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Sheila’s Mistake

by on May 21, 2017

I should have said no. When Jane showed up that night, Frankenstein’s monster in tow, asking if I could help make the guy a girlfriend, I should’ve slammed the door in her face. I, unlike Jane, still have a job. I, unlike Jane, am still a respectable Igor, working for a respectable mad scientist. Therefore, I ought to have said no.

But Jane’s a friend, and she had helped me out once when my scientist needed a certain amulet to break mummy curses. So, against my better judgment, I said I might be able to help.

I told her it would take a week. I was a bit optimistic. As I said, I, unlike Jane, still have a day job, and that particular week the boss was trying to bring his own creature to life. I couldn’t tell him I was free-lancing. I didn’t have time to go off hunting for my own brains to use. Honestly, Jane had no idea the position she put me in. It’s her own fault, really, what happened next.

See, my mad scientist has been branching out lately. He’s not like your traditional mad scientist, still tied up with lightning machines and whatnot. He’s been getting into magic. Runes are really in right now. And if it worked for him, I figured it would work for me. Chant an incantation or two, make a couple mysterious gestures, and shazam: one monster girlfriend. And when it didn’t work, I could give Jane some line about the planets not being in proper alignment, the harmonic convergence of ley lines being affected, blah blah blah. She wouldn’t have known.

Thing is, it did work.

Saturday night. Jane’s there, the big guy looming over her shoulder. “You sure this is safe, Sheila?” Jane asks, worriedly.

“Of course it is,” I assure her. Then I chant some mysterious phrases. It sounds impressive to Jane, but really, it’s some old Gaelic love poetry I found in a used bookstore once. I make some passes in the air. There’s a flash of light, which surprises me. Then I hear rustling. “Right,” I say, trying to project confidence. “There it is, then. She’s waiting for you outside.”

The big guy lumbers out the door. I figure he can handle things from there, but then I hear a sudden loud wailing. Both Jane and I rush to the window. The big guy looks very much alarmed. There’s someone else out there.

“I think you’ve made a banshee!” Jane gasps.

“Oops,” I say. “Well, maybe it’ll still work. I’ve seen stranger relationships.”

Actually, I didn’t think it would, but I’ve heard about banshee screams being fatal to anyone who hears them, and I assumed this would resolve the problem. The big guy would be dead, the banshee would float away, I’d go back to my job, and Jane would go back to…wherever.

Turns out, banshee screams don’t work on reanimated Frankenstein monsters.

They do work on Igors.

I didn’t expect that.

This story is part of the ongoing adventures of Jane the Igor. Thanks for reading!


From → Jane the Igor

  1. Uh-oh, that took an unexpectedly successful-then-unsuccessful turn! Any chance the banshee’s screams don’t work on *former* Igors?

  2. You have to be careful with that Gaelic love poetry. Fun read, as always. πŸ™‚

    • Thanks! I don’t know any Gaelic love poetry myself, but I’d sure be careful if I did. With great poetry comes great responsibility. πŸ™‚

  3. I like that Sheila memorized Gaelic poetry one day in a bookstore. I did not like reading the possible end of Jane the Igor. I’m still waiting for you to announce that this storyline is going to be a show on the CW.

    • I like the idea of this storyline being on television. If they would agree, I would agree. πŸ˜‰

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