Finding Frankenstein: Celebrating 200 Years. 1818-2018. Poster by Reverend Campbell. The Creature by Warlock Jason Leach.

Finding Frankenstein: Celebrating 200 Years

In 1818, Mary Shelley published her fictional masterpiece, Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus. This novel introduced us to Victor Frankenstein, a sympathetic visionary obsessed with the act of creation of life. What he wrought sadly betrayed his dreams, being a monster. Without an identity, this creature was pure animal instinct, responding in the manner in which he was addressed, and though his actions were primal in nature, he staggered his way into our hearts and minds as a form of inspiration and admiration.

This story has inspired serious and humorous film adaptations, skits, plays, stories and artwork that have permeated our culture and imprinted on our collective consciousness like few works have before and since. It may be our connection to Victor Frankenstein, as a creator turning his back on the mythical god, or our connection with the monster, a reflection on how society has treated us and our religion.

Members of the Church of Satan have explored their inner Frankenstein—manifesting as a creator or creature—and this collection is one of shared creativity and personal expression in both homage and celebration of the 200th anniversary of this inspiring and cautionary novel. Behold the terrible beauty of our creations! We proudly present them to the world, an act of absolute defiance to established dogma, and proudly proclaim ourselves as creators whose monsters cannot and will not be ignored!

Special thanks to Warlock Jason Leach for permission to use his graphic of Frankenstein’s monster. A very special thanks to Reverend Byrd for the inspiration of this celebration.


Members of the Church of Satan Finding Frankenstein:

Warlock Leuthold

Ode to the Creature

Born of the charnel houses and graves

A man-made Adam, rejected by his creator

Imbued with that Promethean spirit, yet touched with naught but the cruelty of man’s inhumanity to man

The one who made you in defiance of the Abrahamic save-master

A man of science, his surname mistaken for yours

Frankenstein, a name immortal

You, his creation, a thing of the wild

Self-taught misanthrope



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Rick Powell


(Special thanks to Rev. Thomas Thorn)

I wore small shoes,
And my mind was fresh,
When you and I first met.

Beneath a blanket,
On a couch in a fever,
In front of the television set.

An angry wind,
Rattled the windows,
As I clutched that blanket in fright.

On the monochrome screen,
The creature appeared,
Such a terrible, beautiful sight.

He turned to the camera,
Rocking ever so slowly,
Lit only by a Stygian moon.

I gasped in delight,
At his dead-eyed stare,
And felt myself starting to swoon.

I was frozen in awe,
Of what I just saw,
And knew I would never forget.

But forgotten were my ills,
Forgotten was that wind,
Forgotten was my feverish sweat.

This lumbering beast,
This monstrous hulk,
I had never seen such as his kind.

His story unfolded,
On that television set,
Each scene was now burned into my mind.

Seeing him tortured,
Seeing him bound,
Made thoughts run amok in my head.

My fear turned to pity,
As I watched this beast,
Sympathy then grew from my dread.

Smiling by the lake,
With flowers and a friend,
Filled with such childlike glee.

What happened next,
Brought a visceral shock,
Forever changing me.

The villagers came,
To bring him down,
Her murder had driven them mad.

He meant her no harm,
Wanted only to play,
But the way the game ended was so sad.

Even his creator,
Who had given him life,
Now lived only to see him die.

And the spinning blades,
Of his funeral pyre,
Brought fiery death from the sky.

I feared not for his father,
I feared not for that mob,
I feared not the justice they served.

I feared only for him,
That pitiful creature,
His agony striking a nerve.

And I saw myself,
In that wretched beast,
My secret the whole world could see.

Their ignorance so savage,
They called him a monster,
I saw only a reflection of me.

I was also the one alone,
I was also the hunted,
I was also always misunderstood.

It was at this moment,
I was never again lonely,
My companion throughout childhood.

I am now an adult,
But I will always remember,
The gift I was given that day.

With the monster in my mind,
I never once felt alone,
In my heart...he always will stay.

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Warlock Blackthorne

"It's alive! Alive!" - Dr. Victor Von Frankenstein.

Since and even before the fascination of the replication of human life, as expressed through the medium of film, particularly the horror and science-fiction genres, such as the film, 'Frankenstein' and more recently, 'Mary Shelley's Frankenstein', as the genius mistaken for madness, of one Dr. Victor Frankenstein, who has been the archetypal icon for the sublimated core of man as god. How the stuporstitious have attempted to thwart the progession of science at every turn, but sadly fail in this modern age. Gone are the dark days of christian tyranny, when logical thinking processes were uselesly integrated into even schools of thought and educational institutions of the state; yet even now in the 21st century, there still lingers residue that is slowly but surely being wiped clean. Even the Catholic Pope has recently condemned the successful cloning - the first step.

