The Monster's Bride

The Monster’s Bride
(words 579)

Igor slipped on stealthy feet toward the opening in the drapes.  He wanted to get a good look at what was coming next.  He angled his already-angled body around the end of the last drape and heard the door to the dungeon squeak open.  That meant the Monster had arrived. 

Igor’s ankle bones cracked as he danced a silent jig in his secret spot, wondering what the Monster had brought his lady-love this time.  He would have felt some sympathy for the Monster if his own love-life had not been equally dismal.  Now he just got vicarious thrills watching the Monster strike-out time after time.  Even Igor was more of a ladies’ man than Frankenstein’s Monster.

The newly installed electric lights shined down the corridor to the Bride’s room.  The village, which was now a bustling city, had been on the electric grid for years, but the old ruined castle halfway up the mountain had not been on the list of approved historic sites.  Dr. Frankenstein had had to donate a whole wing to a nearby hospital to get the City Councilmen to order the cables run.

A heavy measured step came from the hallway to the dungeon.  The Monster was coming.

Every night for the past week, the Monster had tried to woo the new lady that Dr. Frankenstein had cooked up for him.  She had eschewed flowers, chocolates, jewelry, a new dress, a phial of very expensive perfume, and a dead chicken.  (The Monster had gotten desperate and had showed poor judgment.)  Each of the gifts had elicited a scream of contempt from the dissatisfied Bride and had resulted in the presents being flung at the Monster’s head.  At least the dousing with the expensive “Love Potion # 9” perfume had made the Monster easier to be around.  (Dungeons were smelly places, and the Monster didn’t bath regularly to start with.  He was a monster, after all.)

The Monster plodded up to the door of his beloved’s room and knocked with his powerful fist.  Igor saw that he held a rather small box, about the size of a shoe.  (A normal person’s shoe, not like the great clod-hoppers that grew at the end of the Monster’s legs.)

Igor leaned forward trying to read the writing on the box.  He really didn’t understand why the Monster tried so hard.  The Bride was ugly with a capital “G.”  (Gee, you’re ugly.)  Her skin was sallow, her nose rambled to one side of her face and then back again  like it had had one too many drinks.  And her hair was a nightmare.  (It was a pointing-straight-up, stuck-my-finger-in-a-light-socket, fright-fest of a hair-do.  There were bats nesting in that thing.) 

The door swung open and the Bride looked out.  In a sad, faltering way, the Monster held out his new present.  She took it and slowly unfastened the box.

Igor rubbed his hands with glee.  (Oh!  This was gonna be good!)  She took the utensil out.  (She’s gonna hit him with it for sure.)  She cracked open her mouth.  (She’s gonna curse his parents – if he had any.  Or bite his nose off.)  Igor held his breath.

The Bride smiled.  The Monster smiled.  She backed up and beckoned.  He followed her into her boudoir, and the door swung shut with finality.

Igor was stunned.  What was going on here?  He scurried out from the drapes and picked up the discarded box. 

The writing on the box said:  “Glamor-Gal Hair-Straightening Iron – Silky hair can be yours in minutes!”