General Fiction
Date Published: 1/17/2014
New York, 1926 - Anyone can make a good life for themselves if they are just willing to work hard for it. William Barker is such a man. He has a good job, a nice house, a son named James, and a marriage he is trying desperately to hold together. A tragic accident takes this life away and William finds himself alone in his house with terrible mental and physical scars that are a constant reminder of what happened. With no one willing to employ a man with such visible and disturbing scars, William is lost and has no answers for how to live his life. That is when he meets the man who will change that life forever, Roland Skelton, the owner of Skelton's Spectacular Traveling Carnival. Where others saw a man to be shunned, Roland sees a man he may be able to help. Roland convinces William to join the Carnival as the headliner of the ten-in-one. With the name Frankenstein's Monster, William is a hit with the paying audience and finds that being onstage is a release from his pain and guilt. In time, William realizes that those he works with understand him better than he could have hoped. While working at the carnival, William finds a new happiness, an enemy, purpose, and even love. The Man Who Became Frankenstein's Monster is a moving novel about a man who rises above adversity set against the backdrop of the golden age of the carnival.
Excerpt
for The Man Who Became
Frankenstein’s Monster
For a seven-year-old boy, Saturday was a long time in
coming, but finally, it arrived. Some of James’ schoolmates were
jealous that he was going to Coney Island, lamenting the fact that
their own fathers would not take them until later in the season, if
at all. Although James was not usually a braggart, on this occasion,
he bragged to anyone who would listen to him. James had gone to bed
earlier than usual on Friday evening, reading from The
Arabian Nights to keep his mind distracted
until the book fell from his hands and landed with a thud on the
wooden floor as his eyelids closed at last.
When he awoke Saturday morning, James immediately jumped
out of bed and rushed downstairs to see what time it was. To his
surprise, neither his mother nor father were in the kitchen and when
he looked outside, James discovered that light was only just starting
to creep over the horizon with the promise of a sunny day. When he
saw the time on the clock on the mantle, he was horrified to discover
in was not quite six in the morning and his parents would not be up
for at least another hour.
Knowing he would be unable to fall back asleep, James
decided to go into the living room and keep his mind occupied with
the previous days’ newspaper
the sports section at least
until his parents came downstairs. He read up on the Yankees, but
found himself skimming over the article. Maybe it was because they
were losing this year or that Babe Ruth hitting the long ball wasn’t
quite as thrilling to him, but whatever the reason, James found
himself moving from the Yankees articles to a brief article on horse
racing. When there was nothing else of note in the paper, James put
it down next to him and waited for the time to pass by.
Feet descended down the stairs a while later and Helen
appeared, dressed in the pink bathrobe she had worn to bed. Helen
said good morning to her son before going into the kitchen to make
herself a cup of coffee before she started on breakfast. James
acknowledged his mother, looking out the window and seeing that the
light had finally won its daily battle with the darkness.
William came down while James was still staring out the
window and looked curiously at his son. “What are you doing up so
early? You usually sleep late on Saturdays. I hope you haven’t
made any other plans,” he teased.
“I was too excited to sleep. I’ve been up for over
an hour.”
William laughed. “I thought we only went through this
on Christmas morning.”
James’ cheeks reddened a little. “One more day in
the year can’t hurt. So when can we go?” he asked excitedly.
Stretching out his stiff muscles, William answered, “Can
you let me wake up and have my breakfast first?” He realized his
tone sounded grumpier than he had meant, so he spread his mouth into
a wide, tooth-baring smile as he said, “We’ll go soon, I promise.
We need to have breakfast and get ready first.” He ran his hand
through his son’s hair and went into the kitchen.
James had to force the overcooked breakfast down that
morning; his stomach was not quite cooperating with him due to his
anticipation, however. He hated how long his father took to finish
breakfast while seeming to read every article in the morning paper he
had gone out and bought while Helen had cooked breakfast. A look of
disappointment arose on William’s face when he read that the
Yankees lost the previous afternoon, although the loss came as little
surprise. Instead of simply sitting in the kitchen watching his
father waste time with the paper, James trotted upstairs to dress and
prepare for the day. He washed up, changed into a pair of blue
shorts, and put on a plain white shirt. As James slid a sock over
his left foot, William appeared in the doorway, awake and relaxed.
