Monster Contest

In a dingy basement with cracked concrete walls, a CRT television sputters to life from atop a white plastic table. A large brown beetle, which had been hiding under a corner of the TV, skitters off to find a new shadow away from the light and hum of this new disturbance. The screen produces a hazy image that loops through the top back to the bottom, repeating a tumbling splay of colors like a clumsy waterfall. Eventually the picture settles.

The first channel shows a sporting match, a gridiron contest, but with rusty earth replacing the traditional too-green grass. The players appear almost human, but freakishly hulking or wiry to fit their purpose in the game. They smash together, writhe about, snatch at a flesh-colored ball that the camera fortunately never zooms in on.

A click. The channel changes. Now a cowboy with murderous red eyes appears. He stares across a dutch-angled saloon at some unseen rival, some foe as dangerous as him. But he may as well be staring down the viewer.

Another click. A commercial for a grocery store, but most shelves are stocked with potions and vials, some audibly bubbling over with liquids brighter than would appear natural: neon reds and greens. A blonde woman pushes a twisted cart into view, she smiles at the camera with razor sharp teeth.

A third click. A man and woman, older, elegantly dressed, stand atop a grand white stairway in what must be a massive mansion. The man wears a coat and tails and peers through gold-trimmed pince-nez glasses. He addresses the camera: “Welcome to the Monster Show.” His voice is professional, borderline monotone.

The woman wears an ankle-length silver dress and eggshell white gloves. She speaks in a proper tone, like a schoolmistress, but with a slight lilt at the end of each sentence: “Today is Gnasher Day. We do hope you will enjoy these ghastly beasts!” There is no fourth click.

An airy flute melody plays as the hosts join hands and slowly descend the staircase. Digital lettering appears on screen, beige against the mostly-white background and barely legible. But the slow descent allows enough time to parse the words, labeling our two hosts: Count Frigibald Von Karstek and Lady Aliminini Vinwhip.

When they reach the ground floor, a marble checkerboard surface of black and red, the title of the show appears above them in a serifed font: “The Crumbshire Annual Abomination and Monster Contest” and then on the line below “737th edition.”

Lady Vinwhip speaks again: “For our first time viewers, here is Professor Quadwinkle who shall explain the rules.”

A jump cut to a smiling man with disheveled hair in what appears to be a study or library. He wears a lavender smoking jacket and stands before an easel that holds up a piece of posterboard. Pinned to the board are seven small, navy blue colored-paper silhouettes, each shaped like animals of some kind, some as tiny as a penny but one big around as an orange. The man speaks:

“Good day. Good day to you all. My name is Quadwinkle and I’m a professor of Sinister Biology. I hope you enjoy today’s lesson.”

The professor whips out a laser pointer and casts a red dot onto one of the animal outlines behind him. “There are seven categories of monsters: Guardian, Gnasher, Necrotic, Elemental, Humanesque, Bogey, and Kaiju (or Behemoth as we used to call them.)” The professor pointed at each silhouette in turn as he listed the categories, settling finally on the largest, an outline of an elephantine creature with massive tusks.

“Last week we put the guardians through their paces. We witnessed a beautiful tiger-striped defender with spiral eyes named Dark Lord Fluffous take The Black Ribbon! Oh how that hypnotic gaze charmed the judges!

“This week we’ll have a look at the gnashers, and what frightful little brutes they are! So what classifies a monster as a gnasher? Each group has its own criteria, and for the gnashers it’s all about how nasty they are. Ha! But let’s take a closer look at what the rulebook says.”

And here, the professor took down the poster board with the monster silhouettes, revealing another card underneath featuring golden script on a black background. It was a quote which he read aloud, highlighting each word with his laser pointer as he went:

A gnasher is defined by its teeth. The length of a gnasher’s longest tooth must be at least 1/40th of its body length by any dimension. And the estimated weight of the teeth must be at least 2% of the creature’s recorded weight. For safety reasons, a gnasher cannot weigh more than 50 pounds (22 kilograms.)

One final subjective criterion, a gnasher must have “a particular terrifying aspect.” A majority of the judging panel must agree that the monster be properly alarming in appearance, and not just that it has a big mouth.

The winner will be the gnasher who best exemplifies the virtues of nastiness, terrifying aspect, and original features as determined by the head arbiter.

