Read Online HIGH STRANGENESS-Tales of the Macabre by Billie Sue Mosiman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Billie Sue Mosiman
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Time has moved on and, in this modern era, you will receive the glory you never received before.”
The arm lifted wearily from the being's face. The moonlight limned his craggy features and his look was as cold as the deepest ice, as haunted as the most forgotten grave. He turned his head slowly on the thick stem of his neck, and for just a moment Walton's heart stopped in his chest. The look he saw in those glacial eyes congealed the blood in his veins, weakened his knees, and if he could have made a move to flee as had his men, he would have run o ut into the pitch black darkness begging for God to save his soul.
“ You...want me...to be...your God ? That is...what...you want.” First he asked and then he stated what he knew.
Walton felt his eyes filling with grateful tears that the truth, once and for all, had been brought into the open for him to hear and to welcome. What the being said answered all the questions Walton had asked himself over the years. This thing had told him, finally, what his real motive was in the perilous undertaking to find him. “ Yes,” he whispered, falling down into a crouch, his fingertips touching icy floor, his head raised high as if to take the brunt of the truth. “ Yes, you are my god. I want you to come with me and lead the way and teach me all you know.”
The great beast's a rm moved back over the terrible stony face. Walton waited breathlessly and then stretched out before the dying embers of the scattered fire and gave in to exhaustion and sleep. He knew, felt it in his bones, in his molecules, that his wish would be grante d.
* * *
Dear Margaret,
I send this letter with the wild hope you'll receive it before the news travels as far as your fair city. I have found Frankenstein's monster and he has agreed to accompany me back to civilization. He is a frightening person; he is what he told his maker — that he would have been Frankenstein's Adam, but instead he is a fallen angel. He is all the names he called himself in the cabin as his master lay dead, but he is also the most magnificent and awesome creature the world will ever k n ow. Imagine if he is studied and scientists of today can make more like him! We will revive the dead and have them walk. We will restore life, overcoming the dark night that takes our souls, stealing them away into the universal silence.
What reaches will our imaginations take us next? What wonders will we perform, greater than our Jesus whose miracles we still venerate? I know that sounds blasphemous, but it is not meant to be. If God did not will for Frankenstein to create life, it would not have been cr e ated. Don't you see?
It has been many days since we left together from the hovel in the ice cave. My bearers all escaped, never to be seen since. I have no supplies, my kerosene is gone, my food, my medicines, but Frankenstein's monster is as brilliant as he is beautiful and he finds food for us to eat, and provides the fires to keep us through the long hours of cold night. He is so awesomely large that when we stop at night, he even bends over me while on his knees, his head touching ice on the other side of me, creating a shelter from the wind. Would a demon do that? More so, you should see the speed with which he can run! And the quickness he employs to naturally reach out and snag a running varmint to wring its neck.
We should come into the first village along this bleak plain of constant winter tomorrow. I have advised my friend (Yes! He is the best friend I might have ever hoped to have.) to cover his face when we enter to hire passage across the cold seas home, for what if the men who came with me spo k e of him? I don't think they would, being worn and frightened, hurrying to the port and a ship home. Still, I fear the reaction of man until I prepare them for what they will see upon looking into his face. There is an abyss waiting there to swallow men w h o aren't prepared. How can I explain it? It is not like looking into the
The arm lifted wearily from the being's face. The moonlight limned his craggy features and his look was as cold as the deepest ice, as haunted as the most forgotten grave. He turned his head slowly on the thick stem of his neck, and for just a moment Walton's heart stopped in his chest. The look he saw in those glacial eyes congealed the blood in his veins, weakened his knees, and if he could have made a move to flee as had his men, he would have run o ut into the pitch black darkness begging for God to save his soul.
“ You...want me...to be...your God ? That is...what...you want.” First he asked and then he stated what he knew.
Walton felt his eyes filling with grateful tears that the truth, once and for all, had been brought into the open for him to hear and to welcome. What the being said answered all the questions Walton had asked himself over the years. This thing had told him, finally, what his real motive was in the perilous undertaking to find him. “ Yes,” he whispered, falling down into a crouch, his fingertips touching icy floor, his head raised high as if to take the brunt of the truth. “ Yes, you are my god. I want you to come with me and lead the way and teach me all you know.”
The great beast's a rm moved back over the terrible stony face. Walton waited breathlessly and then stretched out before the dying embers of the scattered fire and gave in to exhaustion and sleep. He knew, felt it in his bones, in his molecules, that his wish would be grante d.
* * *
Dear Margaret,
I send this letter with the wild hope you'll receive it before the news travels as far as your fair city. I have found Frankenstein's monster and he has agreed to accompany me back to civilization. He is a frightening person; he is what he told his maker — that he would have been Frankenstein's Adam, but instead he is a fallen angel. He is all the names he called himself in the cabin as his master lay dead, but he is also the most magnificent and awesome creature the world will ever k n ow. Imagine if he is studied and scientists of today can make more like him! We will revive the dead and have them walk. We will restore life, overcoming the dark night that takes our souls, stealing them away into the universal silence.
What reaches will our imaginations take us next? What wonders will we perform, greater than our Jesus whose miracles we still venerate? I know that sounds blasphemous, but it is not meant to be. If God did not will for Frankenstein to create life, it would not have been cr e ated. Don't you see?
It has been many days since we left together from the hovel in the ice cave. My bearers all escaped, never to be seen since. I have no supplies, my kerosene is gone, my food, my medicines, but Frankenstein's monster is as brilliant as he is beautiful and he finds food for us to eat, and provides the fires to keep us through the long hours of cold night. He is so awesomely large that when we stop at night, he even bends over me while on his knees, his head touching ice on the other side of me, creating a shelter from the wind. Would a demon do that? More so, you should see the speed with which he can run! And the quickness he employs to naturally reach out and snag a running varmint to wring its neck.
We should come into the first village along this bleak plain of constant winter tomorrow. I have advised my friend (Yes! He is the best friend I might have ever hoped to have.) to cover his face when we enter to hire passage across the cold seas home, for what if the men who came with me spo k e of him? I don't think they would, being worn and frightened, hurrying to the port and a ship home. Still, I fear the reaction of man until I prepare them for what they will see upon looking into his face. There is an abyss waiting there to swallow men w h o aren't prepared. How can I explain it? It is not like looking into the
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