This is story of "The Corpse Dog", a Tim Burton crossover mainly featuring the characters of Frankenweenie and the Corpse Bride in my own little fanfic based on David Lynch's 1980 black and white horror/love biopic The Elephant Man and the real life story of Joseph Merrick.
Summary: In Victorian London, Victor Frankenstein's dog, Sparky is intelligent, kind, quiet and can even talk, but because he was brought back from the dead for all of this, the duo are forced to suffer the humiliation of being sideshow freaks. Only when a namesaking doctor Victor Van Dort rescues them, Sparky and his master begin to regain the life of dignity and respect that everyone deserves.
Much of the context and dialogue of this fanfic is taken from the movie tie-in novel by Christine Sparks (albeit condensed to make it more simplified and to save a lot of work), Christopher DeVore's original screenplay and even the movie itself. Note that I did not use Frederick Treeves' memoirs or Ashley Montagu's study in dignity for research or resource material, just a few online resources for certain dates and locations in Merrick's life.
August 4th – 5th, 1880
In the mind's eye of a young boy, he could see the gold framed portrait of himself, his parents and a bull terrier.
The boy was smiling as he threw the ball in the air – a shadow came over him – above him were faces of various other animals… like a horse and an elephant.
Dark heavy feat were heaving up as the elephant charged at the dog.
With a powerful hit, the dog was crushed and the boy screamed in denial.
A day passed, and thanks to his own schoolteacher's experiments on how to conduct electricity, he came home and lifted his dog's body high in the air where it was struck by lightning, he checked for heart signs but nothing happened.
"I'm sorry, boy."
But two more words came out of his mouth he noted the dog's tail moving and pretty soon the whole body came out of the blanket.
"You're alive!"
Four years later
November 3rd 1884
"A wicked birth…monstrous…evil…"
The elderly man had come out of the shadows so suddenly that Victor Van Dort had not been aware of him until he heard the shaking voice. He turned abruptly, trying to see the man by the poor light of the smoking oil lamps. He could just make out a ravaged face, the lips trembling, the eyes glazed with horror.
"I beg your pardon?" said Van Dort politely. "Did you speak to me?"
"Wicked," the stranger whispered again. "For God's sake leave this place." He was sweating, and even in this gloom Van Dort's professional eye told him that the man was on the verge of vomiting.
Van Dort looked back toward the little stage that had previously held his attention. In a large bell hung a "baby" that closer inspection revealed to be a china doll, with a large snake growing out of it's neck. Labeled "The Deadly Fruit of Original Sin" it was the clumsiest of fakes, and Van Dort could see nothing in it to have so disturbed his companion.
"I assure you, it's nothing but a fake," he informed the elderly man kindly. "If you look closer you can see…"
"That," the man interrupted him scornfully. "I can see through that! But down there…" From somewhere in the long canvas corridor behind him a commotion was growing.
"Get out of here," he said. "For pity's sake get out. Don't go near that evil thing."
Abruptly he burst into tears and pushed past Van Dort into another corridor that led to the exit. Without waiting any longer Van Dort plunged ahead in the direction from which the man had appeared. An excitement had taken possession of him.
That summer of 1884 was a good one for fun-fairs and freak shows. Show after show had settled on 123 Whitechapel Road's penny-gaff shop, it was now November and Van Dort had allowed his two young children to nag him into taking them to every one. His wife Victoria knew too well that her children's pleasure was not his main motive.
The freak tent today had been like so many others he entered that year, a mass of black canvas corridors, poorly lit by oil lamps, occasionally opening into wider areas where exhibits lined the walls. The lighting on these exhibits was also kept low, the better to disguise their obvious trickery. Van Dort had seen it all before, and he was bored to tears with fakes.
As Van Dort pushed ahead he could hear a growing noise behind him, and without warning he was shoved aside by two policemen who swept down the corridor with a purposeful air. Up ahead they apparently encountered some difficulty, for they were shouting "Make way, Make way!"-an injunction to which nobody seemed to be paying heed.
Van Dort almost collided with a man coming back down the corridor holding a small boy in his arms. The child was clutching his father's neck in terror, while the man muttered to no one in particular.
"This is too much. They should not allow it-they should not allow it."
Van Dort's excitement quickened. He felt like a hound that has scented the prey, and he realized that he had somehow become the leader of a little crowd all bent on the same ghoulish errand.