“I’ll get ready so we can go,” he told his son. Looking out
the window, William remarked, “It sure is a nice day to go to Coney
Island isn’t it?”
The weather outside was as good as any New Yorker could
hope for on a May morning. The sun was out, shining down on the
street and what little grass there was in the yard, while birds
fluttered about in search for food. The sky was a light baby blue,
with no clouds in sight to ruin the day with a possible rain. “Yes!
It’s a perfect day to go!” James cried, unable to hold back his
enthusiasm.
“Well, I better get ready to go than, shouldn’t I?”
James nodded his head in response and descended downstairs while his
father went into his room to dress for the day.
“Now James, don’t you be any trouble to your
father,” Helen cautioned her son as he came back into the kitchen.
“I won’t be, I promise.”
“Good. I’m sure you’ll have a great time. I
always loved going down to Coney Island with your father before you
were born,” she said as she thought back to those days, almost sad
that she would not be going. Despite all the rush in the house on a
Saturday morning, Helen was in a great mood, caused by the fact that
she would have the entire day to herself. Saturday’s were
typically hard for Helen because she went about doing the usual
housework, but had William around eating all the food and trying to
fix up some broken things around the house while James was running
around with his friends, making a mess just after she had cleaned one
up. It was going to be refreshing to have no worries about what
trouble James was getting into in the neighborhood. In short, Helen
despised Saturday’s, even though it was the favorite day of the
week for both men in her life.
Eager to get going, James went outside to wait for
William, bringing a baseball with him to toss to himself. William
remained in the house for a moment and said to Helen, “I hope you
enjoy your day by yourself. Do you have any plans?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I plan to
relax today and I might go over to Peggy’s for some drinks later
on,” she answered, obviously annoyed that he was cheating her of
even another minute of peace and quiet that she felt entitled to.
William could tell by looking into his wife’s face that she was
done with the conversation ‒ if it could be called that ‒ and he
said goodbye, leaving the house without waiting for her to reply,
knowing she would not have one.
The young boy and his father walked excitedly down the
street to the subway station on Atlantic Avenue, a short distance
from their home. When the subway arrived
after a chorus of screeching brakes caused James to cover his ears
they waited their turn patiently in line. William handed over two
nickels and boarded the crowded subway car with James following
closely behind. James looked through the small window next to him
the whole way, admiring the mosaic tiling along the walls as he
envisioned the sights and smells he was soon to encounter. The ride
was a short one as Coney Island was in the Southwestern tip of
Brooklyn. The short trip suited James, who was crowded on all sides
by the mass of humanity in the car.
When the subway car stopped, a struggle ensued as
everyone in the car tried to get out at once, eager to be the first
one to let themselves loose on Coney Island. William held his son’s
hand and told him to wait for everyone else to get out, not wanting
to risk getting James trampled in the mayhem. As soon as William and
James walked off the subway at Stillwell Avenue into the crowded
street, James’ eyes lit up as he saw the nearby Giant Racer, the
screams of passengers ringing in his ears. The enticing smell of
Totonno’s pizza, along with Nathan’s Famous five cent hotdogs and
fried clams entered their noses and caused their stomachs to ache
with pangs of hunger as they started to walk with the crowd who had
gotten off the subway. Although they had eaten Helen’s breakfast,
the smell in their kitchen that morning was nothing compared to the
succulent smells they were now breathing in, mixed with the salty
aroma of the ocean.
“Let’s just walk around for a while and see what we
find,” William instructed, taking James’ hand in his own and
heading straight ahead.
