Igor and Henry

My name is Dr. Frankenstein. I'm a scientist. I am also the guardian of two of the dimmest witted creatures ever to roam the countryside. One was nature's doing. His name is Igor. The other one? The villagers call him the monster, but I call him Sonny Boy. I'm afraid I'll have to take full responsibility for his creation. It was my first effort at creating anything. Perhaps you remember your first creative effort? Remember your first woodworking class? Remember that first bird feeder? Remember the results? Exactly. So don't pass judgment too soon. I'm going on to bigger and better things.

I think of Sonny Boy as a free spirited bird feeder with legs. It's recognizable for what it was supposed to be, but something is just not right. That is why we put things like woodworking efforts and abnormally brained, murderous convicts who were dug up in the dead of night, into our dungeons and attics. They remind us of who we were.

The one they call Igor was left at our castle door not long after his birth, and we grew up together in the Frankenstein castle. This is our story.

II

My first memories of Igor were happy ones. We shared the same room - up until the time of Igor's rodent obsession - for the first six years of our lives. It wasn't until we began our schooling that I noticed how Igor's appearance and odd nature might hamper our otherwise idyllic existence.

The first day of school found Baron Von Dekker's rude little boy, Hector, in a shallow grave behind the school grounds. He survived the incident and Igor was severely punished: Each morning he was made to empty and clean the chamber pots of the Von Dekker estate for a period of eight weeks. The Baron had twenty-seven family members living at home at the time, and a household staff of thirty-nine.

"Take this shovel," he was told by the caretaker, Gustof, "and dig until your eyes are level with the blades of grass which surround you. And, when you can walk twenty paces from one end of the hole to the other, stop digging. That is where you will empty the filthy pots. You miserable freak."

Igor would never be the same after that incident. Neither would the caretaker. It seems that on the last day of the eighth week, the caretaker was inspecting the hole when the quiet of the estate suddenly echoed with a resounding "Bong!" Like the sound a clapper makes when it strikes a bell. The caretaker was never heard from again.
Gusthof's dog, Fritz, however, maintained a constant vigil behind the estate. It is assumed he was awaiting his master's return. He waited a long time for naught.

Incidents like those mentioned above did little to enhance the Frankenstein name, but they did much to make Igor and I the men we would turn out to be.

For now, I will rest. There is so much more to tell.

III

That the name Henry Frankenstein has become synonymous with the worst sort of evil has not dampened my lust for life. My reputation has been exaggerated, much to the delight of my dear friend, Igor.

This being a childhood remembrance, I should like to continue with an incident I can never forget. An incident that would forever secure the friendship of two young geniuses - Henry and Igor. Two young boys with a passion for the darker side of life.

As I remember it, we were twelve years old and playing in a lovely little cemetery behind the Frankenstein castle. We had escaped from our bed-chambers and were bent on adventure.

"Bring the torch closer," said Igor. "I can't see where I'm cutting."

Those magical words ring in my head to this very day.

The fact that Igor was a club-footed hunchback did little to deter our happiness as children. Life with Igor was a terrifying joyride. I owe him much. But on with my recollection.

As I lowered the torch into the open grave I was fascinated at the site of Igor -- standing on top of my grandfather's chest -- with an axe in his hands. "Hold the torch a little closer," he said. "I want to be sure I hit it squarely, otherwise I may lose a toe or two."

Igor was swift with the axe, and in a matter of seconds had split open Grandfather's burly old chest. I thought my heart would beat itself to death as Igor plunged his hand into the open cavity. "Get the bag!" he said. "Hurry! Before we're found out!" I handed Igor the bag and watched in fascination as he filled it with handful after handful of Grandmother's homemade confections. It was a gleeful endeavor, and we were proud of our accomplishment.

The truth is, Igor and I were forever pilfering the candy from the pantry and Grandfather had decided to hide the much sought after treats in an old storage chest and bury it in a safe place.

Fortunately we caught him in the act. Unfortunately for us he saw our torchlight from his bedroom window and caught us in the act. The punishment was swift and severe. We were made to eat the entire bag of candy in one sitting. A punishment Igor seemed to relish. But one that only made me sick.

Would we do it again? In a heartbeat.