And now blindlighters have decried the efforts of Science to further evolve technology, yet cannot stunt it any longer as they have done in the past. Often, science progresses occultly now, as Scientists and the government realize the value of silence to avoid panic amongst the herd, only allowing for incremental snippets of information at a time. As it is, it provides fundies with another reason with which to point their fingers screetching about the evils of The Devil in the world, and the impending rule of the so-called "Antichrist".

And so the cloning of human beings has become another scapegoat. Another Dark Art / Science relegated to The Infernal Regions. "Man cannot play God" is the cant, but this is obviously incorrect, as man has, and shall continue to step into the role of The Gods, setting his own destiny, forging new technologies, discarding useless foolosophies no longer logical nor applicable - innovating, inventing, establishing ever new standards of theory and practice.

These need not necessarily be brainless zombies - as the story goes, did you ever stop to think what the result could have been had a "normal" brain been selected instead of the "abnormal" one? Or what the result would have been with a more attractive candidate? Science is a process of trial and error, catalogued and improved upon - the perfecting process is ever ongoing - in the first phase, many zygotes were rejected until finally, the perfect combination of DNA configuration was achieved, hence, "Dolly" the sheep came to be {RIP}.

The second phase shall be the generation, regeneration, and the preservation of limbs and organs grown individually, utilizing a patient's own DNA. Thusfar, skin grafts have been used from the patient's own body or from cadavres; ears and noses have been cultivated on the backs of rats. Cloning will eliminate the need for any of this, which now seems so archaic. And finally, the highest Scientific accomplishment - the creation of life itself! Vitamancy.

The thought birthed onto paper only voices the propensity of scientific inevitability; and much later onto film, has come to be - the Pygmalionic Ritual has yielded another scientific triumph. Another manifestation of Satan has appeared - the Infernal Gates have again been swung wide open - and another daemon is released!


Yet another element to be added to the Dionysian world. Consider the cultivation of the perfect mate, or sex slave. One who will be willing to fulfill your every wish and whim. A clone may be cultivated to resmebles whatever E.C.I. you may hold, with the three-dimensional replication of a photograph, for example.

Or in another entrely different subject, the replication of a deceased relative, or even a pet!


Clones created with superior physical strength to perform menial tasks and hard labor occupations far better than current prole work mules. Clones as servents who may be trained / capable in one particular skill, such as a maid or a butler, which can even be crossed into the sexual arena, if so desired.


"Let the games begin!" Clones cultivated to battle with criminals and/or voluntary contestants in the new Circus Maximus. Proceeds from pay-per-view events may be redirected to fund further research.


Clones as bodyguards, Police, security. Super-clones prepared for war, trained flawlessly in combat skills, the ultimate super-soldier Killng Machine - veritable Berzerkers, but with discipline and direction.


Possibly the most altruistic purpose. The cultivation of organs for the treatment of patients awaiting transplants. No longer will there be a waiting list, but people in need may be treated immediately, thereby increasing lifespans and eliminating the medicinal prolongation of pain. Replacing failing or aging body parts with completely new tissue will cure many and most ailments, whatever illness may have damaged, a patient may veritably develop "a new lease on life", as it were.

The replacement of limbs for one lost by accident, disease, or war, utilizing the patient's very own DNA cell structure to perfect accomodation. Organs will not reject bodies.

Clones may be experimented upon to find cures for maladies - a taboo subject in medicinal circles. Also what is wished to be avoided is the fact that much knowledge of human anatomy was divulged from the experiments of one Josef Mengele... Now, there need not be the ethical problems associated with this issue, which, like it or not, have been thusfar based upon blindlight principles / influences, where the protests are moralistic, religiously-based, rather than ethics, which are sucularly based upon reason.

Cloning Children for Infertile Couples

Those unfortunate who, for one reason opr another, cannot reproduce, can have their genes perfectly cultivated directly from their own systems, as good as having given birth themselves, and is more reliable than the process of artificial ensemination., which carries a high unsuccess rate. May also prove beneficial for homosexual couples whio can finally raise a child without outside interference with a human incubator, and entirely of their own spawning. {DNA mixed from both spouses}.


Another intriguing option may be the prolongation of life by the alleviation of a worn body, by the tranplantation of a brain into a physically superior version of the former physique, of whatever gender. The veritable replication of a mind such as LaVey's or Einstein's, placing it in a body likened an Arnold Schwarzenegger or Jayne Mansfield; or just recreating the individual as they were, sans any health issues there may have been whatsoever, with a revitalized body.


The clone's constitution may be further improved beyond human limitations with the intigration of bionic parts, to improve endurance, strength, dexterity, accuity, intelligence {primarily analytical}; thus becoming virtually invincible. Taking the higher man to an even higher level.

Chances are high that the clone, like androids, will prove to be more efficient and perhaps even more interesting, and probably more attractive than the drones of the herd, which mayhaps can serve as inspirational role-models to the common slob.

They will be physically superior than the average drone, and may provide ideal vessels for the re-animated minds of historically-prominant figures.

