If one were to ask a randomly selected sample of people who Frankenstein is, one is more than likely fated to hear descriptions of a green-faced, neck-bolted, blood-soaked villain. A monster. The monster. Frankenstein refers to the 1818 novel by Mary Shelley however Frankenstein does not refer to the book’s character of the experimental creation with unnervingly tall stature and watery pale eyes. Frankenstein, Victor Frankenstein denotes the doctor who created the monster. Victorian gothic horror novels are not the only place one will find monsters. Monsters live among us in society, high and low. Not all have green faces or bolted necks. Some have handsome features, beguiling eyes and charming dispositions. When one has come face to face, eye to eye, skin to skin with a monster. Felt his hands imprison your throat. Felt his force overthrow your weakness. One may be forgiven for forgetting that even the devil was once an angel. But when the dust settles and the flame dwindles. One is left with open space to question, Who made this monster? What suppressed pain was he deflecting onto another? What trauma has he endured that turned man to beast? Who made this monster?