At the far end the passage widened to accommodate a stage that was sideways, so that he could not see what it contained. An alderman was arguing with an individual who had white hair and looked chubby and smartly dressed. The horror lay onstage, but as Van Dort moved sideways to see if he could get a good view, he found his way blocked by the policemen.
"No, that's right out. Sorry sir, no more viewing," the policeman turned and yelled over his shoulder. "Drop that curtain."
As the curtain fell Van Dort's darting eyes managed to catch a glimpse of thin trousers belonging to a 14 year old, carrying what might have looked like a dog with mismatched pieces of fur. Whatever was behind the curtain was genuinely monstrous.
"You can't do that!" the owner was protesting. "I've got my rights!"
"I have the authority to close you down," the alderman said firmly, "and I'm just doing that. This exhibit degrades all who see it as well as the poor creature and his master."
"The dog's a freak brought back from the dead!" the other bellowed. "How else is he to live?"
"Freaks are one thing, but no one objects to resurrected dogs on an entirely different matter. This is monstrous and ought not to be allowed. These officers will see to it that you are on your way as soon as possible. Good day!"
He turned sharply and left the tent, leaving the other man to shake his head in disgust and mutter, "Moving again. My treasures."
Van Dort had reached the canvas by now. His hand stretched out. Another moment and he would lift the edge of that curtain and see…
"Have a care my friend."
Van Dort jumped as a thin, small tongue came down on his face and he found himself look directly into the beady eyes of the exhibitor.
"Forgive me…," he murmured, and moved away.
He wasted no more time where obviously nothing further could be learned today. Moving ahead of him toward the exit, he could see the hunch-backed urchin who had been staring at the painted canvas. Van Dort quickened his step, anxious not to lose him in the crowd, and caught up with the boy at the exit. A short conversation ensued, businesslike on both sides. A shilling changed hands. By the time Van Dort went off to find his wife and children, he was sure he and the boy understood each other perfectly.
As soon as he emerged into the cool dusk air, he could see his wife, with their son and daughter, just coming out of another tent. Kevin, his youngest child, was talking a mile a minute. Van Dort gave an unconscious smile. It was always Kevin who was talking.
He fixed his eyes on his wife. At this distance she looked barely more than the girl of twenty he had married eighteen years before. The beauty that had taken his breath away then was settling now into domestic plumpness, but she was still an extraordinary pretty woman.
She did not see him now, but it was Kim, at seventeen years old the elder, who saw her father first and ran forward excitedly, calling him. He wished he'd had time to get away from the freak tent before his wife noticed him, but it was too late now.
Van Dort looked down at his children's chocolate covered faces and smiled. Victoria, after one glance at the tent, became absorbed in cleaning the chocolate from Kim's mouth. Ten-year-old Kevin bounced excitedly.
"Father, may we go in there?" He swept an arm toward the tent, and Victoria's attention swerved sharply to her.
"All right, your turn," she said, adroitly swiveling Kevin so that he could no longer see the tent with it's lurid signs. Kim had not spoken since they had caught up with him. She was not a chatterbox, but a teen who seldom opened her mouth unless she had something to say. Now she stood doggedly by her father's side and pointed to the freak tent.
"I want to go in there with Father," she said.
"Well you can't," retorted Victoria in a sharper voice than Van Dort had ever heard her use before.
Van Dort shook his head at Kim. She was his pet, to whom normally he could refuse nothing. Bur he would refuse her this.
"No, you can't," he agreed. "I've already been in there once. You'd be frightened, the people in there are horribly ugly and I suppose they like it that way."
"What about you, Father? Do you like being frightened?"
"They don't frighten me," he replied, seeing too late where she was leading him.
"Then why do you go see them?"
Before he could think of an answer, Victoria intervened to put an end to what struck her as a totally improper conversation and flung him a look of reproach.
"It's getting late," she said. "I think we'd all better be going home, unless-" She looked at her husband doubtfully. "-Unless you have something else to do here?"
"No." He fell into a step beside her. "Let's go home now. I've seen all I want to."
"Did you find whatever it is you're looking for?"
He was silent so long that she looked at him. He was walking with his head down, studying the ground intently.
"I don't know," he said at last. "But I shall-soon."