The Four Crown Princes of Helloween

Dracula, Frankenstein's Monster, The Wolfman, and The Creature from The Black Lagoon all have their parallels tO The Four a crown Princes of Hell. These characters are taken from classic motion picture portrayals as Bela Lugosi, Max Schreck, Boris Karloff, and Lon Chaney. I received this impression while pondering My diabolical figurines of same.

* Dracula {Lucifer / Air / 3 o’ lock}: represents Lucifer in the following respects – Traditional Vampire lore depicts The Vampire as transforming into a bat, a creature of air, and mist, an element of air.

The Vampire is a gentleman, as Vampiresses are ladies. Highly educated, utmost consideration for diction, etiquette and deportment., Most of the time, the image of the vampire as displayed by Bela Lugosi and Felix Murnau’s Count Orlock demonstrates the thinnish physique of the 3 o’ clock frame on the LaVey Personality Synthesizer. He/She is translucent, very pale, and prefers solitude, except when hunting prey.

* Frankenstein {Satan / Fire / 12 0’ clock}. Represents Satan, in that it was lightning , or “fire from the sky”, which brought him t life. The physique is depicted as the 12 o’ clock frame, is domineering, aggressive, and impulsive, as depicted in the classics.

* The Wolfman {Belial / Earth / 9 o’ clock}. Represents Belial, in that the wolf is a mammal of earth, the wilderness, often depicted with a 9 o’ clock physique, with a penchant for copiously consuming.

* The Creature {Leviathan / Water / 6 o’ clock}: Represents Leviathan, as it is a fluid creature of Water, depicted with a 6 o’ clock physique.


Once again, Mr. Copolla has creted another ingenious reproduction of a classic. Unlike the original Dracula & Frankenstein, these productions are more believable, as far as mannerisms, vestmentry, & situations are concerned. As usual, it is a rollercoaster of emotional stimulation. As with DRACULA, there are incredible angles & panoramas, with amazing action-scenes. It is very accurate to the book, & even starts out with the actual introduction thereof.

Everything is much more down to earth, much "rawer" than the more watered-down versions of previous presentations, with the exception of the original Boris Karloff spectacular. that is. This is bacause, it sticks closer to the book, as if Mary Shelley herself were producing.

When I witness the conviction & die-hard dedication of Dr. Victor Frankenstein, with his enormous visions for the progression of science, & his logical dismissal of krysto-babble, I cannot help but to admire the man. Though all of his frightened & intellectually constipated "colleagues" absurdly "warn" him of the "abominations" of his wonderous dreams & experimentaions, he drives ever-forward, at fever pitches, to accomplish that which just may be the ultimate proof that it is finally Man who is the brain of god, through his modifications of Nature.

Inevitably, as the movie progressed, I found Myself hearing echoings of Dr. LaVey's voice speaking of Artificial Human Companions, & how the future shall be inundated with them, as the subhuman populace declines ----- thank SATAN! They have just enough intelligence to serve & entertain without complaint or self-righteous moralistic rhetoric. We certainly would not want a repetition of what we see in horror movies, of creations becoming too smart & conquoring the world.

As for re-animation, which indeed IS possible, either by Necromancy &/or Future Science, much care must be taken in the formative periods. For example, Victor Frankentein's creation was struck very forcefully upon the cranium when he was barely concious ----- a very bad mistake. That brilliant mind was damaged because of it, inasfar as fascillitating abrupt violent tendencies as an uncontrolled impulse, rather than stablized rationale. Without such neuro-trauma, the creation may have been very well more amiable & adaptable.

As far as the scars are concerned, if the cosmetic appearance becomes such an issue, laser treatemnts can be administered, which erases the scarring tissue.

Another point in the movie which should be addressed, is the fact that Dr. Frankenstein underwent three major emotional traumas in the sudden losses of his mother, a nephew, & finally, his beloved wife. When he pleaded to "God" with all of his heart, mind, & soul, there was no response whatsoever. So, in true Satanic form, he took matters into his own omnipotent hands, & re-animated his beloved wife back to life. The other two could not be returned, unfortunately, for the procedure had not yet been perfected. But they were not a total loss. for they served as the daemonseeds of divinity, & as cathartic agents, to purify the Mind from the ridiculous limits imposed by inferior xian morales, which are meant to keep the lower man in line, NOT the Higher, He who MAKES the rules, rather than blindly following, as in BLINDLIGHT. When his eyes were at last opened, he became relentless in his persuits ----- & to proven success.

Most unfortunate, however, at the time there were not the cosmetic techniques to fully restore & rebeautify his bride, so she self-destructed.

The single most valuable lesson to be learned from Dr. Frankenstein's efforts & experiments, is to learn from his mistakes, & take great care not to repeat them, in order to save yourself from the hardship he underwent.

The character of Dr. Victor Frankenstein is certainly one to be admired, as His heart burned fiercely with the Black Flames of Satan. He is an archetype representative of the iconoclast & the rebel, an intellectual renegade, to be always remembered

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The Ringmaster

Join the Ringmaster as he celebrates the 200th anniversary of Mary Shelly's Frankenstein. His thoughts on the creature and its evolution over the years and how we can maybe take some lessons in life from this story.

