Here’s why the world needs monsters: Because they are us and we are them.
Don’t we all have a little monster hiding inside us? A little darkness we don’t want people to see? The shadow self. The little voice that tells you to go ahead and eat that last cookie, or the whole plate of them, maybe.
And doesn’t it feel good when you lose it, really lose it and rip things up, punch a hole in the wall, smash a bunch of bottles to smithereens?
That’s your monster self coming out.
The world needs monsters.
And monsters need us.
Lizzy
August 20, 2019
I SHOVED THE BOOK of Monsters and the Lauren doll into my backpack. I circled the upper floor of the tower, gun in hand, listening to whoever was climbing the steps coming closer as I frantically searched for a way to escape, a secret door or a ladder. But there was nothing. No way out but the spiral metal staircase, up which someone was coming. I went to the edge and looked over—could I jump? No, too high. There was no way I’d survive it in one piece. And the face of the tower was too smooth to clamber down. I circled around again, desperate.
I thought of the mice running on wheels down in Gran’s basement laboratory, how sad and futile it had seemed, those poor animals running in endless circles, never getting anywhere.
Knowing I was trapped, I stopped walking in useless circles, crouched down with my back against the wall, gun pointed at the shadow coming up now through the opening in the floor.
I held my breath.
Would it be her?
My sister.
My monster.
My long-ago twin.
Or would it be Rattling Jane, a figure strung together from bits of trash and bone, the little pieces jangling together like wind chimes as she walked?
The bright beam of a flashlight hit me straight on.
“Lizzy?” called a vaguely familiar male voice.
Constable Pete got the light out of my face.
“Let me guess,” he said as he climbed the rest of the way up. “More monster hunting?”
I lowered my gun, felt the adrenaline surge begin to wane. My mouth tasted bright and coppery. I’d bitten my lip.
I nodded.
“You thought Rattling Jane might be up here?” Pete asked.
“I was walking around in the woods and saw the tower. Decided to check it out.”
“And I suppose you didn’t notice the No Trespassing sign?”
I shrugged.
“There’s a reason for it, you know? This tower is in terrible shape. It’s dangerous as hell. In fact, it’s kind of a wonder this floor is holding both of us right now.”
I said nothing. Pete had the beam of the light pointed down, but it was bright enough to light up the whole space. I could see the bowed and rotten floorboards, the crumbling cement walls around us.
“I assume you’ve got a permit for that thing?” Pete said, nodding at the gun I still held.
“Of course. Do you want to see it?”
He shook his head. “Not necessary.” He looked at me a minute, waiting, then said, “But I was kind of hoping you might put it away.”
“Oh yeah. Sorry.”
I took off my backpack and slipped the gun into its holster clipped inside the front pocket, careful not to open the main zippered pocket, where I’d tucked the book and the doll.
“Do you always carry a gun when you’re hunting ghosts and monsters?” he asked.
“Usually,” I said. My hands shook a little as I zipped the front pocket. I hoped he didn’t notice but was sure he had.
“Can you actually shoot a ghost?” he asked.
“It’s not the ghosts I’m worried about,” I told him, shouldering the pack.
He nodded, took a few steps closer. “What were you expecting?”
“I wasn’t expecting anything,” I said. “Like I said, I saw the tower and decided to check it out. I heard you coming up and I guess I just got spooked.”
“Spooked,” he repeated.
I gave a sheepish nod.
“I wouldn’t think you got spooked easily, considering your line of work.”
“I don’t usually,” I admitted.
He looked at me for what felt like a long time.
“What do you say we get out of here before the tower collapses under us and go talk someplace a little more safe? We can get a cup of coffee and some pie—my treat. There’s a diner just off the island that’s open till midnight.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I—” I felt the weight of the backpack, thought of what I had hidden there. I needed to pull myself together, act normal, get him to stop looking at me in that worried, suspicious way. I smiled. “Actually, sure, pie sounds great.”
* * *
THE HAPPY OWL Diner was one of those old-school aluminum trailer diners, complete with long counter and spinning stools covered with sparkling red vinyl.
We were the only two people in the place. The jukebox looked like it had been there since the fifties. And judging from the music coming from it—Bill Haley and His Comets—it had.
Pete and I settled in at one of the booths. I did my best to hold still, refrain from fidgeting even though my skin prickled and my mind raced. I tried not to think about the monster book and the doll and what finding them in the tower might mean; I tried to put them in a little box in the back of my mind, locked away for now.
Focus on the present, I told myself. There would be time later to think about what I’d discovered.
The waitress came over and said hi to Pete, asked him how things were on the island.
“Busy as ever,” he said. “But it’ll settle down after Labor Day.”
“But then we’ve got the peepers,” she said.
“Peepers?” I asked.
“Leaf peepers,” Pete explained. “Tourists here to see the foliage.”
“Of course,” I said.
“Not a Vermonter, huh?” the waitress said.
I shook my head. “It’s my first time in Vermont.”
Pete frowned at me. “Really?” he asked.
I nodded, looked at Pete steadily. “Really.”
I thought of the monster book: proof of a long-ago childhood in Vermont. And I thought of the doll.
If he knew the doll was there, stitched together from Lauren’s clothes, bits of Lauren’s hair… My palms grew sweaty. I reminded myself to breathe. He had no way of knowing any of this.
Yet he’d given me that odd look when I said I’d never been to Vermont before, like he knew I was lying somehow.
He doesn’t know. You’re being paranoid.
We each ordered a slice of blueberry pie and coffee.
Act normal, I told myself. Don’t give him any reason to be suspicious.
The waitress came back with our order. The pie was homemade—the crust buttery and flaky and perfect, the berry filling just the right blend of sweet and tart.
“This is amazing,” I said.
“Best pie ever,” he agreed, taking a bite himself, then washing it down with a sip of coffee. “So. Do you want to tell me what you were really doing out at the tower tonight?”
I took a bite of pie, thinking. “Like I told you, I went for a walk in the sanctuary.”
“At night? In the dark?”
I nodded. “Ghosts and monsters don’t usually make themselves seen in the light of day,” I said.
“So you went to the tower to hunt for Rattling Jane?”
“I was in the sanctuary, saw the tower, and thought I’d check it out,” I repeated. Didn’t this guy listen? I looked at him over the edge of the heavy white diner mug. “You know, in all the commotion, I haven’t had a chance to ask—what were you doing out at the tower tonight?”
“We’ve had a bit of trouble there lately, so I’ve been trying to keep an eye on the place.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“Kids partying, mostly. Last week, someone was shooting off fireworks and started a fire in there—it’s a wonder the whole place didn’t go up in flames.”
“Did you catch them? The kids who started the fire?”
He shook his head. “Nah. They were long gone by the time the volunteer fire department and I got out there.”
We were quiet a minute, both of us sipping our coffee and munching on pie.
“You know, I went to your website, listened to a couple of your podcasts. I watched more of Monsters Among Us. I even read some of your interviews and watched your TED talk. It was interesting—the idea that monsters mirror the anxieties of society.”