Monster - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
Our family tradition is taking the names of monsters and sending them straight to hell. We walk in, all smiles, and leave with evil in chains. We are experts at extraction. We take hold of the beast by the jaw and remove his tongue. After that it's easy to subdue and defeat the scaled ones. Then we go for ice-cream and jump on trampolines. Who said defeating evil wasn't going to be fun?
The monster had always gone unnoticed in the city. She wasn't invisible but her skin perfectly projected the image you'd expect to see behind her. Her gangly frame made it easy to weave through the crowds, and she enjoyed peering into the penthouses at the well-fed tycoons. The abundance of electric cars had made the air sweeter and her sense of smell keener. During the industrial revolution she'd had to flee to rural towns, the pollution had damaged her skin rendering her visible to the two legged delicacies, and she so hated to run after them. At almost five hundred and twenty years old her bones creaked and her muscles grew weary. She had given up on the larger meals, too chewy, too tough, too difficult to swallow. The little ones were far easier to pick off, tender, succulent. Never once did she notice that the city was becoming plastered with posters, each bearing the image of a missing child. She could not read. She did not care. Her decay meant it was time to spawn...
The monster advanced on them, its physique hardly discernible in the shadowy twilight of the alley. With each slow movement that belied the speed it was capable of, slime dripped, oozing great globs of phlegm and depositing them on the pot-holed tarmac for forensics to find. It was sticky mucus, rancid and toxic to touch. On contact the victim was paralyzed for life. Underneath the gelatinous gloop its skin was gnarled, but crumpled and folded like it had recently lost weight. Over it's belly lay crusty flaps of concave skin. The beast reeked of raw sewage and rotten fish. It was frustrated that it's food was backing away slowly and thrashed it's tail in fury. Its one massive eye swivelled wildly, searching, its nocturnal vision only adept for discerning rapid motion. As a final resort it began to emit clicking noises, using sonar to detect this difficult prey and its large dish shaped ears rotated for the reflected vibrations.
It rose, a mass of tangled limbs, each one armour plated with a paralyzing goo seeping from black pores. The monster clicked it's mandibles and followed me with it's enormous compound eye. Towering above me, as tall as a double decker bus, it began to emit a series of squeaks and clicks. The rustling noises that came from all directions told me that it was not alone. There was a whole family out there, and they were closing in.
Later, back in the safety of the hide-out, I began to describe the monster. The monster had seemed to choose it's shape after it had assessed us. What had seemed to be clusters of jelly-like eggs at first began to vibrate and emit noise not unlike whale song. In matter of seconds they turned a metallic green colour and vibrated. After a few seconds more they emitted sparks of red and yellow. Then in the blink of an eye they flew together and made one mighty monster about two lampposts high and as wide as a truck. From the blob grew limbs until looked like some sort of nightmarish Swiss army knife. The whale noise stopped and then the monster moved faster than the eye could see, cutting us down like we were pigs in the slaughter house. I played dead for a while...
The tunnel had been abandoned decades before Mike and Jake had been born. Its brickwork had begun to crumble and its mouth gaped black and dank. They exchanged mischievous grins and dared each other to go in. At first it was so tense that the silence was as thick as the blackness, then Jake stumbled on a rock and screamed, with the tension diffused they laughed uproariously. Then came a smell so foul, so noxious, they thought they would choke and so they ran back to the safety of the daylight. A red slime ball rolled over the vegetation leaving only a mud trail behind it, consuming everything in it's path,. In it's wake it deposited smaller red balls which began to roll after their mother, devouring and growing. Which ever way the boys ran the eyeless monsters pursued them. By the time they reached the edge of the woodland the red balls were too numerous to count and even the "mother" was growing. Their only hope was to climb a tree and pray these beasts couldn't climb....
In the inky blackness lay a savage double-headed werewolf. His teeth, eerily incandescent, emitted a strange blue glow and were as sharp as a fine diamond sword. His skin was mostly scar tissue and he shivered in the early fall breeze. What fur there had been was tufty and thin, providing no protection to the elements at all. On his torso and face were recent scabs from a meal that had fought back, now he picked at them with blood-caked claws to relieve the boredom of the stake-out. Then came movement from the dwelling, his wait was almost over. For such a large beast he moved with surprising stealth, leaving behind only a trail of large dandruff flakes and his heinous odour.
I am a person.
Or I was a person.
Or at least I like to think that I had once been a person; a person with scars and bruises all over their body; red trickily blood running down their sides; picture of misery, reflected both inside and outside.
My beauty was never that skin deep, I guess – that is, if it is even called beauty.
