Sidey’s Weekend Theme is “starry night”…
It was a starry night. The kind of night which inspires poetry, the kind of night on which lovers sit side by silent side, gazing at the sky. It was the kind of night on which Dracula had to stay indoors, for stars after all are just faraway suns, and exposure to a night like this left him covered in small smoking holes.
It was the kind of night on which no man could fail to feel awestruck by beauty, and at peace with life.
“Ah, for feck’s sake,” said Dr Frankenstein angrily. Ok, except him.
A starry night meant no clouds, no clouds meant no storm, no storm meant no lightning, and no lightning meant no success.
The Creature lay lifeless upon his slab. Without lightning to super-power Dr Frankenstein’s machines, he was likely to remain so.
Frankenstein held his head (no, his own one) in his hands in despair. Igor felt sorry for him.
“Lots of things here in the house run on electricity,” he said (the year was 2010, by the way, I’m sorry if I didn’t make that clear). “We could try some of them.”
The next two hours proved pretty fruitless.
Poking the Creature’s toe into a wall-socket didn’t work. Neither did sticking his head into the microwave, putting his buns in the oven or lying him in the bath and dropping in a toaster.
They connected him to their satellite dish. This didn’t work either, although unbeknownst to them every TV in the world changed simultaneously to the National Geographic Channel.
“Kick him in the goolies,” suggested Igor. “That would wake anyone up.”
“He is eleven feet tall,” said Frankenstein. “If it does work he will wake up in pain and very angry, and the first thing he is likely to do is punch the person who kicked him in the goolies.”
As a final, desperate effort Frankenstein attached jump-leads to the Creature’s nipples and turned on the car.
The Creature sat up.
“It’s alive!” said Frankenstein, because traditions are important.
“Master,” said the Creature. “What would you like me to do?”
Frankenstein hadn’t really thought beyond the experiment itself. Mad scientists seldom do.
“Er, don’t know,” he said. At that moment there was a loud hammering at the door. The villagers had arrived, with their pitchforks and their flaming torches.
Frankenstein smiled. “Well,” he said, “the first thing you could do is answer the door.”
The Creature did so. The villagers took one look at him and hid their pitchforks and torches behind their backs, several of them singeing the back of their head in the process.
“Yes?” said the Creature.
“Er,” said the villager who suddenly found himself at the front of the mob, “we heard you were new around here, and wanted to know if you’d like to come to the pub with us.”
And so it was that the Creature became part of village life. He cleared gutters without needing a ladder. He helped the village win the local soccer league, scoring thirty-two goals, all from headers. He helped local farmers milk their cattle, bringing the cows into the parlour two at a time, one under each arm.
And what of Dr Frankenstein? He decided, after all his months of hard work, that he needed a holiday, and booked two weeks in sunny Majorca.
On the second day there he was struck by lightning.
God has a wicked sense of humour.