Loving Lecter Archive - Making of a Monster

Making of a Monster

Disclaimer: Dr. Hannibal Lecter was created by Thomas Harris. He is used herein without permission, but in the spirit of admiration and respect. No infringement of copyright is intended, and no profit, of any kind, is made by the creator, maintainer or contributors to this site.

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Please Note: Italics indicate where Lecter is sort of a emotionless spectator of thought a third party if you will.

Hannibal Lecter, age six, no longer believed in a caring God. The experience had come quickly and suddenly to him, right after he had seen Mischa's teeth in the stool pit the Nazi deserters used. Sitting now by the body of the dead Nazi he had killed, Little Hannibal Lecter took his time reflecting on past events that had changed his life and outlook. He judged he had time to reflect, now, he thought, "There will always be plenty of time." He peeled back the layers of memory in his mind just as easily as had flayed the Nazi. His mind peeled back in reflection to when the shelling had started.

He was now back in the house and seeing his mother crushed to death beneath a pillar knocked loose when the artillery had hit part of their expansive estate. Back in the barn Lecter recalled the sound of the pillar falling was like that of cracking bone. He compared it to the sound of the Nazi's sternum cracking and smiled his small teeth flashing.

Back now to his thought's Lecter recalled feeling nothing at his mother's death. His father hadn't been so lucky as to have a quick death; in his mind now the young Lecter stumbled through the crazed debris following the tortured screaming. On the floor before him a ghastly tableaux; his father-half his face slowly burning away due to a low blazing flame like that in hell. Lecter also noted with a cool glance a large shard of mirror glass had gouged out one of the eyes. Various cuts and bruises had dotted the charred, mangled thing that used to be a man. Perhaps, an exterior reflection of his son’s own monstrous proclivity.

In the present again, as Lecter's knife carved so did his mind away at memories. Lecter recalled staring at the thing that is-was his father. Staring at his father Hannibal Lecter had felt nothing not glee or pity. Little Lecter took in this hideous, absurd, tableaux-a word stopped his musings.

"Hannibal" the tortured thing choked out. In his soft voice, Lecter answered.

"Yes father"? In his eerie way of knowing he had anticipated his father's question, "Father, the servants are all dead or runoff, except Mischa. She is safe I put her somewhere to hide, mother died quickly-too bad you didn't father." Noting his father's agonized groans. Lecter lifted his eyes to an ancient suit of armor that had belonged to an ancestor of old. The sword and dagger held in the armored fists was probably made about 1312 in Toledo, Spain. Six year old Lecter noted, he was interested in mediaeval things. Hannibal took in the painting above the armor, it was one of his favorites. The painting depicted Oedipus killing his father.

Lecter cut maroon eyes to his father; the screams becoming irritating. Just then his father had opened his eye and moaned in pain, body arching in spasm. Then he made eye contact with Lecter and his eye followed Lecter's to the dagger. Lecter cocked his head knowing what his father was thinking and asking.

"Would you like to die father?"

"Kiiilll me". Hannibal Lecter walked calmly over lifting the weapon, he noted the weight of the carbon-steel dagger. He walked toward his father.

"Hurry" came the plea Lecter hesitated, he was considering.

That young Hannibal Lecter was different than most children and it wasn't lost on the servants or his parents. There was no question he was a genius-by the time he was four he had built a Theremin and taught himself to play. He had no tutor unlike most of the boys of his class and social status. The simple fact, he was to advanced for his would- be- teachers. The others he deemed unworthy. To his parents he was polite, aloof, brilliant, preternaturally knowing Hannibal. Nothing "unusual" he preferred to be alone at times. Not to the servants: some said he was a freak with his sixth finger, maroon eyes, unending curiosity, his brilliance, and his ability, with surgeon like skill, to literally peel back the layers of the mind. . Lecter was never bothered by the inane drivel of worry. Lecter loved to read, he didn’t distinguish between Marcus Aurelius or some hapless servant's personality.

Back now in the barn Lecter was guessing at the weight of a human pancreas. While his mind clicked back to his father-deceased. Lecter had been thinking while his father lay dying. He had thought back to his "self-taught" anatomy classes to decide best how to put his father out of his misery. He recalled the "experiments" he had done on animals - killing them in various ways to see how long it would take to die or the dissections of all matter of animal. He had often wondered what the inside of a human body looked like up close. Ah, well, back to the task at hand. He decided the best thing to do was to pierce his father's heart. "I'll be with you in a moment papa" soothed Lecter. Lifting the knife Lecter enjoyed the heft. Like a natural extension of his arm he plunged the dagger into his father's heart. He felt strange almost giddy. Then all hell broke loose.

