Unseen (fiction)
This morning dawned behind rags of fog and cloud, grey and dew laden. I stood at my kitchen window, sipping from a cup of coffee. Heat seeped through the chipped ceramic and into my hands, but did nothing to dispel the bone deep chill I felt.
Leaves dappled the lawn, ochre and sepia and gold littering the grass and moss. The responsible thing to do would be to rake them up, but I could not bring myself to step out there. Daylight may have been safe, but daylight would reveal evidence of what had happened the previous night. I refused to face it, so my yard would have to remain untended.
On The Topic Of Monsters
I want to talk today about monsters.
Monsters are very good at pretending that they're not monsters.
Why do you think every good horror story talks about the monsters being hidden, concealed away?
If you saw their true, hideous nature, people would run a mile.
We want our monsters to be easily identified and constantly doing evil, the same way modern day slasher films depict them -- constantly wielding a knife or chainsaw, laughing maniacally as they pursue a waifish teenager running for her life.
The reality is, that not all monsters are monsters all the time.