The professor then tipped that poster board unceremoniously from the stand, revealing a final card labeled “Where do gnashers come from?” and featuring various scenes of toothy critters climbing from cauldrons or leaping from the shadows.

“So… where do gnashers come from? Like all entrants, they cannot be specifically bred. They must be discovered or created. Gnashers are most commonly pulled from the dark void, but many are the result of failed experiments, wicked contracts, or the psychic impulses of a deranged mind.”

Here the professor placed his laser pointer back in his pocket and turned to directly face the camera. He clasped his hands together and broadened his smile.

“I’m sure you’ll love these horrid little beasts! So let’s return to the Crumshire Estate where the contest is about to begin! Back to you Frigibald and Alimini!”

Another cut, and we’re outside: noonday sun with a hint of wispy cloud adding a touch of character to the bright blue sky. Count Frigibald Von Karstek and Lady Aliminini Vinwhip stand in a wooden pavilion atop a hill. They are dressed as nobles for the outdoors. Count Frigibald wears a red hunting jacket and a Homburg hat. Lady Alimini has donned riding clothes, including a black habit and a felt tophat. She even bears a riding crop. They could not possibly have changed in the intervening minutes. Their expressions are as neutral as before.

“Welcome to the judgement fields,” Count Frigibald intones.

“And how lovely they look today,” Lady Alimini adds. “Nothing makes hellspawn stand out more than the contrast with a perfect spring day.”

“Indeed.”

They raise their right hands in unison into the air, wrists limp. The camera responds by circling above, providing a panoramic view of the surrounding area: the three-story white mansion decked out in Victorian style, sporting no less than seventeen bay windows. Dotting the surrounding grounds are a series of labyrinthine barns, seven in all for the seven categories of monsters, each a different, dark-tinged color: deep magenta, burnt orange, mustard gold, midnight blue, merlot red, seaweed green, and jet black.

The camera sweeps out wide to show the river of blood that surrounded the estate and the single granite bridge providing the only exit. A sign by the bridge reads: Welcome to Crumshire Manor. If you’re not sure if this is the right place, you REALLY shouldn’t be here. In the background, imposing high hills can be seen.

The camera turns again, careening toward one of the stables, the midnight blue one, two-stories high but smaller than most of the others. That its roof is covered in heinous spikes, poking out at all angles, gives a hint at what creatures lurk inside.

The camera zooms in on a fenced off area beside the stable. Black streamers whip about in the wind. Fashionable socialites, most sporting some dark blue accoutrement, fill nearby grandstands and look on expectantly. A tall, stately woman with azure-colored eyes, wearing a red velvet pantsuit and hat, stands in the center of the fencing. All is quiet…

Until the procession begins! The crowd cheers as trainers emerge from the stables, leading leashed monstrosities. As a troupe, they circle the area, each creature holding its nasty head high and its toothy mouth open in a show of pride and exhilaration.

An unseen person speaks, the confident, animated voice of a sports announcer: The gnashers are upon us!

The crowd erupts, and holds their cheers a full minute as the trainers and their beasts space out around the pavilion, pacing their jog to maintain a full twenty feet between monsters. The announcer continues: Welcome everyone. I am Phineas Gambol, and it is my pleasure to host this second week for the 737th annual edition of this wonderful contest.

The camera cuts to a close-up of the first contestant, a long-limbed, small headed, scrabbrous creature that moves a bit like a sloth as it lopes along.

First out of the gate is Scratch, he may not look much of a gnasher, but he was allowed to participate because his claws are pure bone, and sharp enough to meet the requirements for teeth. I think the judges just liked the filthy look of him. Scratch’s trainer is an American lawyer. She signed a major contract with a cabal of wizards and received Scratch as part of the bargain. Tale as old as time.

Now here’s Flower Child, notice the traditional alligator-shape, but this lizard grows a variety of flowers, currently daisies, on her back. What a fiendish surprise! What a clever way to tempt victims! What a true ankle biter! Flower Child’s trainer is a witch who threw all her leftover potion ingredients together into a single large pot. Flower Child was the result.

Now we have Chopper. Poor little Chopper. He almost didn’t meet the teeth requirement, but luckily he’s so small that his single large incisor proved just barely enough. First time trainer who is a pet-store owner who received a surprise donation. She’d never even heard of the Crumshire Monster Show until a few months back. Now here she is in the Gnasher finals! But poor Chopper. Look at how he tries to hold his sad little face high. He’s doing his best. Poor Chopper surely has no chance at the Black Ribbon.

