I always look forward to writing scary stories.  Every October is my time to dance in the darkness of authorship & create a macabre movement of focused fear.

            I blocked his year’s story I had wanted to write, called “Between Two Monsters”, unwilling to breathe life into the story’s terrifying creatures; The Terrible Ones & their encompassing darkness will remain unwritten.  I will not bring them into this world through my consciousness, the fathomless & unfathomable, the fear that seizes the tongue to block breath & choke on sleeplessness, sat upon by remorse.  

            I won’t write monsters into existence & create my own nightmare.

            My life is sunshine & waterways, the coziest coastal cottage & day dreams of staying at home, which has no monsters or complications, to clean, even when everyone else goes out.  

            Except I was vacuuming & I swear to you the floorboard woodgrain looked exactly like Vincent Price, gazing at me, leering, sneering, scoffing as he queried with disdain: “And why should you not have a monster?”

            I felt his swirled, knotted eye on my proud face as I opened the blinds & brighten the room, a sunbeam illuminating the expressive board, “I have no need for terrible times,” I replied.

“But that is where you are mistaken,” the agency of Vincent Price responded, the timber of his voice creaking through my mind, the mouthpiece of man & monster & me: “The Terrible Ones have kept you safe, alert while others sleep.  Create your monsters, give them names, & they will keep you well.  For what is fear, if not a companion in the darkest places?” 

By Dena Merlino Scott, Halloween 2024