placed emphasis on the DeLacey family, making it clear the respect and love I felt for my human companions, and how dearly I wished to be accepted by them, and, at length, humanity itself. After long hours of talking, I came to the crux of my favor, of what I came to ask of my creator, of Frankenstein.
“I have concluded myself that I am the only one of my kind, that I am your only chimera, the only one who you’ve built with your hands. Because of this, I am oh so lonely, and wish for nothing more than someone to be with me, to look past my imposing and disgusting figure and to create a relationship like those of the friends I have spoken of. I know there are multiple categories of relationships, as I have overheard from my neighbors, such being father, mother, brother, sister, son, and daughter. If I could only have a companion to fit one of these, I would return back to my penury living, and never ask anything of you again.”
I watched as Victor processed my words, his brows furrowed in intense thought. His voice was soft once he finally spoke, which surprised me, given his wanton tone before. “I will make you another, as long as you oath to forget me forever after, and refuse any connect with anyone related to me. While I make you a companion, you must stay here in this house so no one will see you, my horrifying creation.”
Nodding solemnly, I stood and got comfortable in a corner of the office space. Over the days I stayed silent, watching Victor work on another like me. He never acknowledged me, and continued to work as fast as he could, cursing me under his breath as he did.
The creature looked nothing like me, unexpectedly. It was small, much smaller than myself and even smaller than Agatha, the most petite of the DeLacey family. When propped up on its feet, the child stood no taller than my forearm was long. Its features were delicate, and Victor put extreme effort into fitting it all together. Unlike my own sturdy limbs and joints, this creation looked so fragile and vulnerable.
The day, or rather, night, came when Victor thrust his newest creation into my arms, and commanded me to leave his dwellings at once. Carefully taking the unsullied creature into my hold, I snuck out of the house and left the town, heading back to the forest to start the journey back to my humble home.
The child had been asleep ever since Victor had given it to me. While it slept, I had it tucked under my old jacket in the corner of the hovel, sat atop a pillow of straw. It did not take long for me to worry, as I watched the young child sleep peacefully, that I did not know how to care for it. It surely wouldn’t move, talk, or eat the same way as me, seeing as we were so incredibly different in stature and growth. It’s mien much closer matched that of the DeLacey’s, albeit on a smaller scale.
I felt something akin to what I felt whenever I watched the family talk together, smile together, laugh together, when I looked upon the innocent face of the child that had been created for me. I felt an attachment to it I hadn’t yet learned enough words to describe. But, despite this attachment, this overwhelming joy, I was at a complete loss for how to raise the child.
Hours passed as I sat in thought, contemplating my future, how to live with another being in my presence, who’d need attention and care that I didn’t know how to provide. The creature finally stirred, and I watched in earnest as it softly opened its eyes, and languidly rolled over, fixing its gaze on me. Long moments passed as we looked at each other with rapt interest, until the quiet was broken with a wail. The child had opened its delicate mouth, and screams tore from its throat, crying in despair and every other horrible emotion I could name. I couldn’t bear the sorrowful cries, so I quickly scooped it up into my arms, bundled in my jacket like a blanket, and tried using my wretched voice to calm the child. However, the child was inexorable, and refused to quiet. It grasped its tiny palm around my thumb, and I couldn’t help but cry along with it.
I cried for the child, I cried for myself, I cried for the fact that I couldn’t keep it with me. I hadn’t the faintest clue how to calm the creature, no matter how much I desperately wanted to keep it in my arms, to continue to love it as it grew. While I held it, praying for it to quiet, sudden inspiration struck me. I couldn’t keep it with me, but perhaps I could keep it close.
I waited until the child had calmed, which took until night fell once again, and wrapped it in the softest, cleanest blanket I had. I tore off a fragment of the journal pages, a piece inscribed with Victor Frankenstein’s signature, and tucked it into the blanket alongside the child. Quietly, I stepped outside into the moonlight, the child bundled safely in my arms, sleeping just as peacefully as it had been at first.
The DeLacey’s home was quiet, everyone having been asleep for hours now. I set the child softly onto the doorstep, carefully unwrapping its little fist from around my thumb, and knocked a few times onto the door. Hastily, I escaped back through the forest to my lonely home, where I could observe the happenings that took place immediately after.
Felix, the young man, opened the door, and, upon gasping and calling for his sister, he took the child into his arms and rushed back into the house. I watched as the windows all lit up with candlelight and heard the voices of both Felix and Agatha. The cries of the child once again arose but were quickly sated by what I could only guess to be food. From my perspective, holed away in my despicably lonely hut, the night continued on in silence, though I believed there to be many whispered conversations amongst the DeLacey house about the child.
Days passed, weeks passed, even years, and I stayed, isolated in my secluded hovel, in the middle of the forest, watching the family raise the child I asked for. They loved it like their own, Agatha taught it to sing, to cook, to play, and Felix taught it to work, to talk, to laugh. I was content, once again by myself, to watch with joy as the child grew strong and kind.