Moving on to real contenders, this sawfish-shaped critter is named Snark. What creative teeth, all turned outward like that. Truly horrible! Snark’s owner is a stand-up comic whose dark humor caught the attention of an elder god.

And now this large fellow… What a monster! His name is Champino and he’s this week’s Spotlight Specimen.

The screen fills with graphics. We are treated to a fancy chart featuring Champino’s vital statistics, creation details, even a rotating wireframe diagram of the brawny beast.

As you can see, Champino comes in right at the weight limit and is as muscular and fearsome as they come. His maw is filled with canine teeth as large as my middle finger and equally insulting to the civility of god and man. His capacious mouth could fit two bowling-balls, and his bite force could crush a toaster oven.

His trainer, and owner, is one of the legends of the sport. Ursula Malicious served as Royal Inquisitor for a decade. She oversaw the Subterranean Thought Annihilation Experiments. She’s won seventeen Crumshire Black Ribbons over the years, five in this category alone!

It’s said that Ursula created Champino by coercing ten sweaty psychics into focusing on a bucket of chicken entrails while Rage Metal Music played in the background. Champino is, in the most literal sense, a product of pure hate. It would be a monumental upset if he weren’t to claim best-in-show today.

Other creatures followed: Thresh, who churns up the dirt as he walks. The Rumpus, with a long, spiny anteater-like snout. Slithar, with a cat’s head and snake body. Each in turn took their positions in line with their trainers.

The head judge with the deep blue eyes and the red velvet hat begins walking down the row, analyzing each toothy creation in turn, even going so far as to pull open their mouths and run her hand along their defining fangs, quickly pulling back from any that snap at her. The announcer's voice drops to a whisper:

Our head judge is Margaret Mary Mettle. This is her 49th year in the role of head arbiter. She’s partially retired, only judges the Gnasher competition, claiming she, and I quote, “loves those little freaks.” She’s suffered several gnasher bites over the decades, but none since 1999, when a piranha-with-legs named Mawful leapt up and chewed her ear. The puns that day were something else.

At last Margaret comes to Champino. She runs her hands over his broad shoulders. She meets his eyes, the horrid lumps of opal that they are. His mouth opens. The void! The horrible void! How could anyone look into such an abyss and keep their sanity! Repent all who watch!

…

…

…

And a pat on the head from the judge! Champino will be tough to beat indeed! Still a few contestants to look at. Here she is looking over Snark, running her hand along his toothy nose and next onto-

Oh my, she’s been bitten! Or has she? There’s no blood, but she’s staring at her hand! It was Chopper! Oh, poor Chopper. She bent down to inspect his one tooth and quick-as-a-flash he snapped at her.

I see now. He pierced her hand straight through! Look! From this angle you can see her azure eye clean through the puncture. Yet no blood! He cauterized the wound! What a wonderfully wicked ability to come from that little squirt!

And… and… she’s pulled out the Black Ribbon of Fate! And Chopper is the winner! What a surprise! What an upset! You can tell how Miss Mettle’s face went from pure terror to absolute joy! That’s the kind of surprise that puts an underdog on the map!

And that little blighter is practically beaming with pride. If he had more than one tooth he’d surely be smiling. And his trainer looks pleased as punch! From a complete unknown to a champion! If you can’t love this story you don’t have a heart! Poor Chopper! Poor, wonderful Chopper! They’ll be talking about this in the depths of the dark fortress today, I can tell you that!

What a day for the Crumshire Monster Show! Back to you Frigibald and Alimini!

The camera cuts to the front porch of the mansion, where Count Frigibald Von Karstek and Lady Aliminini Vinwhip stand in their eveningwear outfits. Their faces betray no hint of emotion.

“Congratulations to Chopper and his trainer, whose name I didn’t catch. Worthy winners," says Lady Alimini.

“Yes. Quite.”

“And please join us next week, where we’ll crown a winner in the necrotic category.”

“Won’t that be fun.”

“Indeed. Who doesn’t love seeing the dead rise and shamble about in mockery of all that is holy?”

“Until then. May you eat well. May your friends be monstrous and your travels take you down a shadowy path to the dark depths of the world.”

Click.