Monsters

The first monsters that terrified me as a child weren’t under my bed or in my closet. They were hunting a hobbit and his friends, trying to recapture a powerful weapon for their master. They were the Nazgûl, the Ring Wraiths, from The Fellowship of the Ring. Frightening Black Riders willing to kill without discretion and single minded in their pursuit. The hobbit’s frantic escape, and the final moment when Frodo is poisoned by the Nazgûl’s blade, haunted me for month’s, probably years. The idea that Frodo never fully recovered, that those monsters scarred him for the rest of his journey, had a profound affect on me.

Soon, the Nazgûl would be replaced by a far more terrifying creature; General Woundwort from Watership Down. A monstrous murderous rabbit that oppressed his people with an iron fist (paw?). But what terrified me most about this violent rabbit wasn’t his actions, but the willingness of other rabbits to enforce his cruelty. Over the years there have been numerous references comparing the struggles between Hazel’s warren and Woundwort’s. the contrast between free society and dictatorships is undeniable. However, at its most basic distillation, it’s the story of overcoming the monsters that can consume us from within, the monsters that are born from our experiences and traumas.

Two new monsters would eventually replace Woundwort, both on the same night, both from space. The first was a slick, creeping, killing machine that stalked Sigourney Weaver and her crew. Alien was a terrifying reminder that space was vast, and anything could be hiding in all that darkness. The second, was a group of mindless munching machines that were accidently let loose on earth. Little furry balls with disgusting behavior and rows of hungry sharp teeth terrorized a small town. Critters was a comedy horror, but it was much later that I understood the humor. Having watched Ridley Scott’s xenomorph shred the crew in Alien first, I found the critters less amusing and more terrifying. The contrast between the two wasn’t lost on me either. In one situation, Alien, we have a single boogeyman style monster hunting down the characters one at a time. In Critters, you have the spread of an invasive species with no natural predators. Ideas that have crept into quite a bit of my own writing.

I couldn’t mention Alien without mentioning Ash. To be honest, it wasn’t the slick skinned black lizard thing that kept me awake at night. It was Ion Holm’s portrayal of the homicidal android. Two factors made Ash a far more terrifying monster than the xenomorph: First was his calm calculating demeanor that placed wealth and discovery over human life. Second was his betrayal. Scott creates a beautiful contrast between a monster whose nature it is to hunt and kill for survival (the xenomorph) and the monster who chooses to kill despite its nature, for gain (Ash). Ash’s gurgling robot head, delivering its ominous final dialogue as its milky blood drips down its face, carved out a special nightmare home in my brain.

My sophomore year in high school, a substitute literature teacher recognized my love for the macabre I didn’t even know I had. She recommended I read a novel called The Collector, by John Fowles. The tag line was something to the effect of “evil has never been so convincing and made so many excuses.” Told at first from the perspective of Frederick Clegg, a butterfly collector and city clerk, then later by Miranda Grey, an art student. Clegg is obsessed with the Miranda, and when he comes into some money, kidnaps her. Clegg locks her in a private estate in the country. Until that novel, I didn’t truly understand the nature of monsters that live within us, or the lengths we go through to protect and hide them. From there I dove into the worlds of Stephen King, where if you escaped the monsters outside in the mist, you had to watch out for the monster inside your neighbors. They were willing to sacrifice you to save their own skin. In Gillian Flynn’s Gone Girl and Sharp Objects, we meet people who are charming, but who reveal that monsters can be beautiful while being terrible.

Both Stephen King and Paula Hawkins give us insight into a far more common monster that claims so many lives, addiction. Girl on a Train eloquently unravels the consequences alcoholism can have on a person’s mind. The Shining and Tommyknockers both show the allure addiction offers. Only the gifts are false, with horrible prices to be paid. The intoxicated driver has become the roadway’s modern boogeyman, one that kills at random, and far too frequently. Are these monsters bound by their natures or willful participants in the destruction? Either way, the wake of destruction is often unavoidable and tragic.

There are two monsters competing for the title of King of the Monsters: Godzilla and King Kong. Giant prehistoric creatures rampaging though the modern world and leaving a trail of devastation in their wake. Yes please, give me more. King Kong gave us a glimpse into the possibilities of discovering unknown places unaffected by time. Godzilla warns us about the dangers we awaken with our cavalier attitudes toward new and modern technologies. Both are brilliant metaphors for the overwhelming and frightening devastation war brings to the world. King Kong starts out existing on an island where his size and nature are necessary for survival. When transported to New York, we discover that he is a force of destruction that cannot be tamed. Though, it is man’s nature to create, to progress, to separate from nature, that overcomes Kong. (Or was it beauty that killed the beast? My money is on the machineguns and fall from the Empire State Building.) In contrast, Godzilla is the consequence of man’s curiosity to play with forces and powers he doesn’t understand. It is man’s experimentation with atomic energy and bombs that awakens Godzilla and his wrath. Both monsters were created by men who dealt with the violent consequences war had on civilizations. Is there any better imagery that represents the clashing of two armies, than that of two impossibly gigantic monsters throwing down over a major city?

From fear of undiscovered places, like H.P. Lovecraft’s tales, to fear of technological nightmares set free, like the worlds of Michael Crichton, monsters help us to understand the potential dangers of our explorative natures. We have Dr. Frankenstein’s tragic pride to remind us to be cautious when playing with science. We have Dracula waiting for us in the shadows when we lose our faith. Mr. Hyde lives in all of us, pandering to our monstrous desires and waiting for the day he can take control. And, like Scrooge, we are haunted by ghosts, reminding us that we can’t ignore our past, while learning to let go of our perceived burdens.

As we head into fall, my favorite time of the year, and into Halloween season, we take with us our monsters. They help to remind us about our dangerous natures, the dangerous natures of others, and the dangerous nature of reality. But they also remind us that we can overcome, through sacrifice, perseverance, and faith. We can overcome the monsters, whether they come from far away, lurk in the shadows, or stalk within our own hearts and minds. And sometimes we can find that the monsters are not evil, cruel, or malicious. Instead they are simply the force of change needed to kill off the stagnant ideas we cling to, the ideas that hold us back from discovering our true potential. Sometimes, we just need a monster to metaphorically tear down our reality, so we can understand where the weak points in our perceptions are.

End

What are your favorite monsters? What was the first monster that made you want to sleep with the lights on? Set up an account and let me know in the comments.

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