From the tattered pages of the monster’s diary:

First of all, I didn’t ask to be reborn, especially as some stitched-up freak who can’t speak. That wimpy doctor just assumed I’d get right back in the swing of living and attending posh parties, perhaps puttin’ on a little ritz. Bah! Little did he know, he hired a remarkably incompetent assistant who found a lame brain for my noggin. I’m so glad I killed that twerp.

As for that little girl, I swear I didn’t drown her! That was an accident. I mean, geez, who would have thought she couldn’t get out of water that was only a foot deep? Where were her survival instincts? Maybe this is what they call “thinning the herd”. Somebody should bring HER back to life and make her throw plants in a pond all day long…although that would be torture. That flower game looks like it would get old awfully fast.

Okay, it’s time to confess something, Dearest Diary. I’d really like to throw my maker off something high, maybe a castle or a mountain. I’d even settle for a windmill. What’s he ever done for me? He did this for his own glory. I heard him bragging that night while I was lying flat on my back with a rag on my face. “Now I know what it’s like to be God.” Puny god. He’s gonna get…

Hold on a minute. I see a big mob with lit torches coming this way. If there’s any justice, they’re going to help me find that villainous doctor and string him up. I’ll let you know how it turns out. I’m cautiously optimistic…