![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
"High School Frankenstein"
May. 19th, 2022 10:49 pm"High School Frankenstein"
6/12-6/13/1965
I.
"I saw him! It was horrible. The High School Frankenstein!"
Concealed beneath the dense bushes which ran along the driveway, a misshapen hulk crouched and listened to the girl's voice.
"Calm down, Sue! You probably saw a possum or something."
"I know what I saw," snapped a voice suddenly icy. "He was enormous. He had one big bulging eye, his skin was peeling off, there were these metal things sticking out of his forehead at the sides. And he looked at me! He looked right at me!"
Trying not to make the leaves rustle, the brute got down further and edged backward, still carrying the jewelry box in one meaty hand. He made it to the trees where the Fabers' property ended and rose up behind a thick oak which would hide him from side. Even in the murky night, he loomed up enormous, six inches over six feet tall and with shoulders too wide for normal proportions.
From the house came an older woman's voice, "Henry! The door was forced open. The lock is broken."
"What? Let's see if anything's missing," replied the man.
Then the smug capper from All-American blonde Sue Faber, second head cheerleader at Kit Carson High School. "I told you, but do my own parents ever believe me? Noooooo....."
Moving further in the darkness, the monster tucked the box up under one arm. He was dressed in dark colors, his Ivy League slacks with the buckle in the back and a maroon sweatshirt with no logos. The material was stretched to its limits by his increased size. It was too bad Sue had caught a glimpse of him as he was sneaking out of her house, but at least there was no way she would recognize the monster as goofy Palmer Kunkel from her English class.
The creature walked into the night, staying in the shadows and out of the light. He couldn't walk in the day when he was in this necrotic state. Ahead, he saw the streetlight and the glass phone booth on the corner. He had change in his pockets to call for Cicero, it was the risk of being seen by someone driving past that worried him. When he emerged into the light, the full extent of his deformity was revealed. One arm was visibly longer than the other, his barrel chest stuck out further than any normal man's should, his hands were rough and gnarled.
But his head, with the square boxlike cranium under lank black hair, was the worst. The deathly white skin hung in strips ready to fall off. The mouth twisted up on one side to reveal his teeth. His right eye was twice normal size, bulging and bloodshot, and from each temple protruding a short round bolt.
The High School Frankenstein, he thought with infinite bitterness. Those who called him that were right. What a nightmare. He dug in his pants pocket for a dime and dropped it into the phone slot. He could only hope that Cicero and Virgil would hurry.
Headlights were coming up the road. Damn it. Why couldn't he bring a hat or a raincoat to help disguise him? He turned away, bending his head down and raising his shoulders. With the receiver in his ear, he could the lab phone ringing but no one was picking up. Come on, come on, he pleaded in his thoughts.
Then he recognized the red VW van with yellow trim. The back doors were swinging open. The monster hung up the phone and sprinted over to the fan fast enough to challenge Olympic records. When he was necrotic like this, his strength and speed were phenomenal but he hardly noticed. His mind was too distressed. In an instant, he scrambled up into the rear of the van, heard Virgil slam the doors shut and felt the vehicle roar away.
Inside was the cot fastened down, and he straightened out on it with relief. He was as safe for the moment as he was ever going to be. Virgil drew the linen strap across the wide chest and buckled it tightly. "Hurry..." he growled.
"The chief will want to know if you got the money," called the driver back over one shoulder.
"Sure. Here in this box, I have it here. Virgil, hurry up."
There was nothing suspicious or bizarre about the man he called Virgil. Normal in height and build in his forties, wearing a suit with the shirt collar unbuttoned and the necktie loosened, Virgil could walk through most crowds without being noticed. He rubbed a cotton swab on the inner elbow of the creature's left arm, squeezed to find a vein and inserted the needle of a catheter, all with the deftness of something he had done many times.
"Keep your shirt on, handsome," he laughed. "Here we go." Virgil fastened a plastic bag to a clip up on the wall and screwed the end of its clear tube to the input of the catheter. Dark liquid dripped down. "Heh heh, two pints of the best Type O coming up, son."
"What if it doesn't work this time? What if I stay this way permanently?"
"The chief doesn't think there's much chance of that. And you know Cogitus, he's not just a 'big brain' as a figure of speech."
A sensation of relief seeped into the Frank's body. The necrotic state was uncomfortable at best. Feeling replacement blood dripping into his body was like sitting next to a heater after being out in the cold. He sighed. Twenty minutes more and he would be good old Palmer Kunkel again. If he wasn't a playboy as his normal self, at least women didn't faint at the sight.
