Frankenstein's final wish

Somewhere in the Swiss Alps, 18-.

The young traveler looked at the clockmaker shop with the "Frankenstein and Son – Clockmakers" and nodded. It was the correct village. It had to be. He was travelling around the Swiss Alps for a while and couldn't help but think that the name "Frankenstein" was more common than it should be.

There was an "open" sign on the door and he entered the shop. A young man was polishing a clock with so much care that the traveler pretended he was admiring the clocks and pocket watches in the showcase. Some of them were stunningly beautiful and interesting. Suddenly, the young man put the clock down and asked, happily:

– Good afternoon, sir! How can I help you?

The traveler came closer and had his voice frozen in his throat when he saw that the half of the clockmaker's hair was whitish. He must have stared hard, because the young man immediately enlightened him, in good spirits:

– Everyone wants to know about the hair. It was an accident with peroxide. I liked the look, so I kept it. Now, may I ask what happened to him?

– H-Him? – the traveler asked, mortified.

– Yes! – the two-colour-haired youth shouted dramatically – Him!

As he said that, he snatched the pocket watch of the traveler by the chain and brought it close to his right ear.

– Hmmm… This big boy is not good. Not good at all. Five minutes delay every morning, huh?

– Yes, but…

– These cheap mechanisms always do that. You bought it in London, right?

– Yes, but…

– Tsk. Figures. The good news is that it's easy and cheap to fix. I'll do that in a moment. The bad news is that you'll probably have to bring him back next year, or simply buy a better watch. I have plenty, if you are interested.

– But…

– ELSA! Bring me the tools, we have a 1-6-4-3!

A smiling young woman came from a door in the back of the shop carrying a toolbox. She picked the clock and heard it closely, too.

– I guess it's more of a 3-6-4-3 – she said, after a few seconds.

– BUT! – the traveler tried again, with no avail.

– Nonsense – the young clockmaker interrupted him. – I'm the genius clockmaker here. I say it's a clear… – he put the clock in his ear again and completed his sentence with a defeated voice: – ...a clear 3-6-4-3.

– Told you so, Franz – the girl said, happily, as she opened the toolbox.

– Franz? – the traveler shouted, managing to interrupt the duo. – Are you Franz Frankenstein?

– Of course, dear customer – he said, bowing. – I'm the "son" in the "Frankenstein and Son" sign. But I thought everyone in town already knew that. Now, back to the watch…

– No, no, no, we won't start it again – the traveler snatched his watch back, angrily. – I didn't come here because of that old watch. I don't want it fixed. I don't care. I'm used to it.

– You don't want it fixed? BLASPHEMY! – Frankenstein shouted and seemed ready to physically assault his customer. Thankfully, the girl Elsa put a hand on his shoulder and shook her head in a firm "no". She looked to the traveler prompting him to continue and, feeling grateful, he obliged:

– Sorry, we started it in the wrong foot. Let me introduce myself and explain why I'm here. My name is Richard Walton. I came all the way from England to give you a part of your father's inheritance that was in my family's house years. If I did the math right, you are twenty-one by now, so you can receive it in person.

– My father's… what? – Frankenstein tilted his head. – Look, my father is alive.

– He is… oh boy – the young Walton scratched his head, looking embarrassed. – Oh boy. You don't know. But it's too late. It will be awkward, but it has to be done. Look, I'll tell my story and you decide what you want to do with it.

No one tried to stop Walton, so he took it as a sign to go on.

– My father died a few years ago. His name was Robert Walton. He was a sailor and would often write to my aunt, his sister, telling her all about his travels. There was a series of letters that he wrote, about twenty years ago, that were frankly incredible. It was about a certain Victor Frankenstein that my father rescued near to the North Pole. In the beginning, it was innocent enough. He would just tell about the man, about how he was gentle and friendly, and about how he was pursuing an unknown enemy.

"Things started to become weird when my father started mailing letters with chapters of Frankenstein's autobiographic confessions. I won't tell anything about them because they have to be read to be believed. It's… It's so strange, so… impossible. I can't say that I believe in them, but at the same time… Never mind. I have a copy of the letters with me, since I figured out that you would want to know everything about them, you can read them and form your own judgment.

"The thing is, a little after telling his story, this Victor Frankenstein died, but before he did, he made my father a final wish: he asked dad to go in a certain address in Ingolstadt and put all the objects that he could find there in a crate. That crate would be delivered to Frankenstein's executors, so they could give it to his heir. He also wrote and sealed a letter that should be opened only by a certain 'Franz'. He said to father that his heir would know who this Franz is."

At this point, Franz Frankenstein had his eyes wide open. He was going to say something, but gave up quickly. Walton resumed his narrative:

– Well, my dad made the trip to Ingolstadt as soon as he could and crated everything he found in this address, minus the furniture. The thing is, he couldn't locate the lawyers that should receive the crate, at first, and had to bring it home. When he finally found them, he died before he could ship the box. I was just a baby then.

"Some months ago, I was clearing our basement when I found the crate with the 'Frankenstein' label on it. It had a sealed letter attached, but nothing more. I'm so sorry, but I had to break the seal and read the letter to understand what this crate was, and that's when I discovered everything about my father's promise. The letter also gave me some hints of where I could find you, and that's why I decided to deliver it in person. This way, I could be sure that there wouldn't be any more mistakes. Here you have the sealed letter. I'll bring a pack with the copies of the letters and your crate, and you decide what you do with them. It's out of my hands"

– Wait – Franz Frankenstein finally spoke. – Before I read this, I have to make sure I'm the rightful owner of this thing. So, tell me: was this Victor from Geneva?

– Hm, yes, I recall he was.

– Was his little brother killed by a servant of his family?

– He mentions it in one letter, but he claims she is innocent.

– Did he have a younger brother called Ernst?

– I don't remember, but this name is familiar.

– See, Elsa? – the clockmaker grasped his female friend's arm. – That's why, when father and mother are talking about my uncle Victor, they always change the subject when I enter the room. I always thought that they were trying to "protect me" from a grisly story full of murders, but never could make them squeeze much information. Now I'll know. Maybe uncle Victor was a psycho?

– Wait, your uncle? – Walton cut him, incredulous. – Your "father" is the elusive Ernst Frankenstein?

– Elusive? – Franz raised an eyebrow. – You mean that no one knows he is living here? Nonsense. What would be the harm on that?

– You have to read my father's letters – Walton said, firmly. – You know what, I changed my mind. Read them first, and save that one with the broken seal for later.

– Whatever you say – the young Frankenstein said, with a pleasant smile. – I'll read them as soon as possible.

– Great! I'll bring everything here. I have a feeling that you might want to discuss things with me after you read it all, so I'll stay in the village for two or three days. I don't know much more than what is written in the letters, but I did some research in Geneva and Ingolstadt. I'll tell you some things that I discovered there, if you wish.

With the help of Franz and Elsa, Walton carried the crate to a kind of shed that Franz indicated as the right place for it. There were all kinds of tools, materials, gears and unfinished clocks all around.

– It's my workshop – Franz explained. – I make most of the clocks and watches we sell here. Father only fixes the broken ones. He's not much into clockmaking, you know, Elsa and I do most of the work around here. It seems that, after my grandfather's death, he moved here to live with a relative and this relative passed the clock business to him.

– I see – Walton said, biting his lower lip. – If you need me, I'll be in that nice inn that I said when I got to this village. See you.

– And about your defective watch…

– See you.