They had been walking for over twenty minutes when a
talker was heard in front of the Dreamland Circus Sideshow. William
guided James away from the man standing on a platform and toward the
opposite side of the street where the Eden Musee stood. There were
dozens of customers in front of the building reading the posters that
listed the wax attractions within or staring in the two display
windows. “What’s The World in Wax
mean?” James asked, reading the words off the billboard over the
display windows.
“It means that this is a wax museum. All the displays
inside are of famous people or scenes done in wax.”
“How do they do that?”
“I’m not sure to be honest.”
“Can we go inside?”
William was about to say yes to his son and even had a
hand in his pocket in search of the twenty cents it would cost the
two of them for admittance when his eyes rested on the posters on the
building, which proclaimed attractions such as: Rulers of the world,
Death of an innocent victim, The eve of an execution, Assassination
of Pres. McKinley, and Martyred Christians. “Um, I think we better
not.” Seeing the disappointment written across James’ face,
William quickly offered, “Why don’t we look around a bit more and
see what else is here. Maybe we can come back later.”
This last statement cheered James up and he quickly
followed his father down the street until they were in front of the
Barrel of Fun, which was a long spinning tube made of wood in which
people entered through one end and slowly made their way to the other
end while the barrel spun around, making navigation rather difficult.
James slowed down as they passed, watching some children and their
parents laughing inside as they were thrown about the spinning
barrel. William and James joined the group of onlookers who were
laughing with mirth at the people trying to exit the ride.
“I think we’ll have to go on that later,” William
said as more people climbed in the entrance of the ride. James
nodded his head and the two continued on taking in all the sights of
the various amusement rides and games that could be played as the sun
started beating its mild-May rays on their shoulders. James was
afraid to blink, afraid he would miss something spectacular in the
seemingly endless park.
“Do you want to go back to Nathan’s and grab a
couple of hot dogs?” William asked James, whose hand he was
holding so as not to lose his son amongst the crowd. Coney Island
was always busy, but ever since the five cent subway rides, it was a
booming tourist attraction because more people could now afford to
go. Even though it was May, there were more people than James had
ever seen in his life.
“Sure!” James declared as they turned back toward
Nathan’s Famous stand on the corner of Surf and Stillwell Avenue.
“They make what many consider the best hot dog in the
world,” William informed his son. “I’d have to agree,” he
added, feeling a distinct pull as James started to walk faster. It
was not long before the sign above the open stand could be seen,
proclaiming: The Original Nathan’s Famous
Frankfurters with green writing and a
lowercase “N” in front of Nathan’s. To the left was painted a
wooden barrel with 5¢
in the middle and to the right was listed: Frankfurter,
Roast Beef, Hamburger with a large five and
small cent sign right next to the offerings. As William led James
closer, a white banner underneath the main sign read from left to
right: Potato Chips 10¢, Malted Milk Milk
shake 6¢, Soda 5¢, Ice Cream Soda 10¢, Pineapple - Orange - Grape
- Lemon 5¢. People were flocking to
Nathan’s from the subway and coming from the long boardwalk on the
other side of the stand with William and James. When the line had
moved up enough, William and James reached the stand, they could see
about a dozen workers busy taking and filling the orders. There was
no distinguishable line, just a mass of bodies pushing their way
toward the front so they could get their cheap hot dogs and root
beer.
William made sure he had a good grip on James’ hand
before pushing toward the front of the line with everyone else.
Considering how many people were trying to get hot dogs for
themselves and their children, it was a surprisingly quick wait
before William ordered four hot dogs, a hamburger, and two root beers
all for just thirty-five cents. He had no more than spoken the order
and within forty-five seconds, the food was in front of him, steaming
hot.
Food in hand, William and James pushed back through the
throng of humanity and went walking back along the wooden boardwalk,
which stretched two and a half miles from W. 37th
Street to Ocean Parkway.
