I desperately wanted to end this book on page ninety-nine. I really wanted to cut it there. See, there is a thought in Japan, that when you tell ghost stories, you should stop before one-hundred, because if you tell one-hundred ghost stories, something strange will occur. Why? I have no idea. But I like the idea. So, this page should be page ninety-nine. But I couldn't do it. Caught up in the clamor of that final scene, I just couldn't do it. So, I ended up going over. Eh. Oh well though. Maybe something strange will happen? I guess I wouldn't mind if it did. In fact, I know I wouldn't mind if it did. I love a good ghost story. But the lesson here is that humans are just as scary as any ghost—that human lives are ghost stories too. We are monsters. We are words. Those things are unanimous, I believe that phrase apropos. For when I look at something, there is a word for it; whether it be a name or a description or a relation, there is a word that instantly pops into my head. I see the world as words. I see the self as words. Even the things that can't be described are still described by the word indescribable. I see paragraphs on people's faces, stories untold hidden deep in their chests. And in the dark space between the fluttering pages, I see monsters. In Japanese, bakemono means monster, but the literal translation is "changing things". And what better way to describe words? Those things that never change, but only ever do...
Matthew J. McKee
April 9, 2018
Mmckee111@gmail.com
YOU ARE READING
MONSTERS ARE WORDS
ParanormalGodfrey Illinois. 2 A.M. Alone, walking down a narrow road with mist as his sole companion, a boy finds a book. It sits in the middle of a crossroads, all the street lights about it blinking red. And, despite his lackadaisical nature, he wanders off...
