I am a creator of monsters. It’s a hobby of mine, something I enjoy doing when I have nothing else going on. It’s a more mundane activity than one would think, to be completely honest. It involves me, sitting at a computer, typing about some weird creature killing some poor schmuck.

I've always loved writing stories, ever since I was a child, and the Internet provides a great outlet. Writing stories for various creepypasta sites takes up a lot of my free time. It requires complete concentration, and I must blitz my chakras before every story I write. It’s a good activity, and it really distracts me from the trials of real life. However, my favorite creature is one I deem The Wraiths.

They are a race of very tall, slim creatures. They are practically skeletons, with black skin holding tight against their bones. They have no nose, no eyes, and no ears, but they have a mouth. It reaches across their face, and is filled with teeth like needles.

So long and sharp, these teeth, that they look like they might puncture through their jaws if they were to close their mouths completely. The Wraiths eat only human skulls. They will snap the neck of their human victims, tearing off their victims head and discarding the rest of their bodies.

They then remove all of the skin and muscle, crack open the skull, remove the brain, and devour the skull. They do it in one bite, dislocating their jaw to they can fit the entire skull into their mouths. They are virtually silent creatures, these Wraiths, and the only sound they emit is a low hiss before they pounce.

In one instance, a young traveler had been exploring the frontier of early America. He wasn't on any sort of expedition; and for some reason he felt it was a good idea to go exploring dangerous land alone. He kept a journal, writing down his daily experiences, and while most were mundane some were… Strange. Every once in awhile he would write about a strange creature he saw in the distance, or of strange sounds he heard just outside his camp. Hissing sounds.

His body was found, missing his head, brain and face mauled beyond repair. His final journal entry was time at approximately noon, and he wrote of a very mundane fishing activity. He was obviously killed shortly after, as his body was found by a stream. It was, unnerving for the explorers who found his body. They were only a few days behind him, and they heard the screams of a man echo through the mountains, but they were too far away to do anything about it.

That was the “reality” of the Wraiths. Sadly, they were more real than I had given them credit for. I still remember what happened years ago when I had written about half of what I have about the Wraiths.

I laid in my bed, attempting to fall asleep. I felt uneasy, which was a feeling almost completely foreign to me. I dealt with creepy shit everyday, and it bothered me immensely that I felt this way. I began stirring, unable to concentrate on actual sleep. I slowly got up, walking out to my kitchen. I was craving some milk, because milk is awesome, and wasn’t really in the mood for sitting in my bed all night staring at the ceiling.

I opened the fridge, glass in hand, and removed the milk from the fridge. I poured a glass, chugged it down quickly, and rinsed out the glass before heading back up to my room. As I opened up my door, I heard a low hiss, and my heart stopped. I look into the far corner, and saw a tall, hunched figure. So large that he hit the ceiling near his mid-back.

He slowly, so very slowly, moved away from the corner. With a sudden burst of speed, The wraith was in front of me. It hissed, in a low, low tone. I could feel the sound waves move through the air, enter and bounce around my body. I stared at the creature for what seemed like hours.

I could even swear that the sun had began to rise. He ceased hissing, and his mouth morphed into a twisted smile, his needle like teeth bearing themselves. In the strangest turn of events, he took his hand, and place it on my shoulder, nodding slowly. With that, he quickly scrambled out the window, and I stumbled into my bed, falling asleep.

To this day, I see that wraith. He follows me, like a shadow, watching over me. He’s an angel, in a sense. I wrote him into the mythology of the Wraiths, and created a very rare type of Warith that acted as a sort of guardian angel. His name is Abaddon, and since meeting him, I have begun to see most of the creatures I’ve created. It’s, interesting to say the least.

I guess, being a creator grants special perks. All I know is that the creatures we create in our minds, and put down on paper, are very real. Do not take the process of creating monsters as lightly as I used to. So, take caution writers. You may just end up creating more of a monster than you bargain for.