A sickly little smile grew and died on his mouth like a fungus.
A sense of wrongness, of fraught unease, as if long nails scraped the surface of the moon, raising the hackles of the soul.
Ever since I was two, I've loved octopuses, monsters, abandoned buildings.
Personally I don't like it when writers become excessively proscriptive about the way that people read their books.
I'm a very friendly socialist.
Fantasy and science fiction can be literal as well as allegorical and there’s nothing wrong with enjoying a monster like a giant squid for what it is, as well as searching for metaphor.