( the rest of the story )
6/12-6/13/1965
I.
"I saw him! It was horrible. The High School Frankenstein!"
Concealed beneath the dense bushes which ran along the driveway, a misshapen hulk crouched and listened to the girl's voice.
"Calm down, Sue! You probably saw a possum or something."
"I know what I saw," snapped a voice suddenly icy. "He was enormous. He had one big bulging eye, his skin was peeling off, there were these metal things sticking out of his forehead at the sides. And he looked at me! He looked right at me!"
Trying not to make the leaves rustle, the brute got down further and edged backward, still carrying the jewelry box in one meaty hand. He made it to the trees where the Fabers' property ended and rose up behind a thick oak which would hide him from side. Even in the murky night, he loomed up enormous, six inches over six feet tall and with shoulders too wide for normal proportions.
From the house came an older woman's voice, "Henry! The door was forced open. The lock is broken."
"What? Let's see if anything's missing," replied the man.
Then the smug capper from All-American blonde Sue Faber, second head cheerleader at Kit Carson High School. "I told you, but do my own parents ever believe me? Noooooo....."
Moving further in the darkness, the monster tucked the box up under one arm. He was dressed in dark colors, his Ivy League slacks with the buckle in the back and a maroon sweatshirt with no logos. The material was stretched to its limits by his increased size. It was too bad Sue had caught a glimpse of him as he was sneaking out of her house, but at least there was no way she would recognize the monster as goofy Palmer Kunkel from her English class.
The creature walked into the night, staying in the shadows and out of the light. He couldn't walk in the day when he was in this necrotic state. Ahead, he saw the streetlight and the glass phone booth on the corner. He had change in his pockets to call for Cicero, it was the risk of being seen by someone driving past that worried him. When he emerged into the light, the full extent of his deformity was revealed. One arm was visibly longer than the other, his barrel chest stuck out further than any normal man's should, his hands were rough and gnarled.
But his head, with the square boxlike cranium under lank black hair, was the worst. The deathly white skin hung in strips ready to fall off. The mouth twisted up on one side to reveal his teeth. His right eye was twice normal size, bulging and bloodshot, and from each temple protruding a short round bolt.
The High School Frankenstein, he thought with infinite bitterness. Those who called him that were right. What a nightmare. He dug in his pants pocket for a dime and dropped it into the phone slot. He could only hope that Cicero and Virgil would hurry.
Headlights were coming up the road. Damn it. Why couldn't he bring a hat or a raincoat to help disguise him? He turned away, bending his head down and raising his shoulders. With the receiver in his ear, he could the lab phone ringing but no one was picking up. Come on, come on, he pleaded in his thoughts.
Then he recognized the red VW van with yellow trim. The back doors were swinging open. The monster hung up the phone and sprinted over to the fan fast enough to challenge Olympic records. When he was necrotic like this, his strength and speed were phenomenal but he hardly noticed. His mind was too distressed. In an instant, he scrambled up into the rear of the van, heard Virgil slam the doors shut and felt the vehicle roar away.
Inside was the cot fastened down, and he straightened out on it with relief. He was as safe for the moment as he was ever going to be. Virgil drew the linen strap across the wide chest and buckled it tightly. "Hurry..." he growled.
"The chief will want to know if you got the money," called the driver back over one shoulder.
"Sure. Here in this box, I have it here. Virgil, hurry up."
There was nothing suspicious or bizarre about the man he called Virgil. Normal in height and build in his forties, wearing a suit with the shirt collar unbuttoned and the necktie loosened, Virgil could walk through most crowds without being noticed. He rubbed a cotton swab on the inner elbow of the creature's left arm, squeezed to find a vein and inserted the needle of a catheter, all with the deftness of something he had done many times.
"Keep your shirt on, handsome," he laughed. "Here we go." Virgil fastened a plastic bag to a clip up on the wall and screwed the end of its clear tube to the input of the catheter. Dark liquid dripped down. "Heh heh, two pints of the best Type O coming up, son."
"What if it doesn't work this time? What if I stay this way permanently?"
"The chief doesn't think there's much chance of that. And you know Cogitus, he's not just a 'big brain' as a figure of speech."
A sensation of relief seeped into the Frank's body. The necrotic state was uncomfortable at best. Feeling replacement blood dripping into his body was like sitting next to a heater after being out in the cold. He sighed. Twenty minutes more and he would be good old Palmer Kunkel again. If he wasn't a playboy as his normal self, at least women didn't faint at the sight.
( the rest of the story )
