The Ineffable Expression of Human Terror

Deep within the human soul lies a monster. It waits, sleeping like a dog waiting on his master to return. It passes from generation to generation, inherited as eyes, height, or hair color. What unimaginable horror created this monster in our ancient progenitor has been lost to the callous march of time. Long before humans could write or speak, the monster waited. Sometimes it rouses in the night, when we sleep or dream or awaken to hear a strange noise. But still it sleeps.

In the average day, no one sees it, thinks of it, or even acknowledges its presence. It only creeps out of our unconscious when it's hungry or when it senses opportunity. Walking down the street, it doesn't stir. Passing the park, it avoids daylight. At the end of a desolate, unknown alleyway it waits. This sense of what might lie at the end of this dark, creeping alley is the monster's name. Understand; it is not what is actually at the end of the alleyway. It is what might be at the end of the alleyway; the unknown.

Everyone has their own monster. It is what ties us closer than any other feature. We all share the same monster. Despite our distinctions and differences, we are the same when we are afraid or abandoned - when we become that child trapped alone in the dark with no one to answer our screams of terror. When we silently go mad, the monster begins to play. The dog, whose master has returned eagerly runs to fetch whatever was tossed: our peace, our joy, our sanity.

In the end we all succumb to the monster. It doesn't kill us, but it defeats us. We yield to it, and it takes over. In the very end, we do die, and the monster abides in our descendants, sleeping; waiting to devour them.

All these words are not the monster's true name. It is inscrutable, ineffable.