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Witch Hydra M. Star

It Was a Dark and Stormy… Summer

by Hydra M. Star

Any fan or author of Gothic fiction worth their salt will tell you that setting is immensely important to a story. The setting of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein is no exception. Most of us have no problem picturing the Frankenstein castle or the good doctor’s lab, but what of the setting in which the book was written? In the case of Frankenstein this setting might be just as important as any of the backdrops from the story itself.

In the summer of 1816, Mary Godwin (soon to be Shelley) was 18-years-old and traveling through Europe for the second time with her future husband Percy Shelley. The pair had begun their romance and gone on their first tour of Europe in 1814, but had been unable to marry owing to the fact that Percy was already married. They would, however, finally marry in late 1816, after Percy’s first wife back in London drowned herself in the Serpentine river. This was all quite scandalous by 19th century standards—or even the standards of today—and the pair did face some ostracism as well as other hardships, including the death of a daughter that was born to them prematurely and financial woes, but they were despite their debt and money troubles still members of the privileged class of society with writing in their blood. Percy was the poet son of nobility. Mary was the daughter of noted feminist philosopher, educator, and writer Mary Wollstonecraft and her journalist husband William Godwin. The lovers were also close friends and companions of the infamous Lord Byron. It was at his Villa Diodati near Geneva, in the company of Byron, John William Polidori, and Claire Clairmont, who was both Mary’s step-sister and Lord Byron’s lover at the time, that the couple passed the summer of 1816.

Surrounded as she were by talented peers, all was not happy and bright that summer in Switzerland. In fact, things were not happy or bright nearly anywhere that cold and wet summer. There was quite literally a much bigger, dark cloud than anything Mary Godwin counted among her recent or future personal tragedies hanging over the whole of the Earth during that summer. It wasn’t understood or even recognized until much later, but in 1816 Earth was towards the end of what would later be called a “Little Ice Age”, a period of global cooling that had started in the 1300s and would not end until about 1850.

Of course, by the early 1800s, when the Mary and Percy embarked on their grand tour of Europe, humanity had adjusted to this climate change and weather patterns were fairly stable and predictable. However, that year had more working against it than just a miniature ice age. Known today as the Year Without a Summer, it was actually a volcanic winter that was causing the strange weather that was being seen around the world. This particular volcanic winter had been triggered by the massive eruption in 1815 of Mount Tambora on the island of Sumbawa in Indonesia. It was one of many eruptions in the area that spanned back nearly a decade and lasted for days, killing thousands of locals and devastating the island’s ecology. The ash and dust that were deposited into the atmosphere caused the area around the volcano to become dark for three days and eventually resulted in a drop in the already lowered average global temperatures of an additional 0.4–0.7 °C (0.7–1.3 °F). This drop in temperatures might not seem so great, but averages can be deceptive.

There were wild fluctuations in both the temperature and weather that year. In some areas of the United States that summer the temperatures dropped to freezing, with snow fall and frost, only to then become unseasonably warm a short time later and then back again. In Europe, in addition to the cold, they got a lot rain. This shift in the weather caused crop failures throughout the Northern Hemisphere that resulted in the worst famines of the 19th century. All of this caused food prices to skyrocket. Citizens began to demonstrate in front of grain markets and bakeries and there were riots throughout many major European cities. People were hungry, upset, and in some cases displaced. The government of Switzerland issued an advisory to the public regarding which wild plants could safely be eaten and which were poisonous.

At the Villa Diodati things were not so dire. The future Mrs. Shelley and the other companions of Lord Byron weren’t so much worried about where their next meal would be coming from as they were a bit put out by all the rain that was keeping them indoors and, as tends to happen in such weather, a sort of melancholic mood overtook the group of friends. In an attempt to break this mood, or perhaps to put it towards productive use, Lord Byron issued his now famous challenge to them all that they should each write a ghost story. It was a challenge that was taken up by all of them in earnest.

Percy Shelley started to write something about his early life, John William Polidori conceived of a tale about a skull-headed lady, while Byron only wrote a fragment of a story about a gentleman traveling through Europe before giving up on the challenge. Polidori would later take up and expand on Byron’s fragment. The resulting novella, called The Vampyre, though largely forgotten today by mainstream culture would introduce British readers to the vampire. It is unknown what, if anything, Claire Clairmont wrote. Mary would later exclude her step-sister from her retelling of the events of that summer, likely due to the tragic results of Claire and Byron’s affair. Mary, herself, struggled to even get started on her story and so it seemed for a time that the writing challenge would be a bust, with the poets having mostly lost interest and Lord Byron returning to his work on the final part of Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage.

