The Mystery of Frankenstein's Castle
by
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On the plane from New York to London, I met an interesting gentleman, Bob Hawkins by name, who worked as a private insurance inspector for Lloyd's of London. He was very interested in my fictional mystery excursion, but was quick to inform me that his work carried him into the realm of realistic mysteries. One case, which had baffled him for years, was that of a suspected fraud, wherein a husband poisoned his wife, cremated the body before a positive autopsy could be performed, and collected a five-million-dollar insurance claim. A case he vowed to resolve, one way or other, before he retired from his work. Bob certainly made our flying time pass quickly, and with tremendous interest. All the airline and train connections were on time, perfectly coordinated, and in general, inflated my bubble of excitement. I took a cab to the village square in Transylvania, and waited, like a youngster anticipating his first date, for my carriage to arrive. At exactly midnight, as the Gothic cathedral bell rang its first chime, the rumble of steel carriage wheels and the thunder of hoofs broke the stillness of the black night on the cobblestone street. A black carriage, devoid of decoration and identification, led by twin black stallions, came to a skidding halt in front of me. I could see no driver atop the carriage, as the door burst open inviting me to enter. As I threw my handbag inside and barely closed the door, the horses again charged frantically down the streets, screeching and sliding at every turn, horses and driverless carriage violently anxious to fulfill their appointment with mystery and intrigue. Soon we were out of the village proper and into the total darkness of he countryside, with the horses galloping on, knowing exactly where to go in the moonless foggy night. Throughout the ride I held on for dear life, fearing that these mad runaways could miss a turn and we would wind up at the bottom of a mountain. The carriage again came to a sudden stop, as I bounced from one seat to another, giving me an indication that my riding adventure was over. The carriage door sprang open, inviting me to take my handbag and get out. With a firm grip on my bag, I moved eagerly into the darkness outside. I could hear the horses snorting and panting, nervously prancing about, anxious to again be off away from the ill-fated castle. No sooner did my feet hit the ground, than I heard the crack of a whip. The horses exploded with a compelling desire to escape the lingering mystical aura of the night. I never did see the driver, and often wondered if there ever was one. The heavy dew gave way to a steady rain as I approached the entrance. It all seemed too perfectly timed to be accidental, unless of course, supernaturalists were on call by the master of intrigue himself, Dr. Victor Frankenstein. Let me think. The instructions were to strike the doorknocker three times, so here goes. I waited as the sound of thunder and flash of lightning danced ever so close. My nerves were calmed when I heard the bolt sliding on the door and the squeaking of the hinges, as the door opened. The little man who opened the door, a dwarfish misfortune of life, no more than four feet tall, greeted me with a hard foreign accent. "Gut evening, Miester Stanton, the count and the House of Frankenstein velcomes you. I am Igor. I vil show you to yor ruum." Without a second thought, I felt compelled to hand the little man my suitcase, and follow him. With his slight limp, he led me up the center hall staircase, which was grand enough to belong in the New York Plaza Hotel. At the top of the stairs, we walked along what seemed an endless dim lit corridor, past a number of rooms, till Igor stopped, turned to look at me, and said. "Dis ruum vil be yors."
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About the Book
Stan Stanton leaves Pittsburgh and becomes a financial advisor in New York. He marries a sex maniac, Fran Tone, who gives him a fortieth birthday present that he will never forget, a mystery adventure at Frankenstein’s Castle. But Fran’s intent, which was to get rid of her man and collect big time insurance money, misfires and takes the life of Dr. Holiday. Helping Dr. Holiday’s blind daughter with cremation and burial, Stan falls in love with the girl. Putting pieces together, Stan realizes his wife was out to finish him off. Tracing Fran’s background, he learns an uncanny secret leads him to face his own and his wife’s demise. Stan’s brother enters the picture to look into his brother’s death. Collaborating with Bob Hawkins, an insurance investigator, they discover an international scheme to buy and sell nuclear warheads to supremacists throughout the world. Learning of the scheme, its players, and a hidden secret at Frankenstein’s castle, they undertake an undercover assignment for the British Ministry to rid the world of those intending to induce violence and destruction for the sake of wealth. Their successful mission leads to the formation of "S & 5, Private Investigators," and future ventures.
About the Author
Arley J. Koran is the author of several mystery stories involving critical world issues. Through his world travels, he has been exposed to social and cultural concern. In "The Stan Stanton Thrillers," along with holding your interest, as well as entertaining, he attempts to expose the reader to the seriousness of, and draw public attention to, the probability of these issues in our global intervention. Before taking up writing full time several years ago, Arley was a practicing architect throughout the United States. He received his architectural degree from Western Reserve University after fulfilling his military obligation in Europe. Born in Cleveland, Ohio, he now resides in Silver Spring, Maryland.