And so we find ourselves at Halloween, the day when monsters roam in the form of children blackmailing residents for candy, and older and generally extraordinarily unimaginative souls take the opportunity to dress bizarrely, as perhaps secretly they might often like to, on this singularly suitable occasion. Of course the whole problem with Halloween is that monsters in reality are not particularly monstrous. They tend rather to appear the most ordinary of people, living as your next-door neighbor, a diligent and helpful store clerk, the barista serving your daily portion of caffeine, even the driver who daily delivers parcels, anything but the cold-blooded maniac that they secretly truly are.
Imagining our deepest fears as being wicked urban tales or mythical creatures is certainly a more comfortable option than recognizing the freaks for whom they really are. So much easier recognizing Frankenstein’s creation as the monster, rather than the little old person who lives at the end of the cul-d-sac. Hastily reminding myself to tip toe past their front gateway this day and ever more.