The accounts of what happened next conflict. At some point a conversation was had between two of the men regarding physicians of the time that were experimenting with electricity upon dead things with the idea of restoring some semblance of life. This was a more widespread and common practice during the early years of the 19th century than one might suspect. So much so, that there is some debate as to which of these physicians’ experiments were discussed at the Villa Diodati in 1816, though Mary herself sited Dr. Erasmus Darwin and his work in this area as the subject of interest to her and her friends.

Whichever man’s work it was that was discussed that summer it was after this talk of partially reanimating the dead that Mary went to bed and dreamed of the infusing with life that which was lifeless and created by scientific means. When she awoke it was with the idea to write a story just as frightful as this dream had been to her, which was so deeply frightful and unsettling to her because, “Frightful must it be; for supremely frightful would be the effect of any human endeavour to mock the stupendous mechanism of the Creator of the world.”

Eventually, the sun and summer returned to Europe. The Shelleys married, but never quite got a happily ever after. In fact, what they got were more dead children, a drowning, and a brain tumor, but tragedy breeds better monsters and it was out of this environment that one of the most iconic monsters of all time was born, because Mary wrote her dream. She became the creator of a creator that mocked the Creator… and we love her for it.

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Reverend Thomas Thorn

All the Electrical Secrets of Heaven

  • All the Electrical Secrets of Heaven by Reverend Thomas Thorn
  • All the Electrical Secrets of Heaven by Reverend Thomas Thorn
  • All the Electrical Secrets of Heaven by Reverend Thomas Thorn
  • All the Electrical Secrets of Heaven by Reverend Thomas Thorn
  • All the Electrical Secrets of Heaven by Reverend Thomas Thorn

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Holly Flynn

“Life Sentence”

The first sound I hear when consciousness commences is someone vomiting. A man retches and there is a wet splattering sound against the floor.

“If you can’t handle it, you should just leave now,” comes a deep voice, familiar yet unfamiliar.

“You know it’s too late and I’m in it too deep,” rasps another man’s voice, out of breath. The vomiter.

“Then keep your shit together.”

“I couldn’t help it,” the vomiter replies irritably, “I saw her fingers move and my stomach just went. It’s creepy.”

Are they talking about me? I try to open my eyes but find them too heavy. I try to open my mouth but it’s completely dry. My tongue feels stiff and cottony. My body feels like lead. With the greatest of effort, I wiggle the fingers of my right hand.

“Oh, god,” says the vomiter, sounding sick again, “She’s doing it again.”

“Just try and remember you’re a scientist,” snaps the other man. Then, suddenly, his voices changes to honey and he says my name.

“Claudia? Baby, it’s me. It’s Kyle. Can you open your eyes?”

Kyle’s voice sounds different. And my eyes, though I can feel my eyelids a little more now, still won’t open.

“Maybe you shouldn’t expect too much,” comes the vomiter’s voice, gently now.

Just shut the fuck up, OK Rob? It just has to take a little while.” Kyle’s strange-sounding voice goes back to sweet cream. “Claudia? Can you hear me? Please try and speak to me.”

I manage a groan, more of a rasping deep in my throat.

“You hear that, Rob? You hear that? She’s responding to me!”

Rob’s groan sounds a bit like my own. Kyle ignores him and continues to speak to me.

“Claudia, baby, I love you. Please try to say something to me. Try to say my name.”

I groan again, working hard to loosen my tongue.

“C’mon, baby, just one syllable. Speak to me. Say my name. Kyle.”

He says it carefully as if I’m a baby learning to speak. I grow frustrated and try again.

“Wrowwwwwww,” I manage. As my tongue limbers up, so do my eyelids, and I can see a little bit of light.

Kyyylllle,” he tries again. Really, like I’m a parrot or something.

“Waaaaah-errrr,” I push out.


“She’s saying ‘water,’ asshole.”

“Then get some fucking water if you’re so damn smart,” Kyle spits. I hear movement as Rob gets the water. Thank you, Rob, whoever you are. I feel Kyle push something between my lips, then drops of water on my tongue. An eyedropper.

“You see that, Rob? You see it? She’s back. She’s thirsty. She can move; she can talk. We were successful where no one else has ever been.” Kyle’s voice is triumphant.

“So you’re gonna share this with the world?” Rob’s voice is dry.

“Hell no. What would people think? The religious groups would burn us at the stake! I’m no philanthropist. I’m not in this to share. My money, my cause. I didn’t spend a fortune to bring loved ones back to other people. Just mine to me. You’ve been well-paid, partly for your work but mostly for your discretion.” Kyle’s last words come with a slightly menacing tone. The drops of water on my tongue still come steadily, and I feel strength returning to me. I crack my eyelids a little bit against the glare of the overhead light and look up at the blur that must be Kyle.

“Look, Rob, she’s opening her eyes.”

Rob groans and begins to retch again. Kyle ignores him and leans closer to my face. His breath is hot, stale.

“Claudia, my love,” he whispers, “I’ve waited for this for so long. I’ve missed you so much. Don’t let Rob’s bad manners offend you. Neither he, nor anyone, has ever been witness to something like this before. No one has ever thought it was possible. But I knew I could do it. I knew I could bring you back from the dead.”


