Tag archives for Monstrous Mondays

Angela reached toward the crying infant, softly cooing to calm it. As she tried to reach a hand under it to pick it up, the baby turned. Where a face should have been was a hole, filled with row after row of sharp teeth. It leapt on her, teeth sinking into her exposed neck in a spray of blood. Angela fell backward, her hands batting at the creature in a panic. A gurgled screamed drowned in the blood erupting from her mouth

Alternative names: Tianac, Leech Children

It came out of the trees alongside the road, floating just a foot over the asphalt ahead of us. The headlights of our car illuminated a human figured, cocooned in dirty-white linens. It wiggled and struggled against its prison of bindings. A decaying face, eyes bulging and grin wide from rot, peered from the shroud. Suddenly, the driver unleashed a gout of blood-tinged vomit and passed against as the steering wheel. 

Alternative names: Hantu Bungkus, Kain Kafan, Shroud Ghost

Lurch by lurch, it squeezed itself through the narrow hallway. A trail of slime on the corrosion-eaten walls and floor marked its passage. It was something of a man with the fact of an insect. Mandibles worked back and forth, and over themselves, as if it were tasting the air. It seemed to have a slug-like lower half. Only when it dragged itself closer could we that a curtain of flesh, pulled down by the heavy locks hooked into the skin, concealed its legs. Keys worked into the fingers on one of its hands clinked and clanked against one another incessantly.    

Alternative names: Low Xopolhiti, Lord of the Regents, Ruler of the Abattoir

The nethermost caverns…are not for the fathoming of eyes that see; for their marvels are strange and terrific. Cursed the ground where dead thoughts live new and oddly bodied…out of corruption horrid life springs…

– HP Lovecraft, “The Festival”

Alternative Names: Bearer of the Black Milk, the Foul Fecundity

Bodies upon bodies, writhing on each other. All thin, starved. Each had open wounds. None cared. It was a display of utter, animal wantonness. From the middle of that pile of humanity rose a naked figure. Anything that could indicate its sex was gone, replaced with thick scar tissue. Seeping sores and jagged wounds competed for space across its body. Grafted into its skull was a halo-like crown, tarnished, corroded. It spread its hands and spoke with the voice of a sow. “Welcome to Heaven,” it squealed. 

Alternative names: Hesychasts, High Ascetics

It emerged from the glowing, seeping wound in wall. A living, human visage of pain. Scars and sores riddled its flesh, too numerous to count. Pieces of jagged, rusted metal protruded from the skin, some bleeding around the base. It had no eyes, bone grown over where the sockets once were. Yet it somehow saw it. It turned its head toward us. It chattered its teeth, exposed from the hooks peeling its lips back, in delight.  

Alternative names: Afflicted, Sufferers

We could blame it. That only way to ever sleep again, to go on, to do anything. Otherwise, what? Knot bedsheets and hope the ceiling fan holds? No. It was that thing, bug, grub, worm whatever it was. That did it. That’s what made us do those…things. 

Truth is, it just sat there. Fat off everything we did. It ate what we fed it. It didn’t make us do anything. It just freed us of our inhibitions. Everything we did…we because we already had it in us.

Alternative names: Carrion Grubs 

Tee-hee. Tee-hee. Tee-hee. Tee-hee. Tee-hee. Tee-hee. Tee-hee. Tee-hee. Tee-hee. Tee-hee. Tee-hee.

Alternative names: The Dollmaker, Tashkent Ripper, Butcher of Accra, Highway 42 Killer, Alan Perry Nichols (possible)

Alternative names: Feasters Within, Con-Rit 

From the storm clouds above us, tentacles unfurled, reaching toward us. They would have been invisible against the blackened sky if not for the myriad brilliant colors dancing along them each time electricity arced between their tips. One-by-one the tentacles plucked people from the ground, their faces in frozen in pain screamed.