The Fate of Igor's brother Errog

A thunderbolt flashed nearby, bathing the great stone room in light for a split second. The dial of the power meter made a small jump.

“Fourteen percent power ma'lord!” yelled out the little man that had been tasked to watching that dial alone.

“Good Errog, good!” replied their master in a manic voice tinged with pleasure. “Keep watching the meter. Igor, release the peroxide. No, you idiot, the second switch! Yes, there you go.”

Errog, like his brother, who had been given the more demanding task of directing the various fluids of their master's project, was a simple man. He understood that what Victor was doing was questionable at best, but Victor's excitement was contagious to the two men who worked as his servants. He might be a little mean sometimes, but that was only because he or Igor had messed up something that was important to Victor. The other villagers would make fun of the brothers for their hunchbacks, or the way Igor's eye would droop lazily. But Victor didn't. He had accepted the men into his employ and confidence. He treated them how they imagined a father would treat his sons.

Another flash lit the sky outside. “Twenty nine percent ma'lord!” yelled out Errog, the joy at performing his simple task adequately for his master evident in his voice. This time Victor ignored him, splashing a bucket of what looked like milk into a mixture he had been preparing.

Errog cast a quick glance over at the mass that lay upon the large table, the whole point of their current actions. It was quite grotesque, and gave off a rather pungent smell. Errog looked away almost as quickly. He always grew queasy when looking at the body with the wires stretching out from every odd place. Igor was much better at handling his stomach than Errog, and so had received the honor of doling out the fluids their master had prepared.

Rain started to come down outside, and Errog closed his eyes and enjoyed the sweet scent of the downfall. Errog preferred the smell of the rain to the recent smells he had been made to endure. The corpses he and Igor had dug up were usually replaced with a pile of Errog's dinner. For that reason, Errog had been the digger more often than not, and Igor the carrier. Catching a great whiff of formaldehyde, one of the few liquids he could easily name and identify by smell, Errog gave out a few great hacking coughs. When the fit passed he moved a few steps closer toward the window, and gave out a sigh of relief as the smell of the rain returned to his nostrils. He was even more grateful when the rain turned horizontal and started blowing through the window, thereby lessening the power of the odors even more.

A great huge thunderclap brought Errog to a start, and he looked over at the dial. Alarmed a the progress that had been made while he was lost in thought he yelled “Eighty four percent ma'lord!”

“What!?!” exclaimed their master in surprise. “You were to alert me immediately when we passed sixty percent! No matter. Errog, start attaching those last few wires to the neck bolts!”

Errog looked askance at the corpse upon the table and shuddered, not moving a muscle toward his newly assigned task. Victor, not noticing any movement by the table, looked up again and cast a glare at Errog from beneath his bushy eyebrows. The glare was enough to get Errog moving where words had failed.

Working as quickly as his thick stubby fingers would allow Errog started wrapping the wires around the neck bolts. He was not particularly adept at this work of wrapping wires, and his aversion to the smells that pervaded this corner of the room did nothing to help him. Errog would wrap a wire, only to have it slip off and hook upon his trousers. Before long Errog's arm was tangled within the wires and and none were attached to the neck bolts of the corpse.

Victor had finally noticed the plight of his servant when he slipped upon the rain flowing from the open window. Giving a large sigh he was about to make his way to assist the moron when the largest thunderclap yet struck the lightening rods he had made the brothers place across the ramparts earlier. Unfortunately for Errog, the last bolt had startled the boy so much that he had jumped, and upon coming back onto the ground, had slipped on the rain flowing into the room. His arms shooting out to his sides to steady himself, he grabbed upon the lever that released the whole of the current into the wires. The lever, being well oiled, swung down easily, and released the batteries' charge. The wires, being attached to Errog, released the power of several lightning bolts into him in the span of a few seconds.

It was more than any man could bear, and left Errog as a charred mannequin laying upon the floor. Igor looked over at the bright light that had been unleashed in the lab ahead of schedule into his brother. Errog had been the one person Igor could talk to, though the two had never really had much of substance to say. Nevertheless, he knew Errog would have been there had the need to talk with someone arisen.

Victor felt dismay too, but not for the man that lay drawing his last breaths upon the stone floor. No, his dismay was that all the efforts of tonight had been wasted. He would have to wait to fulfill his desire to become godlike, to bring life to dead flesh. He had all the right ingredients, a brain not more than two days old, a powerful storm, all the chemicals that would be needed to facilitate the process he had derived. Who could know when circumstances would be this perfect again.