Dear Daughter,
Last night when you were falling asleep, you asked me: “Daddy, are there monsters in here”.
I said “No. Monsters are imaginary.”
But I lied.
The trouble with monsters is that they’re hard to spot. They don’t advertise that they’re a monster.
Monsters don’t come with horns on their heads.
Monsters are just trying to pay the mortgage, trying to drop the kids off at soccer practice, trying to just God Let Me Keep It Together For One More Day, trying to organize the summer school jamboree as part of Parent Council duties.
But don’t be fooled: they’ll flay the very skin off your back. Turn it into a rustic carpet. Into a lampshade. And then act all coy when faced with what they’ve done. “We didn’t know”, they’ll say, “we were living next to the abbatoir but never looked in on what those people in that building were doing”.
Don’t believe them, my darling. Don’t let them near your skin.
Monsters don’t come with long fuzzy tails. Oh no they don’t.
Monsters will justify monstrous actions by saying you’re not a person. You’re not like them. With their braying, yapping, clicking language – they can’t understand your words so they pretend that you can’t speak. They’ll never listen to the slow songs of our people, our tales of perseverance, stories of loss, the soul of a nation.
They’re not listening. They can’t hear it. It doesn’t exist.
Monsters think they’re just doing what they need to get by. But they’ll snatch the milk right from a newborn’s mouth if given the chance.
No. Monsters don’t come with hard clacking hooves.
Monsters boggle the mind with nonsense like We Have To Increase ROI by Seven Percent or Else the Q3 Report Will Have a Negative Outlook and We Are Sorry Stephen We Are Aware That You Have Served the Corporation for Twenty Years But Your Position Has Been Eliminated No It Is NOT YOU It Is YOUR POSITION That HAS BEEN ELIMINATED
But don’t you ever mistake them for oafs, Daughter.
Monsters are closer to a dog – to a wolf – than they are to you and to me. Monsters will tear the flesh off your bones with those sharp canines, my twelve ounce New York striploin.
They’ll shred your little feet into glue.
Pulverize your fine bones into fertilizer.
Squelch your curious eyes into hot dog paste.
No. The trouble with monsters is that they don’t come with horns, or tails, or hooves –
Monsters are not like you and me at all.