The artillery started again and the house began to creak and shake like it the world is supposed to on Judgment Day. Lecter had then dashed through the house to the barn where he had hidden Mischa with a few blankets to ward off the cold and some provisions. As he ran to the door he heard voices then a crack as a portrait of Christ, bidding the children to come to Him, came loose and knocked Hannibal Lecter unconscious. The last thing Hannibal heard were voices-they had been German.

When he had awoken he found himself locked in the barn. Mischa was crying in the corner. When he got up Hannibal went to his sister. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, it was purple. He had given it to Mischa then that combined with seeing her beloved brother calmed her. It hadn't been long after when they had come for Mischa.

It had been 5 days since they had taken Mischa and 2 days since he had seen her teeth. Time had been meaningless to Lecter the only thoughts he had were of seeing his sister being eaten. Lecter had known they would come for him soon-but, he still had the dagger.

As young Lecter stared rapt at the placement of the man's coiled intestines, he thought pleasantly of how this man had come to be a "specimen". Lecter smiled at the object of his revenge. The memory was as fresh as this body. The beginning of his new life.

Little Lecter heard strange noises coming from where the men slept. Laughter and then cursing in German. Lecter heard them- drunk and fighting over who got the choice cuts of him. The time would be soon to strike.

Yet, this was where he first honed his extraordinary cunning that would serve him later in life. Lecter was a match against one cold, drunk, starving German. He was in better shape. His intellect outweighed them all combined. He had managed to stay alive by eating the provisions and conserving his energy. The only thing that could hamper his plan of escape would be if more if one German came or, the cracked bone in his arm he had sustained trying to save Mischa. After failing her he had resolved never to at anything again. He had the body of a child, but the mind of a monster-as they say mind over matter. In the end as his body grew so did his mind. For now Hannibal Lecter would wait with the patience of a cobra for his chance to strike...

He hadn't had to wait long. Soon, crunching footsteps in the snow: the house had been quiet for some time. Most of the deserters were asleep, not all; too bad for the German, as he would soon find out. Hannibal Lecter had lain very still as the lock was taken off the heavy barn door. He lay close to it. Then before the larger man could react, Hannibal-with the strength of an ant, swung the door with one arm. The man was knocked to the ground and a combination of stun and alcohol made him lose consciousness. The German had then awoken to a nightmare, he felt eyes on him and had tried in vain to struggle against the bonds that held him. Lecter walked over to him and grinned

"Want to play?" In the dawn light the blade flashed silver and descended to the Nazi's heart. The expression on young Lecter's face didn't change, but inside there was satisfaction-like after eating a good meal. A chill of a thrill ran through his twisted heart and mind. He had repeated something new and not grown bored. First his father then the Nazi.

Lecter's father had been a hunter thus, Lecter had sampled many delicacies for his age and station. Now he wondered what human flesh tasted like in comparison other things he had tried. He took the knife and made a cut (he would later improve upon this) close to the liver. Cutting a piece and eating it he found the taste highly flavorful and pleasing. In later years he would find many ways to "spice" up his dishes.

In the present again, Lecter stood back from the cooling body of the German, his work finished. The tableaux of his own creation lay before him was a "flesh and blood" recreation of Galen's "A Dissected Man". He was disappointed with it, the work was awful but, not bad for a first try. The incisions were uneven and mundane. Lecter consoled himself with "practice makes perfect".

He felt no qualms over cannibalizing the man. Humanity was, after all, nothing more than meat. The world young Hannibal now philosophized was meant only for those who were highly evolved predators and willing to take it by the throat. The only difference between common men and cattle-moo.

He grieved not for his parents, nor really for Mischa, there was nothing to grieve about nothing to be gained by it.. A new thought consumed Hannibal Lecter's six-year-old mind. If there was a place in the world for Mischa he would find a way to carve a niche for her. Lecter felt no guilt over killing. All that mattered in this world he now understood was survival of the fittest. But not, in such a Darwinian since; not as Darwin thought, man vs. nature but, mans vs. man. In later years many would come to realize what Hannibal Lecter had recognized years earlier. He was among the fittest and many don't understand this. And when people don't understand something they call it monster.

For now he turned on a road toward the capital of Lithuania, Vilnius. Lecter fresh with the knowledge he could walk to and fro on the earth. Where this road led straight to Vilnius just as most people are content to stay on the straight and narrow. Not Hannibal Lecter he was destined to walk everywhere but the road. For now the journey would be tough, somber Hannibal knew. No matter, he had all the time in the world.

FIN

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