Even as he says it, I know it is true. Without a doubt. I push my eyes open wider and force them to focus on Kyle. And he has aged. The last I saw Kyle he was much younger. Thirty. This Kyle is older, bald, and fiftyish. His forehead is heavily wrinkled from frowning. His eyes look sunken. No wonder his voice is different—it’s aged, too.

Even without seeing what I’m seeing, I know it is true. I remember. The darkness. The pills. Then darkness again, only blacker and more consuming. The heat.

I’d killed myself, and my husband has brought me back.

“Ooooooooooowlooooooooonggggggg?” I gasp out, feeling as if I might explode.

“How long?” he replies, stroking my hand, “Twenty-three years. You’ve been away from me for twenty-three years. But I’ve kept you near me. I’ve had you cryogenically frozen. You still have the body of a twenty-eight-year-old.”

A twenty-three-years-dead twenty-eight-year-old, I think hysterically to myself. But I could feel for myself that my body has not rotted. My flesh tingles.

“Kyyyllle,” I slur, and I can only think of one thing to say, “I……waaannntttteddd....”

“You’re back, Claudia. You’re alive again. You’re with me.” Kyle is stroking upwards from my hand now, towards my upper arm and in towards my breasts.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he murmurs, running his hand down my stomach. I want to bat his hand away, but my arm is still too heavy. Twenty-three years, and Kyle still, apparently, does not know when it’s not a good time.

As soon as the thought comes, I feel bad. Here he has just rescued me from the infinite abyss and I’m peeved that he wants to touch me again after so long. He’s probably just checking to see if my body heat is returning. In my head, I hear his younger man's voice reprimanding me.

What also returns is Rob, who must have gone to rinse his mouth. He is a skinny younger man with thick glasses, shaggy hair, and a hard expression on his face.

“What the hell, Kyle? You bring your wife back from the dead just to get to third base with her?”

Kyle turns away from me.

“You have something to say, Rob?” His voice is ice.

Rob’s response comes rapid-fire. “Yeah, I’m saying you’re more demented than I thought. And that’s saying a lot, considering all this Frankenstein shit we’ve been doing in your subterranean lab for the last nine years. And all nine years you’ve been a fucking dickhead to me. I can deal with you being a freak. I’m a biochemist, some of my best friends are freaks. But I’m sick of you using me for my knowledge and my work and treating me like a first-year student assistant who’s a thorn in your side.”

“You puke at the first sign that the experiment’s worked and don’t expect to be treated like a first-year student assistant?”

“I puked because I saw a corpse that I know has been dead for twenty-three years move its fingers. Forgive me if that’s a little hard to handle.”

“I’m the one who knew her in life and I was able to take it without getting sick. I’m the one who’s close to her. You should be the cool, objective one.”

“It wasn’t cool objectivity that brought her back. It was your mania. You are the one who’s been keeping me working for years underground without being able to tell my wife what I’ve been doing. It was my work and my formula and my ideas, but you’re right to take all the credit. You drove me on when I would have quit years ago. If I didn’t need the money, I would have put an end to this a long time ago.”

“You don’t feel the slightest bit of elation that you’ve achieved what no one in the history of the world has?”

“I feel dirty, Kyle. I feel like I have no right to play God. I feel like I could have used my time and energy and brain power for a better cause than reanimating one corpse for one billionaire.”

“Don’t talk about her like that! She can hear you!”

“You’re insane,” Rob continued. “You’re insane and you’re an asshole. I’m done. You got what you wanted. Your dead wife is back. You got your money’s worth. My work is done. I never want to see you—or that again.” He gestures at me.

“I said not to fucking talk about her like that!” Kyle shouts, and lunges at him. He grabs Rob by the throat with one hand and punches him in the face with the other. Stiff as I still am, I wince.

“Get your fucking hands off me!” Rob yells, panicked. He twists from Kyle’s grip and pushes him away. “You’re crazy. You’re fucking crazy,” he gasps, backing off and pressing his hand over his eye. He scrambles to the door, yanks it open, and disappears, slamming the door behind him.

I’m afraid Kyle will go after him, but he turns back to me and takes my hand again.

“Aww, baby, I’m so sorry you had to see that. I wanted everything to be perfect for you when you came back. That guy was no one. He’s not important. All that matters is we’re together again. I have you back.”

I’m too stunned to say anything. I just stare in astonishment at this man who used to be my thirty-year-old husband. I’ve known Kyle the self-centered, Kyle the patronizing, Kyle the insensitive, Kyle the hypocritical, but Kyle the violent is new to me.

“I can see it’s still hard for you to speak. It’s ok, sweetie. It’ll take a little while for you to loosen and warm up. Twenty-three years is a long time to be frozen, haha!” Just like Kyle, with the tactless jokes that aren’t even funny.

But Kyle’s foibles should be the last thing to get to me. At least I’m not burning anymore. If I’d been frozen for twenty-three years, I’d never have known it.

