There's a curse upon this village, the curse of Frankenstein.
Aye, it is true. The whole countryside shuns the village. Our fields are barren, the inn is empty.
Village Mother of Hungry Children
My little ones cry in their sleep. They are hungry. There is no bread.
It's the curse, the curse of Frankenstein.
This is nonsense, folks. You talk as though these were the Dark Ages. You know as well as I do that the monster died in the sulfur pit under Frankenstein's tower. And that Ygor, his familiar, was riddled with ...