Do not go where the path may lead, go where there is no path and leave a trail.

Ralph Waldo Emmerson


The Rather Grim History of Dr. Well's Asylum: Dr. Frankenstein

Number 13 is special, the maddest of all to ever wander Dr. Well’s halls. He even acquired an amount of fame forever known to us by his name, (though he should be known for how out of his mind he is… ) meet …


alone in his cell.

It IS NOT madness.
The horror! The horror! It creeps! It climbs!
I am not, am not, am not out of my mind!
I have no choice but to give my terror voice.

It IS NOT madness. Not madness! Madness indeed!
You must listen! You must! You must closely heed!
He’s near! Can’t you hear!?!
That’s his step, there, on the stones!
His footfall calls like the crunching of bones.
Ohhhhhhhh the crunching, munching runching tones!

His eyes! His eyes! His gnashing teeth!
Worse still, worse still, worse still his speech;
he utters guttural, ghastly groans,
droning, wasted, withering moans!
His cold, dead hands!   
His plodding feet!
Why can’t you understand!?! 
You do not want to meet
his eyes! His eyes!

He cannot die!
The dead WILL stay dead. They will!
I tell you, the dead you cannot kill!

I had good intentions
before this, my so-called dementia.

I was filled with emptiness, you see,
because my Mother was taken from me
when I was very small.

I vowed to be death’s downfall!
But nothing turned out the way I planned.
I gave life, yes, but not to a man.

Here’s how it began:

I’m a Doctor, you see.
I studied in the best laboratories.
I won every token of esteem
given in my field. My dream…
was to bring the dead back to life!

I thought it would end the strife
of mourning, of loss, of being alone,
of winding up a pile of moldering bones.
I know it’s rather unorthodox… but to talk
once more to one gone!
In spite of dying, to carry on!

If bones could dance, could live again;
if the soul could unfold in second wind;
mortal women and men would never again
have to suffer the desolate, empty feeling
that love removed renders. Ohhhhh the steeling
required for my calm to last this long!


It is NOT madness.
It’s all kinds of badness.
Don’t say I didn’t warn.

Ohhhhhh that the monster was ever born!
He’s all I’ll be remembered by.
I, I, I, I!!!!!!
I, the brightest of my age;
with only this to show; this, a rage-
filled misappropriation
of every bit of my inspiration.

Mistake! Mistake!
Forever in my wake now are your clouds of darkest despair.
The very air I breathe is full of death.


His head was a poet’s, and in it a mind
dwells that once excelled in each grace of mankind.
It is said that, when living, the sight of his face
won the heart of each girl in the place.
I’m told his eyes could light up a room.

(laughs maniacally)

His eyes! His eyes! Their glaring, staring, dull doom!

Was it the body that made it go wrong?
I needed him to be exceptionally strong
so, I found the most sound and muscled frame
Was it that? Yes! That’s what’s to blame!
Ohhhhh, whatever the case, it quite fit the head.

So that wasn’t it. That wasn’t IT! 

The dead WILL stay dead. They will!
I tell you, the dead you cannot kill!


Hear that? Hear that?
Hear the drumming, pounding, resounding, thumping?,
Now it’s a crackling, smacking, splintering sound?
In a few moment’s he’ll come around the corner there.
That’ll give you a scare.

(laughs maniacally)

He IS coming.
He, who never forgave being made.

His skin remained yellow, like the clay of his grave.
His cheeks stayed hollow with the wasting of death.
He breathes but in echoing, rattling breaths.
His body, once firm quivers like jelly
and of course, what’s worse, he’s unspeakably smelly.
His feet, like concrete thud behind
his ankles a bit. His mind! His mind
was never fully restored. The abhorred
Monster is COMING!

Listen! The dead WILL stay dead. They will!
My friend, the dead you cannot kill!

He follows! He follows! Until my last breath
he follows! He follows! The walking death
of a man WILL be coming!
There’s no use running.

The dead WILL stay dead. They will!
I tell you, the dead you cannot kill!

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