Frankenstein Lives Again (The New Adventures of Frankenstein) by Donald F. Glut, Mark D. Maddox Page B
Authors: Donald F. Glut, Mark D. Maddox
Tags: Fiction
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expedition.
He tossed for a while, contorting himself to get into a comfortable position and failing miserably. He was not in the least bit tired. Soon Winslow was on his feet again, pacing the floor, with thoughts of castles, graverobbing and mad experiments flooding his mind.
Sleep was impossible, he finally resolved, and his mind went back to planning the next day’s activities.
Winslow paced the length of the hotel room several times, then the width, and then the length again. His bare feet touched the floor silently and it was understandable that anyone outside the closed door of his room would assume him to be asleep...
The American was aware of the intruder from the moment he first heard the faint sound of metal striking metal in the lock of the door.
Cautiously, Winslow turned to face the door. He saw the doorknob turn slightly as someone from the other side seemed to be tampering with the lock. It must be some crude skeleton key, he thought, from the noise it made, then he saw the door opening slowly.
The scientist silently moved into the shadows, his back pressed against the wall, wishing that there were more darkness in the room than that created by his drawn blinds. At least he was — or, for a few moments, would be — out of the line of vision of whoever it was that was breaking into his room. Pantherlike, the intruder prowled into the room. Winslow could see that he was fairly stout and wore a handkerchief mask over his face. In his hand was clutched what appeared to be a surgical scalpel, its razor blade glinting as it caught a beam of light fighting its way through the Venetian blinds.
The scientist watched as the prowler made his way to the bed where the piled sheets and blankets suggested, in the meager illumination, a man sleeping. The intruder slowly raised the scalpel; but before bringing it down, the would-be killer realized that there was no human victim lying beneath him.
Fearing that he may have been seen, the intruder began to turn, finding that it was already too late.
Winslow had already leaped from the shadows, pouncing with his full one hundred eighty-three pound weight onto the assassin’s back.
In that moment, Winslow utilized every bit of speed and strength he had developed in his younger days. In a blur of motion he grabbed the scalpel from the intruder’s hand, the weapon dropping to the floor. Then, catching his opponent off guard, Winslow spun him around, only to feel two steel-like hands grip him about the throat, squeezing, prompting him to gag. Winslow could already feel the blood in his throat when he brought up his knee, crashing it inexorably against his attacker’s chest sending him reeling backwards.
Moaning, the assailant fell hard onto the bed. Immediately, Winslow leaped through space and onto the stunned and gasping masked man. The doctor’s frantic hands tore away the handkerchief that hid his features, exposing the hate-filled visage of an Eskimo. The native looked vaguely familiar. And when Winslow considered the scalpel he’d used as his intended murder weapon, his mind sparked a memory.
“You!” snarled Winslow. “I think I saw you at the hospital today! You were one of the orderlies — “
The Eskimo seemed oblivious to being identified. “You shall never reach the Ice God’s tomb!” he shouted fanatically. “You shall die first!”
In a flash, his hands were again encircling Winslow’s neck, thumbs pressing harder...
Once again the scientist struggled to free himself before he was choked to death. Winslow tugged, yanking himself and his attacker off the bed and onto the floor. In the conflict, Winslow managed to slip out of the native’s strangle-grip and spring to his feet. He saw the Eskimo make a sudden effort to retrieve his lost scalpel, but slammed a stone-hard fist into the orderly’s face, just as the sound of footsteps came into the room.
His jaw bruised red, the Eskimo took advantage of the confusion and sprang to his feet, as
He tossed for a while, contorting himself to get into a comfortable position and failing miserably. He was not in the least bit tired. Soon Winslow was on his feet again, pacing the floor, with thoughts of castles, graverobbing and mad experiments flooding his mind.
Sleep was impossible, he finally resolved, and his mind went back to planning the next day’s activities.
Winslow paced the length of the hotel room several times, then the width, and then the length again. His bare feet touched the floor silently and it was understandable that anyone outside the closed door of his room would assume him to be asleep...
The American was aware of the intruder from the moment he first heard the faint sound of metal striking metal in the lock of the door.
Cautiously, Winslow turned to face the door. He saw the doorknob turn slightly as someone from the other side seemed to be tampering with the lock. It must be some crude skeleton key, he thought, from the noise it made, then he saw the door opening slowly.
The scientist silently moved into the shadows, his back pressed against the wall, wishing that there were more darkness in the room than that created by his drawn blinds. At least he was — or, for a few moments, would be — out of the line of vision of whoever it was that was breaking into his room. Pantherlike, the intruder prowled into the room. Winslow could see that he was fairly stout and wore a handkerchief mask over his face. In his hand was clutched what appeared to be a surgical scalpel, its razor blade glinting as it caught a beam of light fighting its way through the Venetian blinds.
The scientist watched as the prowler made his way to the bed where the piled sheets and blankets suggested, in the meager illumination, a man sleeping. The intruder slowly raised the scalpel; but before bringing it down, the would-be killer realized that there was no human victim lying beneath him.
Fearing that he may have been seen, the intruder began to turn, finding that it was already too late.
Winslow had already leaped from the shadows, pouncing with his full one hundred eighty-three pound weight onto the assassin’s back.
In that moment, Winslow utilized every bit of speed and strength he had developed in his younger days. In a blur of motion he grabbed the scalpel from the intruder’s hand, the weapon dropping to the floor. Then, catching his opponent off guard, Winslow spun him around, only to feel two steel-like hands grip him about the throat, squeezing, prompting him to gag. Winslow could already feel the blood in his throat when he brought up his knee, crashing it inexorably against his attacker’s chest sending him reeling backwards.
Moaning, the assailant fell hard onto the bed. Immediately, Winslow leaped through space and onto the stunned and gasping masked man. The doctor’s frantic hands tore away the handkerchief that hid his features, exposing the hate-filled visage of an Eskimo. The native looked vaguely familiar. And when Winslow considered the scalpel he’d used as his intended murder weapon, his mind sparked a memory.
“You!” snarled Winslow. “I think I saw you at the hospital today! You were one of the orderlies — “
The Eskimo seemed oblivious to being identified. “You shall never reach the Ice God’s tomb!” he shouted fanatically. “You shall die first!”
In a flash, his hands were again encircling Winslow’s neck, thumbs pressing harder...
Once again the scientist struggled to free himself before he was choked to death. Winslow tugged, yanking himself and his attacker off the bed and onto the floor. In the conflict, Winslow managed to slip out of the native’s strangle-grip and spring to his feet. He saw the Eskimo make a sudden effort to retrieve his lost scalpel, but slammed a stone-hard fist into the orderly’s face, just as the sound of footsteps came into the room.
His jaw bruised red, the Eskimo took advantage of the confusion and sprang to his feet, as
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