Read Online Frankenstein Lives Again (The New Adventures of Frankenstein) by Donald F. Glut, Mark D. Maddox - Free Book Online
Authors: Donald F. Glut, Mark D. Maddox
Tags: Fiction
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Winslow turned his head to see Dupré and the irate hotel manager standing in the room gawking at him. With a streak of movement, the assailant was again reaching for his weapon.
“No, you don’t!” shouted Winslow, bashing the orderly’s face with his fist. He hit him a second time in the stomach, then let fly another blow to the jaw.
The native dropped unconscious to the floor, as Dupré called out, “Burt!”
“What the hell’s going on in here?” the angry manager demanded. “Are you trying to wreck my hotel?”
“No,” answered Winslow bitterly, “but someone was trying to wreck me. If there’s any damage in here, I’ll pay for it.” He looked about the room, not seeing anything that was broken except, perhaps, his attacker’s jaw. He removed from his bureau drawer a roll of five dollar bills, which he tossed to the manager
Grinning, the manager trotted out of the room, counting his newly acquired fortune and not turning back to look for signs of damage.
Alone now with Dupré and the unconscious orderly, Winslow said, “Pierre, I think we’d better call the local police.” He rubbed his sore neck which still bore the marks of his opponent’s powerful hand. “We’re dealing with fanatics... who don’t want us to complete our mission. This guy apparently overheard us talking about the Monster at the medical center. And you can see that the old superstitious ways took hold of even an educated man like this. Better we sign a complaint fast and get this one locked away, before he tells any of his friends what we’re about to do — if he hasn’t already.”
Shocked by what he had seen, Pierre Dupré had to agree.
It was the Frenchman who made the call, Winslow still finding it slightly painful to speak. He had already resolved himself to the very possible reality that more trouble would greet them in the morning.
CHAPTER VI:
The Ice God
The structure that had come to be known as Castle Frankenstein rested like some monstrous stone gargoyle atop the hill, sharply silhouetted against Ingolstadt’s blue sky. A pervading silence had settled over the ancient building, the only sound being made by a few birds that had dared to make their nests in an opening in one of the castle’s towers.
On this day, however, there was also the sound of wagon wheels carrying the creaking conveyance they were rolling toward the foreboding building. The wagon was driven by a haggard looking German who fiercely cracked his whip over the nag that drew both him and his passenger over the old drawbridge, crossing the watery moat that connected with the mountain streams which eventually intersected with the Rhine.
“You sure this is where you want me to let you off, Fraulein ?” the man asked in a gruff voice that betrayed his fear of the place they were approaching. He squinted as he gazed up at the castle. “You know what place this is? You know what demon was born in this place?” As he spoke, he turned his head to see the young woman seated next to him.
“I know,” she replied.
The man drew in his reins, bringing his wagon to a noisy halt at the end of the drawbridge. “If I might warn you but one more time — " he began.
“There’s no need for anymore of that,” she answered, recalling his many attempts at trying to dissuade her from this journey ever since she had stepped aboard his wagon back in the town. Briefly she thought of her many failed attempts at securing an automobile ride to Castle Frankenstein, the many refusals on the parts of superstitious drivers, and her final offering of enough of Burt Winslow’s money to purchase at least this uncomfortable method of transportation.
Lynn Powell handed the driver the agreed upon amount of money with a little extra added. The money had the intended effect. The driver kept his opinions to himself, at least while in her presence.
The man scratched his curly hair, then, after tucking the small fortune inside his shirt, jumped down from the wagon.
“No, you don’t!” shouted Winslow, bashing the orderly’s face with his fist. He hit him a second time in the stomach, then let fly another blow to the jaw.
The native dropped unconscious to the floor, as Dupré called out, “Burt!”
“What the hell’s going on in here?” the angry manager demanded. “Are you trying to wreck my hotel?”
“No,” answered Winslow bitterly, “but someone was trying to wreck me. If there’s any damage in here, I’ll pay for it.” He looked about the room, not seeing anything that was broken except, perhaps, his attacker’s jaw. He removed from his bureau drawer a roll of five dollar bills, which he tossed to the manager
Grinning, the manager trotted out of the room, counting his newly acquired fortune and not turning back to look for signs of damage.
Alone now with Dupré and the unconscious orderly, Winslow said, “Pierre, I think we’d better call the local police.” He rubbed his sore neck which still bore the marks of his opponent’s powerful hand. “We’re dealing with fanatics... who don’t want us to complete our mission. This guy apparently overheard us talking about the Monster at the medical center. And you can see that the old superstitious ways took hold of even an educated man like this. Better we sign a complaint fast and get this one locked away, before he tells any of his friends what we’re about to do — if he hasn’t already.”
Shocked by what he had seen, Pierre Dupré had to agree.
It was the Frenchman who made the call, Winslow still finding it slightly painful to speak. He had already resolved himself to the very possible reality that more trouble would greet them in the morning.
CHAPTER VI:
The Ice God
The structure that had come to be known as Castle Frankenstein rested like some monstrous stone gargoyle atop the hill, sharply silhouetted against Ingolstadt’s blue sky. A pervading silence had settled over the ancient building, the only sound being made by a few birds that had dared to make their nests in an opening in one of the castle’s towers.
On this day, however, there was also the sound of wagon wheels carrying the creaking conveyance they were rolling toward the foreboding building. The wagon was driven by a haggard looking German who fiercely cracked his whip over the nag that drew both him and his passenger over the old drawbridge, crossing the watery moat that connected with the mountain streams which eventually intersected with the Rhine.
“You sure this is where you want me to let you off, Fraulein ?” the man asked in a gruff voice that betrayed his fear of the place they were approaching. He squinted as he gazed up at the castle. “You know what place this is? You know what demon was born in this place?” As he spoke, he turned his head to see the young woman seated next to him.
“I know,” she replied.
The man drew in his reins, bringing his wagon to a noisy halt at the end of the drawbridge. “If I might warn you but one more time — " he began.
“There’s no need for anymore of that,” she answered, recalling his many attempts at trying to dissuade her from this journey ever since she had stepped aboard his wagon back in the town. Briefly she thought of her many failed attempts at securing an automobile ride to Castle Frankenstein, the many refusals on the parts of superstitious drivers, and her final offering of enough of Burt Winslow’s money to purchase at least this uncomfortable method of transportation.
Lynn Powell handed the driver the agreed upon amount of money with a little extra added. The money had the intended effect. The driver kept his opinions to himself, at least while in her presence.
The man scratched his curly hair, then, after tucking the small fortune inside his shirt, jumped down from the wagon.
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