As children we were all afraid of monsters- the monsters of children are- typically- faceless figments that hide in a closet, or under the bed. These imagined monsters have no real power- the sleepless nights hiding under the covers are the extent of the harm done, and are only the result of the power the victim has given the monster.

Our parents assure us that real monsters- monsters that do real harm to real people- don't really exist. The assurances may or may not help for a while- but as we get older we realize, eventually, our parents lied.

Monsters DO exist. Real monsters, with real teeth, with real evil intent- not the vague monsters created in a child's nightmares. The REAL monsters are the creations of adults.

Rural Arkansas is about as conservative red state as you can get- self reliance, hard work, and most importantly personal responsibility came naturally to us, it didn't need to be taught to us in any school- we lived it.

Growing up in rural Arkansas also teaches a kid a lot of lesson about the nature of life, death, people - and monsters. Now, I don't claim to be an authority on the creation and nurturing of real life monsters- but I have seen it done. Its easier than you might think- up to a point. The ingredients that go into a good monster are simple, and ubiquitous- equal parts fear and hatred, a pinch of ignorance and myopia, add paranoia to taste and shake well- then pour it all into a vessel of your choice and let it ferment- don't watch it too closely. It is important that you not spend too much time thinking about what you are creating. NOTHING will ruin a good monster faster than careful consideration of the consequences of your actions.

I grew up at the end of a red dirt road ten miles from the nearest small town in Arkansas- every morning we would walk a half mile to the section corner and catch the school bus- The neighbor kids and I would talk and play as we walked down the road- but we always fell silent as we passed the dilapidated old house that belonged to Mr. Perkins.

Bill Perkins was a truly mean man that 'ran' a small smelly pig-farm- he didn't just intimidate us kids- he was always fighting with our parents over some imagined slight- threatening them. Now that his son had left home for the army, he had become meaner than ever- and crazy. We had all heard the shooting late at night- he would get shit-faced and shoot at bottles behind the barn. Our parents seemed scared of him- and when you are 10 years old that made him terrifying indeed.

The morning walk past his property only filled us with dread- he was always asleep sleeping off the excesses of the night before. We would just fall silent as we walked by - It was the walk home in the late afternoon that filled us with fear. In the afternoon the old bastard (Old in the eyes of a 10 year old- he was perhaps 45) would invariably be out and around in his yard, or by the barn- always with a drink, always watching us walk by with an air of menace.

I hated him.

One sweltering summer day as we walked by his property he looked up from his tractor and saw us- instead of the usual glare he stood up and unsteadily staggered to the fence: "YOU...KIDS! HOLD UP THERE! I SAID STOP!"

We stopped- looking at each other - I was the oldest and to my dismay his attention seemed to focus on me. Eight year old Allie looked terrified. We stopped- uncertain what to do- so we watched him stagger to the fence and steady himself- his face was red and sweaty with drink and rage.

"Which one of you goddamn kids been gettin on my property? WHICH ONE!?" His gaze darted unsteadily over us- then returned to me. I froze and just shook my head dumbly and looked down to reassure myself that the fence and bar-ditch were still between me and him. The idea that ANY of us would willingly set foot on his property was... insane. I remember his greasy hair sticking out under a dirty cap with the Razorbacks logo on the front.

"One of you sumbitches let the air out of my tire and stole my post-hole digger! I work too damn hard for you trash to take my shit! I have a right to defend myself! Anyone I catch on my property will be in a world of hurt!" He then pulled up his shirt and we saw the gun. I mumbled some denial and backed away- Allie was running down the road. He turned away, satisfied that he had made his point- I rushed home and told my father- who told the sheriff- who visited Mr. Perkins. Nothing substantive was done, of course- Perkins had the right to carry a gun on his property and hadn't pointed it at anyone. However, Mr. Perkins was enraged- and things only got worse.

He got a dog- a dog uglier and meaner than himself. It was nearly feral and vicious. He tied it to the front porch with a rope just long enough to reach the fence-line by the road. He named it, appropriately, "Monster".
Every morning and afternoon when we walked by his place "Monster" would run full tilt to the fence only to be brought up short by the rope- snarling and snapping at us ferociously. In the afternoons Perkins would egg the dog on while drinking and laughing.
"Atta boy, GET 'EM MONSTAH!!!"

Our parents and his neighbors all urged him to get rid of the dog- it was dangerous and unpredictable. He insisted it was only a danger to people that tried to trespass on his property- he had a right to have any dog he wanted- and it had "never hurt no one". As long as people didn't violate his property no one had anything to fear.

He and his drinking buddies would taunt and train the dog- encouraging it to see any stranger as a threat. He seemed to view his dog as the only thing keeping us kids, and everyone else, in line. He enjoyed siccing his 'Monster' on us and watching us jump. It was a tool with which he could impose his will at a distance. When others complained that he needed to reign in his dog and get it under control he would laugh and just say the dog had a mind of its own, disavowing any responsibility for his creation.

One morning as we quietly walked past his place we heard the predictable bark and snarl of 'Monster' and tensed for the usual onslaught of snarling and snapping- sure enough 'Monster' came running at us. Allie screamed- as usual- but kept screaming- And then I saw, the rope was dragging loose behind him.

Monster ducked under the fence and leaped on Allie who just stood there screaming. We were all screaming as our nightmares were realized. The monster bit at her face and arms. We screamed ineffectually at the dog for what seemed like an eternity- but most likely was less than a minute.

I heard a horn blaring and saw our neighbor, Mr. Stevens, racing down the road in his beat up red truck. We jumped out of the road as he came to a stop and leaped from the cab holding a large pair of pliers. He proceeded to beat the dog frantically until it finally let go of Allie with a yelp. It stumbled back and looked at Mr. Stevens confused- as if saying "but, what did you EXPECT me to do?!".

The dog turned and ran back under the fence and into the barn. Mr. Stevens bundled us all into the truck and raced us all to Allie's house- we waited there as he and Allie's dad raced her to the emergency room at town.

I later heard the Sheriff went to Mr. Perkins house that morning- Mr. Perkins protested that it wasn't his fault, and personally shot the dog himself. He protested that he never wanted the dog to bite any kid- it wasn't his responsibility. Maybe the kids had been provoking the dog.

As you can imagine this didn't carry much weight in rural conservative Arkansas- where we believe in personal responsibility.

Allie was scarred for life, and eventually Mr. Perkins lost his farm in the legal troubles that followed.

To be honest, I don't think he could ever understand why he was being held responsible for the actions of the monster he created. He blamed the sheriff, he blamed Allie's dad, he even blamed us kids- after all, he wouldn't have needed the damn dog were it not for the imagined assaults to his liberties that we had committed.

You see, creating a monster is simple, really- up to a point.

Equal parts fear and hatred, a pinch of ignorance and myopia, add paranoia to taste and shake well- then pour it all into a vessel of your choice and let it ferment- don't watch it too closely. It is important that you not spend too much time thinking about what you are creating. NOTHING will ruin a good monster faster than careful consideration of the consequences of your actions.

The difficulty comes when you forget the ingredients you used to bring your monster into existence. You need to understand that all that went into its creation remains there growing and festering. You may one day be held responsible when the monster acts against your wishes, or worse- when it acts according to your secret desires. Nothing good can come from those ingredients.

I guess there was a point to this rambling about the creation of monsters, but maybe I lost it in my reminiscence of the past- a hazard of old age, I guess. For some reason it seemed somehow pertinent to current events- I guess I will have to let you all be the judge of that.