Monster Mash
an October post
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Stories with a monster
Horror fiction is most quickly described as “stories with a monster.”
Some of us write what is often referred to as genre fiction, and some actively resist such labels.
I tend to neither write nor read “horror.” But I remember—clearly—reading that definition years ago, and even my “no horror, please” mind was piqued, and images and sensations began to come. So did a few stories, and a shift in my thinking.
Monsters can take many shapes, sizes, qualities. Monsters are within and without; monsters might live in a short story or long, or hide between the lines of a poem.
A monster might be the answer to a hole in a story you are working on right now. Or maybe it’s already in your words, waiting for recognition, wondering What are you going to do with me now?
Animal, Vegetable, or Mineral
Let’s place ‘tech/robotic’ under ‘mineral.’ ‘Human’ is ‘animal’ (or vice versa).
As for vegetable: once, we were replacing a falling-down fence in our backyard, and I spent days struggling to rid the yard of the ivy that had grown thickly over long years. I remember cutting my way though layers of it, to the fence corner where someone—I had words for this person—had planted decades before; the original plant was now trunk-like, covered in sticky spines. It branched out, clinging maniacally to the rotting wood of the boards. I had to go to my workshop to find a sturdy hand-saw; gardening clippers were not up for the job!
I was in a sweat by the time I extricated the plant with all its innocuous little pointy green leaves. I twisted the trunk-stem, wrestled it to the ground, set about cutting it. Pulled back many spiney, clinging branches, all leaving a patterned trail behind crawling over the fence. Ugh.
As I worked, I felt as if I was grappling with something menacing and angry; it didn’t help that a rat ran out at one point. After that, I referred to ivy as “rat hotel.” That plant was alive in ways I hadn’t counted on. I was certain of it.
What are “things”—living or otherwise—that you’ve encountered with monster-qualities to them?
Pull these three words—vegetable, animal, mineral—through your mind, and let possibilities emerge. Just in writing this post, I’ve had more memories surface than I would have thought when the idea first came to me to write it; that’s been surprising.
External
Monsters surround us—if we’re looking for them. In the form of strangers or those we know. People we care about, those we don’t. Household pets or wild animals.
Many nights in a friend’s cabin, I huddled under the blanket listening to the tortured cry of a mountain lion, sounding not other-worldy, but too much of our own.
There’s nothing quite like “racing the tide” to know that nature is powerful, and can feel malevolent… on an otherwise ordinary mid-morning. I have a memory of my boys dawdling in the ocean until suddenly we had to hurry, me with the youngest straddling my hip, pushing through thigh-high ocean water, swirling around. I remember trying not to reveal how scared I was as I pushed them to move faster, but of course, children always pick up on adult fear. Or mine certainly did.
And internalized…
As a child I had a horror of eating grapefruit, orange, or apple seeds; I was convinced they would grow in my belly and out my ears. No, I’d tell myself, of course not! But the image would persist… (Perhaps you’re getting the idea of why I don’t write this genre? Or at least, not in the more obvious ways…)
Some of the worst stuff of nightmares can come from within surely. The monsters we create, sometimes from the past; how far back can you go? Depending on your belief/thoughts—ancient ancestors? your own past? the stuff of the home or hotel you are in…? from “sheer imagination”—not so sheer? (How did such phrasing come to be?)
Cute or Brutal
In the picturebook There’s a Nightmare in my Closet—written/illustrated by Mercer Mayer—the monster, who comes out of the closet each night to terrify the main character, begins to cry when the child finally threatens him, and the child invites the monster into bed with him. The monster snuggles in with a look of being at peace… even as the child faces the truth that there may be yet another monster in the closet. (Which the reader can see in the closing image.)
Then again, in the adult world, the monster might be in the bed, and have to be pushed into the closet, door closed, locked, and some phone calls made…
Monsters take many forms. Some we know, some we fail to recognize—or we might, just in time with others recognized too late. Some we never see; we just know they’re there.
A monster might push the character to some other, surprising and positive place, too. What would that look like?
End Game
Where will this monster end up in your story? As above—invited in? or closed away?
Destroyed… or believed to be destroyed?
Given away? (to whom?)
Hidden or abandoned? (where?)
Re-made to something else? (what?)
Or…? (If you come up with another alternative, let us know, and we can add to the list.)
Less obvious ways
‘Antagonists’ can be in many forms, and nothing so obvious as a monster. But you might consider monster-traits and echoes. Why limit monsters to horror stories? Think ‘details’—small things that play with the sub-conscious of your reader:
The toes of my first hairdressing instructor, for instance. I’m serious—they were terrifying! The woman only wore open-toed pumps and her tentacle-toes, long as fingers, curled over the edges of her shoes; the nails were always painted a metallic shiny purple. It was hard not to stare at them. I was sixteen: everything that caused a person to stand out in any way attracted my attention. All these years later, I can visualize too clearly.
Back to my ivy-hacking story: this could take place in a story of a woman dealing with something else entirely; what she absorbs from this backyard task is later used in a business meeting, where she cuts out some tenacious individual from a deal.
OR… while a character is dealing with her back garden, a burglar has discovered her front door unlocked and is inside her home gathering possessions…
It might be the next time you’re trying to find your keys in your bag. And Other Things keep finding their ways into your fingers…
The summer leaves fall away and expose the skeleton of a monster tree…
Your turn — details.
Mash-up your monster with a form that is not horror. Once you start to see them, they’re everywhere. And can fit in with just about anything.
Whether or not you want them.
As usual, this came at a good time in my writing process. I created two characters in my science fiction series who were villains, a mother and son. At the start, the monster was the brother, and fans were very clear that they wanted him dead by the end of the series. But in my third book, it became clear the real monster is the mother, and now I need to figure out how to kill the son off (in order to satisfy fans) but have the mother do it, so as to reveal how truly monstrous she is. I have been putting off this question (and it will be months before I get to it), but this has prompted me to come up with a solution that will reveal this in a satisfying way.