Kyle is still speaking to me, his voice marshmallowy. “Why don’t we get you out of this depressing laboratory, huh, Claud? I’ll take you upstairs and lay you down somewhere better than this table. Our bedroom is just the way it was before you had your accident.”

“Pills,” I murmured before I knew what I was saying.

“Yes, baby, you accidentally mixed the two medications the doctor told you not to mix.” Kyle begins wheeling the table I’m on across the room. “Ok, we’re in the elevator. Going up,” he says cheerfully. The door slides shut.

“Here we are,” Kyle says as the door opens again and he wheels out my table. It is indeed my home. He wheels me to the bedroom and it’s the bedroom I remember. He lays me down on the bed and opens a window. The cool night air feels incredible, wonderful.

“Theeeerrrrre. Comfy?” Kyle asks.

“Yeah.” I reply, though I still feel a bit leaden.

“I’m just so happy you’re back. I’ve missed you so much. I’ve waited for so long. You’re still as beautiful as you were before your accident,” Kyle says as he resumes stroking my hands.

“Killlled mmmmself.”

“Shhhh, don’t say things like that. Use those lips to kiss me instead.”

I’m weary and foggy and don’t really feel like kissing this paunchy, bald man who used to be Kyle, but I’m not in much position to refuse when he leans his head down and presses his lips to mine. Hard. Then, believe it or not, tongue. I try to pull back but my head is against the pillow, so I have nowhere to go. Kyle loosens the robe he has around me and pulls it open. The cool breeze from the window feels marvelous on my flesh for a moment, before Kyle climbs on top of me.

“Am I hurting you?” he asks solicitously.

“No,” I say, truthfully. But I still don’t want you on top of me like that, I think. The twenty-plus-years memory of Kyle wearing me down when I didn't feel like sex keeps me quiet.

“I love you so much. I’ve missed you. I’ve never remarried since your accident. I never touched another woman. I’ve devoted twenty-three years and millions of dollars to having you back.” He continues to murmur in my ear as he undoes his pants and tries to push inside me.

“Poor baby, still too dry. It’s ok, I have some lubricant here.” I feel him rub my genitals with something wet, and then he eases back onto me. This time, his penis slides in.

Kyle winces slightly. “Oof. Still a bit cold. I’ll have you warmed up in no time.”

I don’t want Kyle to warm me up. I want to feel that wonderful night breeze across my flesh again.

When it’s over, Kyle rolls off me and, like he used to before I died, immediately falls asleep. Snoring.

I lie there with my eyes open—sleep is the last thing I want. The breeze from the window feels better than sex with Kyle ever did, even when I was alive.

But I am alive. At least, I am alive again. Maybe this time around will be better than the last. Maybe I won’t have the depression this time around. Maybe I’ll even get up the nerve to finally leave Kyle. I can go away. I can have a whole new life. I just have to plan.

I do plan, late into the night, and as I plan, I try moving my arms and legs and torso. Everything is beginning to limber up. Whatever they treated me with to restore life to my body has been doing its job. Soon I am able to move more easily, though I still cannot get up from the bed.

Reasonably satisfied and quite worn, I allow myself to shut my eyes and relax. The next thing I hear, there are voices outside. Numerous voices. Shouts. Then banging.

Kyle stirs and opens his eyes. “What the hell is going on out there?” he grouses. He stumbles out of the bed and moves to the window. In the dim dawn light, I see his expression change from one of annoyance to horror.

“Christ, it’s a fucking mob,” he mutters, disbelievingly.

“Kyle?” I ask cautiously.

“It’s an actual mob.”

The shouts from below are louder now that Kyle has come to the window.

“Frankenstein!” “Necrophiliac!”

Kyle pales. “They know. Rob, that fucking rat, Rob. He told them.”

He turns to me. “Don’t worry, baby, it’ll be OK. I just have to go down and talk to them. I just have to make them understand. Don’t worry, I won’t let them get to you.” He kisses me and bolts from the room. He must be insane.

The chants and screams grow louder, and I do my best to roll myself out of the bed. I flop onto the floor with a thud and begin to drag myself to the large main window of the bedroom. Grabbing the low windowsill, I strain to lift myself enough to see outside.

Three floors below, a huge crowd yells and waves all manner of grab-and go weaponry. Guns, bats, crowbars. Kyle appears on the second-floor balcony and motions to the crowd. The yelling dies down a little, enough for him to be heard.

“I don’t know what you’ve been told,” Kyle begins in the self-righteous tone of a politician, “But there has been a major scientific breakthrough. I have discovered a means to reanimate the dead.”

The mob begins yelling again, a cacophony of angry voices calling my husband all manner of horrible names.

Listen!” shouts Kyle. “My wife suffered a fatal accident twenty-three years ago. I’ve had her cryogenically frozen, and since then have been working towards having her restored to me.”

“Everyone knows your wife committed suicide to get away from you!” calls an angry female voice.

