Frankenstein Lives Again (The New Adventures of Frankenstein) by Donald F. Glut, Mark D. Maddox Page B

enjoyed by most men to develop his own modicum of psychic skills? He couldn’t remember, but he knew that now, even in these twilight years of his life, those old desires were returning to him, blazing away and unable to be extinguished even by his own indomitable will.
    She was still lacing him, stepping away from the pile of clothing that had dropped to her bare feet. To the old man, she was like some Grecian goddess, sculpted by a master artist and gjven miraculous life. He watched with delight the way her long black hair tossed gently in the breeze, fluttering against firm modest breasts. In another moment, she would undoubtedly turn away from his gaze to enjoy a refreshing swim in the pond, unless...
    No, he silently swore, hers would be the young flesh that would rekindle his youth, and he knew just how to make her beauty his for the taking.
    With a speed belying his age, he rushed out of the bushes, taking the young woman by surprise.
    “Who...who are you?” she asked, simultaneously reacting with revulsion at the man’s appearance and grabbing up the discarded clothing. She pressed the crumpled peasant’s dress against her in a feeble attempt to cover her nakedness. “Wh-what do you want ?”
    But the old man did not reply, at least with his words. Rather, it was his eyes—those twin beacons of unearthly fire—that answered the girl, capturing her attention with all of the psychic force that he could muster.
    What… do you...?” But she never finished speaking. Already she was becoming lost in his eyes and unable to move. Her hands relaxed, her arms went limp and the bundle of clothing again dropped to the ground.
    The old man smiled triumphantly.
    She was simply standing there now, his Galatea , waiting for him to bestow upon her his lustful attention.
    But even as he approached and raised both shaking hands to grasp her, the shout of a masculine voice, issuing from some-here amid the forest trees, not only distracted him, but also brought a flutter to the peasant’s staring eyes.
    “Anna!” came the voice. “Are you there, Anna?” 
    “Damn!” the old man cursed.
    Her eyes blinked again, more rapidly, and she began to lower her head. “Johann...?”
    The old man could hear the sound of movement in the nearby underbrush and realized that he would be no match, in a physical confrontation, with any young man. He silently cursed age bemoaning the fact that he had ventured into this clearing without the company of Gort. Now, his only chance at escaping without violence was by first recapturing the girl’s attention with his mesmeric gaze.
    Again his eyes burned into hers.
    “Johann...?” she said, her blinking eyes suddenly snapping wide open again to lose themselves in the old man’s stare. “Yes? Wh-what… do you want?”
    He spoke rapidly, his words only slightly distorted by his lack of a full mouth of teeth. “You will not remember that I was here,” he rasped. “You will not remember me at all, even if you see me later elsewhere. Do you understand?”
    “I... will not remember...” she said, softly.
    “And when your lover Johann comes to you, you will act normal. You will smile and take him in your arms. And you will make him believe that nothing unusual has happened.”
    “Nothing....”
    “Anna? Are you there?”
    The old man turned his head in the direction of the voice, then skulked back into the bushes, hearing the sound of footsteps behind him. He stopped, turning back for a quick glimpse of a hardy-looking peasant in his mid-twenties as he rushed up to the woman, reacted with surprise at her obviously unexpected nudity, then let himself be wrapped in her arms.
    “Oh, dearest Johann,” she said, pressing her body against his.
    That was all that the old man’s heart could stand. He left the tableau behind him, uttering a few curses under his breath, and pressed on through the thick vegetation of the forest. His bony legs were already tired when he at last came upon the