Random short story.

     Frankenstein II

My dear sister,

As you foretold, I indeed became trapped in the frozen wastes of the north. You were, as ever, wise beyond your years and I only wish now I had listened when you said I was a "Fucking idiot" for driving a Halfords lorry in Scotland in winter, and it was, as you predicted "Halfway up some shitarsed mountain" where I met my fate, and became stuck in the snow and ice over the whole bank holiday weekend. You were wrong, however, in one respect, as the fault was not entirely my own. I would, blizzard notwithstanding have made it all the way up Ben Griam Beg if I had not stopped to help a stranger in distress. I will own that under the circumstances my shortcut off the B871 to make the Achiemore branch before Friday closing was perhaps unwise. The A871 with hindsight would - I digress, mere travellers jargon, of no interest to you.

The stranger I mentioned appeared out of the blizzard near the summit. He was oddly dressed, as for motor racing and was staggering and raving with exhaustion and cold. He was waving pliers and when I left the cab to help him, I saw the reason. Pulled off the road and raised on a jack which I noted was unsuitable for the purpose was a 1974 Ford Cortina. Curiously, given the unholy weather, It had no windows and had a roughly painted number 66 beneath the legend "Bilston Bastards". It was only after I had helped him into the warmth of the cab, me almost freezing and he muttering about "Ford special tools", and revived him with a flask of tea and my special lorry drivers brandy and red bull that the stranger introduced himself as Victor and recounted his fantastic tale which I shall record as best I can in his own words.

"I was born in Geneva," he said, "but was educated at the University of Ingolstadt in Germany, where I became a doctor. Unfortunately, at the end of my studies, there was some unpleasantness when I made a giant creature out of dead people. This made everyone angry. Then the creature became angry when I would not make a lady creature. Then my wife became very angry indeed because he killed her, and this made me furious. Ingolstadt, as I recall was a very aggressive place in those days. They wanted to burn me. I left in order to pursue the creature to the North Pole. The North Pole is not such an aggressive place, but it is very big and very cold, and I could not find him. I also became very cold and less furious, and when I was less furious I remembered I had made the creature over eight feet tall and so decided not to look for him anymore.

I could not go back home because everyone was still very angry and wanted to burn me, so I went to England and moved to Dudley because it had a castle which I was able to rent. Unfortunately my funds were running low and I had left for the North Pole without my medical certificate. Having some mechanical abilities and lots of space in my castle I opened a garage and began mending cars. I became successful and met many friends in the Four Furnaces in Pensnett where the car mechanics drank. The barmaid was very pretty and soon we were in love and she became my wife. I was very happy.

Then came the fateful day when my fellow mechanics took me to Birmingham to watch the banger racing. Oh the excitement, the destruction, the sheer animal thrill. Thus began my new obsession. I, Victor Frankenstein, would build a banger racer, the like of which would make the world draw its breath. I had been wasted in medicine, this was what I had been born to do. In secret I purchased a 2.2 litre Austin Ambassador and set to work. They were dark and unholy nights, doing evil business with furtive oil blackened men of the worst kind, being chased over the fences of moonlit tat yards by snarling dogs, stealing parts from old ladies cars. I lost weight and grew a beard, I ignored my wife and slept little. When I did sleep, I muttered. It was wonderful, it was like the old days only better because it was partially legal.

Finally, one night, my work was complete. It was before me. My creation. A thing of magnificence raised by me from the rain soaked charnels of countless tat yards, bastardized, welded and bolted into pure mechanical sculpture. It only remained to turn the key. I did so, trembling like a madman, and the 2.2 litre Austin roared. I was elated. "It's Running!" I screamed and fainted from excitement, exhaustion and carbon monoxide.

Then Horror! The creature returned to me that Friday evening, the night before my first race. I was very drunk in the Four Furnaces when behind me a glass broke, and a voice cried "You spilled my - Fucking hell, sorry mate." I turned and the creature stood before me, eight feet tall and dripping with rain and Banks's mild ale, an accusing finger raised.

"Victor!" The terrible voice from the past was unbearable, "I have returned, to destroy once more everything of importance to you. You will be forever in torment, this I promise!" and he was gone. I suppose with hindsight I should have taken more notice of this, but I was very drunk so I just went home.

The next day was the day of the race, in Birmingham All day I kept a suspicious eye out for enormous creatures in the crowd, but saw none, and, joy of joys, I won the race! My machine was unveiled, it pissed all over everyone else’s and they cheered! I was a success and no one wanted to burn me. I was very happy.

My joy was short lived. During the celebrations, someone tapped me on the shoulder, "Mate, that bloke's pinching your car."

It was true, an enormous figure was squeezing into the drivers seat and starting the engine. It was the creature. He drove toward the exit, once more annihilating my life, everything I had worked for. Things could not be worse.

Then as he drove past me he called in his terrible voice, "I've topped your wife again as well!"

That did it. Once more furious I leapt into that piece of shit Cortina and pursued the monster north."

That, my sister was his story, excepting the part which I saw with my own eyes. When the blizzard abated on the Monday, I was able to lend him the Halfords equivalent of the Ford special tool he needed and, in a frenzy of madness, he set to the Cortina. As he finished up and was sensibly tightening the wheel nuts, the scream of an engine approached and an Austin Ambassador sped past. Out of the window I heard someone shout "Up your bum Frankenstein!" With a howl of fury Victor leapt into the Cortina and backfired away in a cloud of smoke. That was the last I saw of him.

I mused long on the drive to Achiemore, on the nature of the dark side of mans soul, on what circumstances may drive a fallen angel to become such a malignant devil.

Still, it's a funny old world.