“It was an accident!” Kyle shouts, his face going red. The self-righteous bravado melts away. “It was an accident that I have worked twenty-three years to remedy. And I used my own funds. No one used your precious tax dollars to pay for the research and experimentation. This is my own business! Now, get off my property!”

A rock flies up and nearly hits Kyle on the head. He ducks just in time, and the rock sails past him and shatters the window behind him. It is enough of a taste of destruction to fuel the mob’s fury. They begin throwing more rocks, breaking more windows. They set fire to the bushes at the base of the house. I pull myself up further and lean out a little to see. Faces spot me from below.

“It’s her! Up in the window! It’s the dead woman!”

“Claudia!” Kyle shouts up at me, “Go back to bed. Close the window.”

“Bring her out here!” the crowd screams at Kyle. “Let’s see your zombie!”

“She’s not a zombie!” Kyle retorts. “She’s my wife! You’ll never get near her!”

I realize with slow horror that Kyle is right. He’ll never let me out of this house for fear of what people will do to me. The secret is out. Everyone knows.

I watch my plans of starting over in my new, miraculous life burn up like the bushes below. Whatever length of existence I have this time around, I’ll have to spend it the same way I did last time. Stuck. With Kyle. The night air, before cool and sweet, is now hot and smoky. I pull myself up a little further, lean out a little further. The fire in the bushes is spreading. The heat is familiar, even inviting now.

Zombie. That’s what they’ll call me for the rest of this life.

“Claudia!” Kyle yells up at me, “Get away from that window!”

Kyle, always with the orders. If he thought he owned me before, how can it be anything but worse now that he has reanimated me from the dead?

I lean out further. By now, most of my torso is out the window. The flames crackle beneath me, beckoning me back home. One shift of my weight and I’ll fall. And this time, I won’t leave a pretty corpse for him.

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Reverend Raul Antony

Frankie by Reverend Eric R. Vernor

"There was none among the myriads of men that existed who would pity or assist me; and should I feel kindness towards my enemies? No: from that moment I declared everlasting war against the species, and, more than all, against him who had formed me, and sent me forth to this insupportable misery."

Audio Track 'Cursed' by Anarch:

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Delilah the Snake Charmer

Dear Frankenstein

I remember your body as it shook and your stitched-up face

Ecstatic and excited as I watched you arise from the grave

I listened to your strong heartbeat and felt it all electrified

As you gazed into my eyes you looked mysteriously satisfied

I held your sewn-on giant hand

Small is what I felt compared to you

Each time we took a stand

We watched the humans walk on by

What is this that I have created?

A giant of a monster man

To hold me close and always so near

You never let anyone harm me

And for that I thank you dear

By Delilah the Snake Charmer of The Satanic Players Society

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Satanist Raul Atondo

Lean into It

Gather standing on top of those that need not fight for their tomorrows, kill for what dreams were spilled gutless from the heroes tha...t never spoke up,never stood up, determined their fear was, stay inside of your mom's nest bitch, stay inside the heart of the cave of the useless while abandoned dreams birth fat nightmares that grew from the obese streets of the bold and badass. Fly high into the south of their coward battalions filling the paths with your ocean's intent, make stone from steel through sheer power of will, create the house born of fire from fists and kicks once admired.

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Witch Sara Josephine

The olfactory composition of The Modern Prometheus by Witch Sara Josephine

The olfactory composition of The Modern Prometheus is Witch Sara Josephine's interpretation of Dr. Pretorius' refined influence on The Monster - Wine aged in Oud Bourbon Barrels and Cuban Tobacco. Delicious on any God & Monster.

Available for your acquisition for a limited time from TheStillShow - Man, Myth & Magic On The Midway.

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Magister Bill M.

In this informative video, Magister Bill M. (host of "The Devil's Mischief" on Radio Free Satan) explores the earliest music associated with Frankenstein, ranging from the first stage adaptations of the story to the first Frankenstein film. The video concludes with a rendition from a 1887 comedy musical, "Frankenstein, or the Vampire's Victim".

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Priestess Marilyn Mansfield

Frankenstein Baby by Priestess Marilyn Mansfield

Priestess Marilyn Mansfield's reborn baby doll inspired by Frankenstein's Monster

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Christopher Lee

First up is a diptych painting titled "Monster and Bride" mixed media, 16x40. Next is a half bust of the Monster, simply titled "The Monster". Resin, polyfoam, acrylic, ink, epoxy and hair mounted on wood. On a personal note, this was based off the version created by one of my favorite artists Bernie Wrightson.

  • Monster and Bride by Christopher Lee and Screwbiter Studios
  • The Monster by Christopher Lee and Screwbiter Studios

—Christopher Lee and Screwbiter Studios

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A.W. Storm Anderson

Horror Frankenstein's Monster by A.W. Storm Anderson

Title: "Horror Frankenstein's Monster"
Artist: A.W. Storm Anderson
Medium: Charcoal on Paper
Size: 11x14

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