Good God, man, what is that smell?" He eyed with disgust the doctor's filthy cloak. "Life," answered the doctor.

The monstrous act by definition demands a monster.

I don't move. I wait behind my log, terrified. Over the past ten minutes, it's become such a dear friend, I consider naming it: Howard, my pet log.

In every creepy movie ever made, the barn is the prime nesting ground for the things you don't know you're looking for and always regret finding.

To hell with monsters and to hell with men. There is no difference to me.

It's an either/or world now.

Still, you tend to believe what you always believed, think what you always thought, expect what you always expected