Read Online Frankenstein Lives Again (The New Adventures of Frankenstein) by Donald F. Glut, Mark D. Maddox - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Donald F. Glut, Mark D. Maddox
Tags: Fiction
Ads: Link
Still, he could not justify the presence of such an American beauty out here, on the unhallowed grounds of Castle Frankenstein which was feared and shunned by even the more courageous members of the town’s population.
For a few moments he could only wonder and look upon his passenger. She appeared to be in her early twenties, with long hair cascading down her shoulders and back like gentle waves. Rarely had he seen women with a body as classically perfect as hers, which was further enhanced by the fashionable American blouse and skirt that she wore.
Lynn stepped down from the wagon, as the driver immediately proceeded to bring down her luggage. She noticed the caution he employed in setting down the suitcases before the castle’s front door, careful not to step too close to the legend-shrouded structure. When he finished his work, the driver flashed Lynn a forced smile, then took his place again behind his horse. Again he cracked the whip, turning his wagon around and over the drawbridge, to head back toward the town, no doubt, thought Lynn to spread some gossip about the American woman who had come to the castle of Frankenstein.
With the departure of the driver, no one else approached the castle for awhile, Lynn Powell stood outside the building, finding herself marveling at this once proud fortress. She wondered what history might have been made here besides that of Victor Frankenstein. Her imagination was suddenly fired by visions of knights and battles on horseback before the coming of gunpowder. Lynn had never seen a castle before other than in photographs or book illustrations. The thrill of this new experience made her feel like a child again, one who had suddenly become part of some medieval fantasy.
There was a breeze blowing, tossing about her long hair, as she walked toward the main door of the castle. She noticed the five enormous wooden crates, each one stamped Fragile, which had been stacked in a niche on the patio. Although she already knew what those crates contained, she went to the tags and read them silently:
"To: Dr. Burt Winslow. Paid."
Burt’s equipment has arrived, she thought, or at least the first shipment. She realized that no one in the village would probably give her any assistance in getting the boxes inside the castle and decided to leave them here, untouched, until Winslow returned to Europe.
She diverted her attention to the main door. It seemed strong enough to have held back an army in its day, having been constructed out of stout wood which rose high above her head. Strips of rusted, bolted metal braced the door to give it added strength. Some of the timbers, she noticed, were warped out of shape. But the new lock which Winslow had installed and which gleamed shiny in the sunlight brought the door into the twentieth century.
Anxiously the woman searched her purse and found the key which Burt had entrusted to her before he and she had parted back in the United States. She clasped the key firmly, the anticipation of entering the castle making her heart beat faster then slid the key into the lock. After a slow twist, she opened the great door to the legends of past centuries.
Flicking on the electrical lights, another improvement installed by Winslow after purchasing the castle, Lynn walked through the musty building, her eyes widening with awe at every step she took. The lights did little more for the place other than to accentuate the extreme dilapidation into which the castle had sunk.
Burt, she thought, had obviously thought only of the castle’s history and significance and nothing of its appearance or atmosphere. Perhaps he had knocked down a spider web or two, but other than that the place looked like a dirty tomb and smelled nearly as bad.
Certainly this was no place for a normal human being to live, especially since Burt had given her only an approximate date for his eventual return to Ingolstadt. Lynn had usually shied away from housework and the stereotyped role
For a few moments he could only wonder and look upon his passenger. She appeared to be in her early twenties, with long hair cascading down her shoulders and back like gentle waves. Rarely had he seen women with a body as classically perfect as hers, which was further enhanced by the fashionable American blouse and skirt that she wore.
Lynn stepped down from the wagon, as the driver immediately proceeded to bring down her luggage. She noticed the caution he employed in setting down the suitcases before the castle’s front door, careful not to step too close to the legend-shrouded structure. When he finished his work, the driver flashed Lynn a forced smile, then took his place again behind his horse. Again he cracked the whip, turning his wagon around and over the drawbridge, to head back toward the town, no doubt, thought Lynn to spread some gossip about the American woman who had come to the castle of Frankenstein.
With the departure of the driver, no one else approached the castle for awhile, Lynn Powell stood outside the building, finding herself marveling at this once proud fortress. She wondered what history might have been made here besides that of Victor Frankenstein. Her imagination was suddenly fired by visions of knights and battles on horseback before the coming of gunpowder. Lynn had never seen a castle before other than in photographs or book illustrations. The thrill of this new experience made her feel like a child again, one who had suddenly become part of some medieval fantasy.
There was a breeze blowing, tossing about her long hair, as she walked toward the main door of the castle. She noticed the five enormous wooden crates, each one stamped Fragile, which had been stacked in a niche on the patio. Although she already knew what those crates contained, she went to the tags and read them silently:
"To: Dr. Burt Winslow. Paid."
Burt’s equipment has arrived, she thought, or at least the first shipment. She realized that no one in the village would probably give her any assistance in getting the boxes inside the castle and decided to leave them here, untouched, until Winslow returned to Europe.
She diverted her attention to the main door. It seemed strong enough to have held back an army in its day, having been constructed out of stout wood which rose high above her head. Strips of rusted, bolted metal braced the door to give it added strength. Some of the timbers, she noticed, were warped out of shape. But the new lock which Winslow had installed and which gleamed shiny in the sunlight brought the door into the twentieth century.
Anxiously the woman searched her purse and found the key which Burt had entrusted to her before he and she had parted back in the United States. She clasped the key firmly, the anticipation of entering the castle making her heart beat faster then slid the key into the lock. After a slow twist, she opened the great door to the legends of past centuries.
Flicking on the electrical lights, another improvement installed by Winslow after purchasing the castle, Lynn walked through the musty building, her eyes widening with awe at every step she took. The lights did little more for the place other than to accentuate the extreme dilapidation into which the castle had sunk.
Burt, she thought, had obviously thought only of the castle’s history and significance and nothing of its appearance or atmosphere. Perhaps he had knocked down a spider web or two, but other than that the place looked like a dirty tomb and smelled nearly as bad.
Certainly this was no place for a normal human being to live, especially since Burt had given her only an approximate date for his eventual return to Ingolstadt. Lynn had usually shied away from housework and the stereotyped role
Similar Books