The boardwalk was as mobbed as Nathan’s
had been, for William could see nothing but a sea of people in front
of him as he searched for a place to sit down and eat. While he was
scanning the nearby area, a small commotion occurred when two
policemen went chasing after a man without a shirt on in order to
give him a warning that he must not have his chest exposed. The
shirtless man ignored them, however, running into several people as
he tried to get away. Several females looked disgustedly after the
man as he ran by, followed by the policemen. After the disturbance
was over, William finally found a little pavilion with a few spots to
sit down a short distance away.
“Why are you looking at me like that, Dad?” James
asked, seeing his father staring at him after they had sat down.
“Well, this is a special moment in your life, son.”
William replied as he took one of the hot dogs out of the small box
their order came in.
“What’s special about it?”
“This is your very first Nathan’s hot dog,”
William told his son, handing him the hot treat.
James was about to take his very first bite then paused.
“Dad, do you remember your first Nathan’s hot dog?”
“Yes, I do. The very first time I took your mother
out was when I first experienced a Nathan’s hot dog. I remember
closing my eyes and biting down and just letting the flavor enter my
mouth.”
James held the oversized dog in front of his mouth and
closed his eyes, biting off a small chunk of the hot dog and letting
it rest in his mouth for a few seconds; he could even feel the steam
hitting the roof of his mouth as some of the juice ran out onto his
tongue. Before the saliva in his mouth increased any more than it
already had, James started to slowly chew up and down, enjoying the
feel of his teeth puncturing the skin of the hot dog after getting
through the bun. When he swallowed the bite, his stomach craved
more.
William waited for his son’s eyes to open again before
asking, “So, what do you think?”
“It’s delicious! You have to eat yours now, just
like when you were here with Mom.”
William nodded, closed his eyes, and started to think
back to when he and Helen came here to sit down on the beach and eat
sweets and go on some of the rides, but those thoughts turned as
bitter as their relationship had for William, who thought of how much
the girl he had married had changed. He opened his eyes and looked
down at his son, who had given up watching his father and was eagerly
devouring the rest of his first Nathan’s hot dog. When William
closed his eyes again, he pictured that very moment
he and his son eating hot dogs on the boardwalk at Coney Island on
James’ first visit
and he put the treat into his mouth and ate that first bite as he
always ate them: slowly.
When their bellies were full, William decided they would
spend some time laying on the beach and perhaps walking into the
shallow ocean to let their food settle before going on any rides.
Finding a place to sit on the beach was not an enviable task; people
sat towel to towel and if you looked from above, you wouldn’t see a
beach there at all, just a huge mass of people. William managed to
find a spot just big enough for the two of them to lie down. From
where they were, they could not even see where the ocean began.
“Hey, dad, what’s that?” James asked, looking
behind them and pointing up past the boardwalk to a giant metal
circular structure in the distance.
William sat up and saw what his son was pointing to.
“That, James, is the Wonder Wheel!”
“What’s a Wonder Wheel?”
“Well, it’s a wheel of wonder of course,” he
stammered, unable to find the words to describe the ride. “You see
those little baskets hanging off of it?”
“Yes,” James answered, looking skyward at the
mountainous contraption.
“Well, people get into those and when they are all
full, the wheel spins around slowly in the air so when you get to the
top, you can see the ocean and all of the park. You go around
several times until it‘s time to get everyone out,” William
explained.
James’ eyes grew wide as he tried to comprehend being
able to see all of New York. “Can we ride it?” the boy asked
excitedly.
“Sure, we’ll ride it later on this evening -- that’s
the best time because all the lights will be on in the city. It’ll
be a long wait in line though.”
“It looks gigantic from here!” James declared as he
marveled at the enormous ride.
“It is, just wait until you see it up close”
“How tall do you think it is?” James wondered aloud,
more to himself than to his father.
“Oh, I’d say at least a hundred feet, maybe more.
Bigger than I am, that’s for sure.” William lay back down on the
sand and tried to rest his eyes for a few minutes and let his meal
settle, but James would have none of that. He persisted in asking
when they could go on the rides. Apparently, his stomach had taken
the Coney Island food better than William’s had. Unable to resist
his son’s constant persistence, William decided to get up to lead
his son to more fun.