They say time can heal things. But I never healed, or even became better, as a matter of fact.
The monster had been dormant for fourteen long years. It was common for him to slumber on for fifty or more after a good feeding, but there was a drilling noise. It vibrated right through his inches thick skull to the crab-apple sized brain within. As he rose to his feet the semi decomposed leaf litter rained down off his sun-sensitive grey skin to the forest floor. He sniffed for bear, his food of choice, but instead alien scents promising fat and sugar met with his flared nostrils. He blundered through the forest with all the stealth of a bull elephant and onto the building site. He was momentarily blinded by the afternoon sun, and closed his eyes to protect his retinas. He had evolved for nocturnal hunting but the incessant pounding had driven him to action. "Food," he thought. As the workers ran he fell to his knees he began to become white and sticky, almost cocooned and mimicked the distress call of a wounded fawn. The next day a crowd gathered around, enough for a feast...
The only way to describe the monster was a bipedal complete absence of light. It wasn't just blackness, it was nothing at all. He cast no shadow, made no noise and gave off no odour. But if he targeted you he would seize you by the neck and jump into the air so that he could not be followed. The rest of what we know is guess work from the remains of his victims. He seems to eat them like a delicacy. The bones appear to be gnawed with small razor sharp teeth and they are left lined up in order of size, very neatly.
Three rows of teeth, each as sharp as a dagger, nose the size of a baked potato, dripping with gelatinous yellow streaked snot, skin a sallow green, flaking around the eyes and nose, four protruding eyes, bulbous eyes, nails like a sabre tooth tiger's, fangs glinting over rubbery pale gums, ears on stalks, stench of halitosis breath, hands the size of garbage bin lids, fifteen feet tall, small lumpy bald head with mottled greying skin, legs like the trunk of an ancient oak, feet like sprawling roots lashing around as the monster advances, roars like the sound of a thousand nightmarish ghouls, grins menacingly.
The monster was a predator. His frontal eyes were better than any hawk and his teeth sharper than steak knives. He moved in the shadows until his victim was in reach and then the tentacles would shoot out and pull them into his mouth. For the most part they didn't even have time to call out and all one could hear was the crunching of bones.
The monster travelled as a cloud of barely there yellow-tinged gas and entered its prey though the cerebral fluid. The victim knew nothing of the attack except that they could smell something quite metallic. Once inside the host it feasted on their sugars, the closest it could get to the “chemical highs” of its own planet. From then on they would loose weight, happy at first and usually boastful to their friends, snapping photographs of their new physiques. But the loss continued no matter what they ate, the monster getting more and more efficient at taking their sugars as time went on, growing tendrils ever deeper. Each victim wasted away, accused of anorexia or misdiagnosed with cancer or consumption. Once they passed away the monster would flee, occasionally being noticed by a grieving human and mistaken for the departing soul.
The monster didn't need bulk, her muscles were many times stronger than her human prey. She was little more than a wisp of a creature with diminutive limbs and still took down the meal of her choice each dawn. Her skin was wrinkled like a dried prune and thick like leather, she was bipedal with long arms and a small head with an elongated muzzle like a wolf. In her jaws were inch long teeth, serrated like a steak knife. She could not articulate at all except a growling snarl, having little use for communication. She lived her entire life alone except the young she birthed without need for a partner, for “she” was really neither male nor female but hermaphrodite. If her young failed to please her maternal pride she would eat them, no second chances. They were to be fine predators or she'd start again and for budding she required a lot of food.
And when the thunder-voiced, evil-eyed, shaggy haired and monstrous Gorgono reclined on the shelf over my head, saliva drooling with silent precision from his pendulous lips, and gave orders I hastened to obey them.
The monster has black papery looking skin. It's so skinny it looks like he doesn't have any muscle at all. His dead caved in eyes are completely black, with small red pupils. I can feel them the back of my head every night. What makes a chill go down my spine is that he has no mouth...all it does is stand in the corner of the room every time I look back at it. It gets closer and closer until it is breathing down the back of my neck....then when i look back again its back in the corner. Then it starts again......just...staring at me....i don't know what to do...i think Im going insane...
I've never been afraid of 'monsters' per-say. I do believe they exist, I just don't think they are furry and live under my bed and in my closet. You see, I knew a monster once. In fact, I loved him. He played baseball with me, and he spoiled me with lots of gifts. He had deep brown eyes, and a smile nearly identical to my own. I thanked God for my very own monster, every night. My monster didn't have sharp talons. The only thing sharp about him was the knife that made this gash. My monster wasn't green or purple. He didn't even like purple; That's why he made me have all of the purple on my arms. My monster didn't come out and scare me after I had fallen asleep. No, my monster only scared me when he came home. My monster gave me bad dreams too though, so I guess there is that. But I didn't make my monster leave, like the case with normal childhood monsters. No, my monster made me leave. My monster didn't want me anymore, so he made me go...
