You wouldn’t believe the racket the living make sometimes. Even down deep, insulated by packed earth and stone layers, the frantic shrieking from the surface manages to seep through the cracks. Recently, there was all this chatter about some terror lurking just beyond my carefully curated crypts; something pacing on the peripheral, soon to invade.
Tales painted quite a picture: dripping ichor, eyes like burning coals ripped straight from Hell’s furnace! Claws that could shred trees, a howl that shook the soul. The doom of us all, manifest. They were sharpening their pitchforks, the townsfolk; polishing their muskets, reciting prayers. All that impotent flailing men do when confronted with something they don’t understand. Proper panic bubbling up all about, well, you know me… I simply had to see it. A genuine beast, right on my doorstep, eh? I imagined dragging it back to the lab, perhaps adding its unique shreds to my collection.
So I got my travel-wagon ready, roused the welcoming committee. Woke up my most presentable and brawny experiments to accompany me. We made a grim parade to meet this legendary monster.
When at last we found the glorious terror, when we finally met the magnificent fiend, we found it was… a mangy dog. Large, yes; feral, perhaps; the advancement of its mange such that I can see how the locals mistook it for some otherworldly corruption, I suppose. Its eyes reflected torchlight quite effectively, I’ll grant them that. But tree-shredding claws? Mere overgrown nails kicking up leaves. Its terrifying howl? Simply hunger and loneliness. It blinked at my entourage, gave a shy tail-wag, then slunk away.
Observe the rabble, if you must. But never trust second-hand hysteria. Insist upon meeting the monster yourself. More often than not, men’s fearful, delusional eyes turn lizards into dragons. Disappointing, really. Meeting a true Devil is such a rare occasion.
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