Walking through the giant mass of people, William and
James heard an assortment of American accents and the languages of
all sorts of foreign countries. There was a Chinese couple taking
pictures of the ocean, while no more than ten feet away, a group of
people speaking French were enjoying the wind blowing through their
hair as they contentedly ate clams. While William led James through
the crowd, they could not travel for more than twenty feet without
hearing a talker trying to get customers to ride a ride, play a game,
or see sights of the unusual variety.
William and James worked their way through the crowd
toward their destination: The Giant Racer on Surf Avenue and West
10th street. The
Giant Racer was a nine hundred foot long two-track roller coaster and
had been one of the main attractions of the Dreamland Amusement park
before a fire in 1911 burned the park down; but due to its steel
structure, the Giant Racer survived the fire and continued operation.
“Wow, look at how fast the cars go!” James
exclaimed as the Racer came into view. His pace picked up so that he
was leading his father instead of the other way around.
William looked up at the mammoth sight before him. If
nothing else, the attractions at Coney Island had the ability to make
a man feel small. “They are fast,” he replied. “I hope the
line isn’t too long though.”
They got in the back of the line for the coaster, which,
as William feared, was substantially long. As they slowly inched
their way forward, William could not help but overhear an elderly
couple in front of him. “I was really hoping to ride the new
roller coaster, but I‘m not waiting all afternoon,” the man said
to his wife in an Irish-accented tone.
The woman shook her head and replied, “That line was
hardly any longer than this one.”
“I don’t know. I don’t think this one’s too bad
and it’s a fun ride. They just keep building new coasters for more
money; the old ones are just fine.”
“I’m sure the new one is fun too. Maybe we should
go back later and see if the line is any shorter.”
“It won’t be, but we can check,” the man retorted.
James tugged on his father’s arm and when William
looked down at him, James asked, “Will it really take all afternoon
to ride the Thunderbolt?”
“I don’t know, son. I suppose it might, but let’s
just worry about this line for the time being.”
It was twenty-five minutes before the two found
themselves at the front of the line and they were seated behind the
elderly couple. As the coaster started to grind its way up the first
ascent, William looked over at his son, who had a wide grin on his
face as the cool ocean breeze blew his soft, dirty blond hair about.
When they reached the top of the ascent, the car paused for a brief
moment, letting everyone marvel at the beautiful view of the beach
from such a height, forgetting they were on a roller coaster for just
the briefest of moments, until suddenly the car plunged down the
track. Everyone
the elderly couple included
screamed as their hair flew back away from their exulted faces.
James somehow managed to yell and giggle at the same time as they
went along the metal track, the wheels of the coaster the only sound
besides the yells of the passengers. When the car reached a sharp
curve, more yells were elicited from all aboard, for they were not
sure if the car was going to turn as it should or if it was just
going to careen right off the tracks. Unbeknownst to anyone currently
riding on the Giant Racer, this had actually happened once in 1911,
killing two women who plunged fifty feet down to the ground. That
was not the fate for this group of passengers, however. They whipped
around the turn, William holding on tight so he would not press all
his weight into his son, as they continued along the path of the
track to its inevitable end.
As soon as the ride was over and he was on solid ground
once again, James realized he had fallen in love. Coney Island was
better than anywhere he had ever been in his life and he had only
been there a little more than an hour and a half. There were people
as far as one could possibly see and they were all there for the same
reasons: to be entertained by the unique sights and smells; to get
away from their lives for a few hours; and most importantly, to enjoy
themselves and act like children, no matter what age they really
were. The sounds of people screaming on the rides, the voices of the
talkers promising the chance of winning great prizes in games of
luck, and the feel of the wind blowing in his face intoxicated the
young boy.
And he wanted more.
Right outside the Giant Racer was a little cart selling
Coca-Colas and that was where William and James headed next. The man
selling the drinks looked to be in his mid-twenties, with bright red
hair and matching freckles. It was obvious by his tan that he spent
the entire day outside selling his soda, drinking a few himself when
the heat got to him and the line was small. After William ordered
the drinks, the man looked down at James and smiled, asking, “Did
you ride the Giant Racer?” as he opened the Coca-Colas with a
bottle opener.
