Children of the Monster
I stood shivering in front of the massive oak door staring with fascination at the devils head doorknocker the size of a small terrier. The ornate iron ornament was at eye level in the center of the scarred wood. My mentor, friend and, like I, professional Pinkerton’s agent, Noel Stoker stood next to me on the stone stoop.
I must have been out of my mind when I agreed to accompany Noel to a cold, dank and smelly village named Limberburger. The Baron Frankenstein sent us a letter requesting we come to his castle?
Noel must have thought I’m a fool to believe such nonsense.
I’d rather hoped Limberburger was a pub in Soho. I buried my ice-cold hands in the pockets of my coat.
Jokes on me. Ha, ha...
Noel must have known of the cold mists that swirl through this val
