Glad to see you again, HyperCaz! I went to my email a few days ago and there were 57 messages (a record mind you) and most of them were because of your reviews. Thanks a million! Or 57 anyway!

Carnicirthial, heeeeeeere's Frankenstein! This was actually my favourite chapter to write so far, so thanks for putting the idea into my head.

FlutterbyButterfly, thanks for reviewing, looking forward to your next chapter.

MariAmber, always glad to hear from you (hugs).

Fig-aruna (fascinating name) Great to have a new reader...

N.N.M are you reviewing backwards? LOL don't care, just glad to hear from you.

RogueCajun, what do you think of Carl actually really being in love with her? No, better yet, Anna is in love with Carl for good. I think I'll run with that.

Mat! You reviewed a Van Helsing fic! I'm so pleased! Everybody, read Elenhin's fics, they're seriously awesome.

And really quickly, anonymous reviewer GrEeNgEiGe: I really don't mean to sound like I hate anything. But sadly, because of my deeply cynical nature, I feel obligated to make fun of everything, whether I like it or not. Hence this fic. If you want to read one where I don't make fun of Van Helsing, give "Big Bang Theory" a try.

Chapter Ten: The Real Life of Frankenstein

Leaving Carl and Van Helsing where they are for the time being, we trip merrily on our way to Castle Frankenstein, where everyone's favourite unholy man-made monster is having a little trouble.

He was talking to his psychiatrist, which was actually half the problem.

"Nobody understands me," he moaned. "I mean, maybe its something to do with the fact that I spend a lot of time going "Hurrrr" and "Arrr" and "Grrr" and so forth, but you know, just because I like to make ambiguous sounds doesn't mean I can't talk like a normal person."

"Hmm," said the psychiatrist.

"And then there's the thing about my name. I mean, all I ever hear is 'Frankenstein's Monster.' I know I shouldn't let it bother me, but does anyone ever bother to find out what my real name is? Does anyone say, Hey, my name's Ted, or Alice, or Donald, or Trump, what's yours? No, its just 'Frankenstein's Monster!' All the bleedin' time."

"Hmm," said the psychiatrist.

"You know?"

"Hmm."

"Hurr?"

"Arr."

"And its like, well, since Dad died, I— I have such grief, you know, and no way to get over it, it seems like. And, I, I, I know I had a conflicted relationship with him— I know it seemed like we were totally devoted to each other, but lets face it, after I was created he was only alive for like, an hour. And conscious for like, five minutes, you know? So we weren't exactly what you would call close. And anyway it just goes back to the name thing, you know? 'Frankenstein's Monster.' Its like everyone thinks he created me."

"Hmm," said the psychiatrist.

"I mean, I realize, he did create me, its just— I'd like to be recognized on my own merits, you know? I mean, is that so hard, to recognize someone on their own merits? I mean, I play the piano, did you know that? I just started taking lessons last month. It's a little hard, it's a little difficult. My fingers keep falling off and I have to get them sewed on again by Hilda the house maid. But— what else— I have this dream of scuba diving some day. I, I, I'd like to be a fire fighter, to rescue people. Of course I realize I'd have to get over my mortal terror of fire, but I think I'm beginning to work through that, you know—"

"Hmm," said the psychiatrist, lighting a cigar.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUGH!" said Frankenstein's Monster, and cowered behind the sofa for twenty minutes. When he came out again he apologized and went on.

"One of these days I'm going to write a book. I was thinking maybe an autobiography, you know? I mean, not one of those totally self-absorbed autobiographies, the "The Story of Me" kind, the kind that Terry Gross refers to as 'memoirs.' But a real one. 'Frankenstein's Monster: Behind the White Lab Coat and Horrific Scars.' 'Behind The Boris Karloff Version.' 'I Am Not Boris Karloff.' That kind of thing. It was Boris Karloff who played me in that one film, wasn't it?"

"Hmm," said the psychiatrist.

" 'I Am Not Shuler Hensley,' how about that?"

"Hmm."

"Anyway. And then, you know, then there's the fan club. I've been having a little trouble with that, see. They're nice people, you know, I guess when you get to know them all, but they tend to swarm, you know? Like, like bees. And that's another thing, I have to get over this irrational fear of bees. I mean, I've never even been stung by a bee. I guess I just don't like the idea of sharp things. And open graves. Open graves really get to me. Funny, you'd think they'd remind me of home."

The psychiatrist pursed his lips and looked at him thoughtfully. "Mr. Fronkensteen—"

"That's Frankenstein."

"Whatever. I wonder— would you be willing to pose nude? Its just I have this contract with US magazine, you know the people who are sponsoring the Win A Date With Frankenstein's Monster Sweepstakes? And I could get big bucks if I get you to agree to a photo shoot. It'd be totally decent, very tastefully done. And your fan club would eat it up."

Frankenstein's Monster stared at him. "You haven't been listening to a word I've been saying, have you?" he said.

"Hmm?" said the psychiatrist.

"I feel so betrayed," said Frankenstein's Monster sadly, got up, killed the psychiatrist quickly, and left the house, brushing aside several photographers on the way.