“I sure did! It was fantastic!” the boy exclaimed,
taking one of the sodas the man held out.
“Well, there’s plenty of rides here that are even
better, my boy!” the vendor told him. “Make sure you try as many
as you can!”
“I will!” James replied as William led him away from
the cart so other people could order their drinks. They stood on the
grass looking up at the people now on the roller coaster, taking
small sips of the cold, sweet drink. When his bottle of Coca-Cola
was nearly exhausted, James asked, “Can we go on the Giant Racer
again?”
“We just rode that, son. Don’t you want to try
something else? Besides, it took us half an hour before we got to
ride it, and I’m not sure I want to wait that long to go on it
again when there are so many other things to do and see,” William
answered.
“Please, Dad. I really liked it, especially going
around that last sharp turn. Can’t we ride it one more time and
then we’ll check out the other rides?” the little boy pleaded.
Knowing there was no way to refuse his son anything,
William nodded and the two finished their colas and walked back to
the end of the line so they could ride the Giant Racer again.
Guest Post:
Everyone
has a story to tell. That’s what we’re all told and from my
experience as a writer, I find the saying to be true. I have had many
people tell me about the story they had always wanted to write and I
always say they should sit down and do it someday. These people
usually scoff at the idea of actually doing it, but a few have
surprised me and appeared to seriously consider doing so. To those
people and people like them, here’s five things to know.
- You need to let go of your ego. This seems simple, but every stage of writing can be a humbling experience and going in with the right attitude makes the process much easier. You will run into plot holes you’ll have to fix, that scene that seemed so perfect in your head will not translate to the page in the manner in which you desired, and characters will resist the path you have laid out for them. Even after you finish the work, others will criticize it when you share it and you need to leave your ego at home and listen to what they say because on most occasions, they will be right. Be honest with yourself and make your work the best that it can be.
- The actual writing of your book is a very small part of your job. Unless you’re a major author, you’ll have to really work to get noticed. Even traditionally published authors are responsible for most of their own promotion. Once your book is written and edited, there is the matter of choosing a cover, writing your blurb, getting the book formatted, establishing yourself on social media, and finding ways to get your book noticed. It is a lot of hard work and chances are, you’ll be doing most of it yourself and on a budget.
- The best marketing tool is an effective cover. You can spend your money in a lot of ways to promote your book, but the best way is to make sure you have a striking cover to stand out from the crowd. Thousands of works are published every week and having a bland cover will ensure that people skip right past your book without even reading the blurb. There are a ton of great artists out there at affordable prices, so do your research and find someone whose work you admire.
- A bad review can be a good thing. This goes along with number one. So your book’s out and getting four and five star reviews and you think you’re on your way and then bam! There’s that dreaded one or two star review. You read the review and get angry, telling yourself that the reviewer must not have read your masterpiece. Try to forget it and read it again in a few days and be honest with yourself as you read the review. I’ve learned more from one bad review than I have from twenty people who liked my book.
- There is no right way to be a writer. There is a ton of advice about writing out there, but the truth is that every author has different experiences and have taken a different journey to finish their works. Some people write every day no matter what’s going on in their lives, while others write a book and don’t want to look at a blank page for a year. Some write their book and then share it with beta readers and others are part of a writing group, getting feedback as they go along. Find your own way and be confident that although that way may not work for others, it works for you.
Robert Daicy
I have been writing off and on since I was eight and it has been something I have always loved to do and wanted to do for a living. I tend to write the stories I want to hear and sometimes those stories have a darkness to them on some level whether they are more suspenseful stories or drama. I like to jump around the genres because I do not want to get bored writing the same thing and because I have eclectic taste. I was born and raised in Maine and have lived there most my life and am currently residing in a Victorian house in Fairfield, Maine
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