A Monster Calls

by Patrick Ness

Stories are the wildest things of all, the monster rumbled. Stories chase and bite and hunt.

Stories are wild creatures, the monster said. When you let them loose, who knows what havoc they might wreak?

Stories are important, the monster said. They can be more important than anything. If they carry the truth.

You were merely wishing for the end of pain, the monster said. Your own pain. An end to how it isolated you. It is the most human wish of all.

Because humans are complicated beasts, the monster said. How can a queen be both a good witch and a bad witch? How can a prince be a murderer and a saviour? How can an apothecary be evil-tempered but right-thinking? How can a parson be wrong-thinking but good-hearted? How can invisible men make themselves more lonely by being seen?

“But how do you fight it?” Conor asked, his voice rough. “How do you fight all the different stuff inside?” By speaking the truth, the monster said. As you spoke it just now.

It was not wrong, the monster said, It was only a thought, one of a million. It was not an action.