Thick brown gelatinous goo like melted chocolate, leaves a trail behind it, chaotic spider shape with legs jutting out at seemingly random places, eyes on stalks like eggs on sticks swivel in any direction, smells like seven day old cabbage stew, makes halitosis seem like potpourri. Squeaks like an old rusty hinge each time it moves. Opens and closes a sharp central beak, rancid saliva drips and dribbles across the slime onto the ground.
Mutant giant starfish, eight muscular tentacles lines with suction cups, pink leathery skin, purple veins like a spider's web protrude, central mouth like a beak, sharp and cruel. Moves over land like a wave of flesh, if you cut off a limb it will grow another, twenty feet across, attacks small fishing boats.
They froze in place, watching in mingled horror and anticipation as the thing shambled toward the open doorway. It paused, still within the bank of shadows inside the kitchen. Joe slipped his finger inside the trigger guard.
My monster rises from the deepth of the darkness, muttering unheard words. Covered in scars from the past, carrying the scythe. A tangled mess of arms and faces with one mission, as I look into those soul-less eyes I realize that my monster is the darker side of me
I was wrong. There was nothing left in him, no good, no kindness, no love. Only a monster.
The last time I saw the doctor he was quite different, sad perhaps. He spoke strangely, the “project” was being moved forward. His quiet demeanour was gone, replaced by a sense of urgency I've never seen. I'm still reeling from his words. He said my reality wasn't real, that all we have done is in a virtual world. Apparently if I kill him in this “real” world he stays dead. I'd like that. I've killed him so many times in so many ways and he comes back seconds later to try to “teach” me all over again. I do love his voice, but more so when I take his face in my clawed hand and squeeze until the eyeballs pop from their stupid sockets. Before I killed him this last time he said to die in his world was really the end and that I must learn my lesson now, that I must not kill. But the good doctor is mistaken. How does he know his “reality” is any more real than my own? Perhaps he's too stupid to notice the “resets” like I do. There is a good chance he's insane of course, I'm full grown now and never seen this other place he spoke so rapidly of before I ripped out his vocal chords... again. Victory is feeling blood between my fingers, crushing tissue, eating flesh.
The doctor taught me what pain is. He asked forgiveness as he cut me over and over. His mantra was that if I knew how bad it felt I would become docile, unable to inflict it on others. I forgave him every time he lay dead at my feet and retracted it every time he re-spawned like the demon he is. Human. Apparently my creator, but my inferior cannot be my God, only my prey, a delicacy. Staying dead would be a design improvement for sure.
She could see an inhuman figure standing through the window. Its head was cocked slightly to the right and its back was crooked, making the beast look tired and warn. It had red, thick zig zags crawling across its eyes like worms. It had no eyelids, instead a flap of flesh that curved across where they used to be. The beasts eyes clamped onto her, never looking away. It just stood still, watching silently. Not that it could speak, for its mouth was torn, creating an unnatural smile that smeared across its face. Small black stitches stapled the mouth attempting to keep it shut, however blood continued pouring out through the tangled veins. Its jaw was lined with simple teeth yet its breath reeked of raw sewage and rotting meat. The smell was almost as a skunks. It was as if this monster was truly a horrifying ghost as the creatures face was as pale as snow. Neither did it have hair, or eyebrows; it was completely bold. A Sliced up shirt sat around its neck. Dirt had melted into the fabric and obvious creases were stained into it.
It's quiet. Too quiet. . .
A flash, a creak. There's something lurking in the shadows. An evil no one can see. A monster that torments us. It seeks out the weak and makes itself a home inside of their heads.
Inside my head. . .
I can feel it, raging inside of me. Just under the surface. Just loud enough for me to hear, but there's a door in between us. I had locked it in a room, tried to keep it far away from me.
But it's still there. . .
Tearing through the holes, trying to reach what's left of my sanity. My humanity. . .
It's only a matter of time before it manages to break through. It's been locked up for years, but the door I put between us is starting to collapse, to crumble.
And It Knows.
I looked in the mirror today and I saw it, staring straight back at me. Watching me through my eyes. Seeing everything I see. It's waiting for me. . .
Hoping that I'd let my guard down.
Knowing that sooner or later the door will break.
Lately it's been able to find ways to show itself. Ways to change itself. Ways to change me.
As the days pass, the monster looks more like me than anything else.
I realised that I could lose everything.