What Is A Monster?

What is a Monster?

The Collector pondered this question often. They looked over their shelves, stocked full of taxidemied creatures, bones, claws, horns, teeth…

And the wet specimens, the pride and joy of their collection. They had a diaphonized baby phoenix, a whole mandrake preserved in formaldehyde, a fetal two headed dragon, the eye of something that had once been a sheep but certainly wasn’t anymore, among many others. With their full collection, they still asked, are these monsters? Have they found a true monster, something truly strange and unnatural?

Have they found anything more strange and unnatural than they were? With their too-tall form, with too many joints, with teeth that were just too sharp and eyes that shone just too bright. Something that others never seemed to see, others saw them as an entirely normal human. Something they could never see in themself. They could only look between the mirror, and the portrait hanging above their fireplace. Two entirely different faces, and The Collector didn’t know whether it was the painter who couldn’t see them right, or if they couldn’t.

The Collector, though, in all their elongated, many jointed glory, knew of only one thing more monstrous than them, a being they wanted--no--needed in their collection. A supernaturally beautiful creature...as long as you didn’t look past its mask. A faceless, near-formless being, that seemed to twist and change as it needed to suit whatever others wanted it to be. But without its mask, its gloves, its heavy, elaborate clothing that covered nearly every inch of “skin,” it was hideous. A giant mouth bisected its stomach, all the better to sate the thing’s voracious appetite. Its face was perfectly blank, but bright, blinking eyes covered its body.

What would The Collector do with such a fine specimen? They would need to keep it intact of course, but would they be able to make a taxidermy of it? To dress it up however they pleased? Should they instead put it in a tank of formaldehyde, like an unliving aquarium? Have its mouth, all its eyes, on full display. The monster, unmasked, for any of the few visitors they let in, to see? Would it keep its shape, given how...unstable it seems to be?

They smiled, sharp teeth barely displayed as they considered it. Yes, they did have an empty space for another shelf, more wet specimens. But a big one, like that monster, would be even better.

Does it matter whether they were a monster, if they hunted beings far more monstrous?

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What is a Monster?

The Toymaker rarely considered the question. It heard the ravings of the townspeople, the way some discussed its more experimental creations. But it knew the truth. There were no monsters here. Its creations, its children, they were no monsters. They were beautiful, each one perfectly imperfect. Each little doll had its own flaws, its own quirks, its own personality even. Each one its own little piece of its creator.

And of course, The Toymaker itself was no monster, despite the missing face behind its mask. Despite the enormous mouth stretching across its stomach, looking like it was made to hunt, but really it was made to eat little sandwiches and petit fours as it sat down for tea with its creations. Despite the eyes covering its body, all the better to create its dolls with care. No, even if it needed a little extra help to look like the townsfolk, it was no monster.

And even if its dolls moved when you looked away, even if a few had hair that looked like the mane of a horse that had been found horrifically mutilated recently, they were not monsters. Even though sometimes they were found with knives, with lucifer matches, with sprigs of toxic herbs in their little hands, that wasn’t the sign of a monster, The Toymaker simply had to teach them better.

It loved them, and they loved it, and the mark of a monster was an inability to love, right? It couldn’t be a monster if it had its creations, the little dolls it loved more than life itself. It petted the hair of the doll in its lap.

The Toymaker made it a duty to never pick favorites. But, it couldn’t help but adore the little doll. Unlike the others, it was made of flesh and bone, kept perfect by a secret process the Toymaker had invented. It was beautiful, about five feet tall, its glassy eyes bigger than that of a human’s, its face more symmetrical, better proportioned, its hair framing that perfect face in soft ringlets. The most beautiful creature it had ever seen.

It had to keep the doll in its private room, of course. Humans who came to the toy shop certainly tended to see a doll like that as a monster. It found that utterly ridiculous of course, a monster was an ugly thing, and compared to the sheer beauty of its doll, humans were the monsters.

But more than that, a monster could not love, and the Toymaker knew in its bones the doll loved it more than any other being could. All its dolls loved it more than anything but that one...it was special. No matter what it was made of, its love couldn’t be monstrous.

No, it could never judge on something like appearances, not when its own face was simply a mask it changed out as it pleased. No matter how monstrous it looked, it didn’t change the love in its heart. And maybe those who couldn't look past appearances, maybe they were the real monsters.