I Created a Monster at Work Today. No, Really… or, Victor Frankenstein Will Not be Home for Dinner
by Corey Pajka
Hey, Elizabeth! How are you liking this nifty invention of mine? We’re talking to each other now, so I guess you’re getting the hang of it. I’m thinking of calling it the “Franken-phone,” or something like that. Too self-congratulatory? In my defense, this is technology that could revolutionize the world! I’m sure some Scottish inventor won’t come up with the same idea decades from now, patent it, and make an unspeakable fortune. Maybe someday I’ll be able to devote more time to long distance communications and less to meddling with creation in a self-damning mimicry of God. Anyway, I’m calling to let you know that you should probably go ahead and eat without me, I’ve got a bit of a mess to clean up here–I’ve created a monster! No, a literal monster: Eight feet tall, and a hideous embodiment of the consequences of my hubris.
Maybe I should back up. Do you remember when my mother died of scarlet fever? Yes, I know as her adopted daughter, she was every bit your mother as she was mine. By the way, I’m glad you were so open-minded about our romantic entanglement. Given the number of aristocrats there are who have done the same thing with their cousins, or direct blood relations, I’d say our bizarre pairing was a little more palatable by comparison!
Anyway, since mom died, I’ve developed a weird fixation on conquering death. To that end, I decided to create life! Using a highly sophisticated method that involved me somehow synthesizing living tissue, bones, and functioning organs—what? Oh, it’s very complicated. I really should have written out how exactly I did it. Maybe I will once this whole thing blows over. I mean, it’s not as if I dug up a corpse, implanted a damaged brain in its skull, and reanimated it with a bolt of lightning! That would be ridiculous.
My experiment worked, but a little too well. Fabricating artificial living tissue is a relatively new field of the sciences; actually, it’s one that I pretty much innovated myself. I’m good at creating things, but not so good at understanding and controlling them, just like any other man who becomes a victim of his own twisted malefaction. The thing turned out to be a leviathan, and an ugly sucker to boot! I was so weirded out I had to go for a walk to clear my head. That means I left this newly awakened, frightened, and likely superhuman being that only existed due to my blind arrogance unattended. What harm could that do?
While I was out, I just happened to run into my old pal, Henry Clerval! What are the odds? It turns out that he had just arrived in town to study here at the University of Ingolstadt! Henry, mensch that he is, talked some sense into me and agreed to come back to my place to hang for a bit. But as soon as we got back, we saw that the big guy had up and vanished! The whole experience was so stressful I had to lay down. I think I’m worrying myself sick. Henry has been wonderful about it, sitting with me while I get a hold of myself. What’s that? Oh, you’re too kind, but I think the chicken soup you’re making would be cold by the time it gets here.
In between short periods of fitful, nightmare-laden sleep, I’m going to have to come up with some strategy to subdue this miscarriage of humanity I brought unto the world. This is probably going to be an all-nighter, but I’m sure I’ll figure something out. Even if I don’t, what’s the worst that could happen? Will my name become synonymous with this abomination, often being mistaken as that of the creature itself? Henry and I had a good laugh about that one.
Well, you have a good night. I’ll try to be home by morning. Before I let you go, did you borrow some of my books? I was looking for my copies of Paradise Lost, Plutarch’s Lives, and The Sorrows of Young Werther to read while I’m laid up. Okay, I’m sure they’ll turn up. It’s not like that monstrosity made off with my books and gleaned tragic self-awareness and a desire for vengeance from reading them. That would just be silly! By the way, if you see a dark, gargantuan humanoid shape at the window overnight, feel free to open it up! It might just be me coming home in the middle of the night and feeling frisky after a quick recovery! Okay, good night, sis—er, Elizabeth! Wife! Not blood relation! I love you. Everything is going to be okay. If there’s one thing a Frankenstein knows, it’s what they’re doing!
Corey Pajka is a Brooklyn, NY-based writer. His satirical work has been published by Points In Case, The Weekly Humorist, and Flexx Mag. His theatrical work has been produced regionally at theatres across the U.S. and in New York at Off and Off-Off Broadway venues. His radio plays are available on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, and other outlets. He is also a climate change activist, working with 350Brooklyn. He co-edits their bi-weekly newsletter and contributes to their e-magazine Parts Per Million as well. He is married to another playwright, and they have a Pembroke Welsh Corgi named Sancho Panza.