My breath caught in my throat. My whole body vibrated, ringing like the bell on top of the strongman carnival game. Even my teeth ached.
I knelt on the splintered, rotten wood, reached toward the gift—for surely it was a gift—left just for me.
I picked it up, this old familiar friend—more worn now, cracked and battered—but still, holding it in my hands felt like a homecoming, a reunion.
I ran my fingers over the cover, the title, struggling to make out the details in the dark.
THE BOOK OF MONSTERS
By Violet Hildreth and Iris Whose Last Name We Don’t Know
Illustrations by Eric Hildreth
1978
There was Eric’s chimera, the bright marker colors faded.
A tear fell from my cheek onto the book, and I quickly wiped it away.
I couldn’t bring myself to open it. Instead, I set down the gun, hugged the book, pulling it tight to my chest.
Then I saw something else in the pile of leaves.
A little figure. A doll.
I reached for it, picked it up, trying to make out the details in the moonlight.
The doll was made from white cloth, like the fabric of a T-shirt. It had a stitched face, frowning, with crosses for eyes like a dead character in a cartoon. It was dressed in blue denim shorts, a black hooded sweatshirt. Black sneakers stitched together with pieces of worn canvas made from actual sneakers （I could spot part of the star of the Converse logo）。 And sewn into the top of the doll’s head was a wild spray of blond hair with purple tips. Real hair, I realized as I touched it.
Lauren’s hair.
The doll’s clothes must be made of Lauren’s actual clothes.
Then I heard footsteps. Not the wind or the scuttling of a small animal. The metal stairs shifted and groaned, bits of loose concrete falling down as someone started to climb toward me.
THE BOOK OF MONSTERS
By Violet Hildreth and Iris Whose Last Name We Don’t Know
Illustrations by Eric Hildreth
1978
Some monsters are born that way.
Some are made.
The Helping Hand of God: The True Story of the Hillside Inn By Julia Tetreault, Dark Passages Press, 1980
From the files of Dr. Helen Hildreth
B West, Mayflower Project
PATIENT S
Background and family history:
D.P. was a 38-year-old white male with a history of alcohol abuse and a criminal record. He had been arrested for assault and battery and drunk and disorderly conduct. He worked as a day laborer. His IQ was 84. He had a long, sloping forehead, small close-set eyes, and poor dentition. He had unmanaged high blood pressure.
D.P. was referred to Project Hope, the state-run clinic where I do volunteer work. The underlying mission of Project Hope is to help individuals with psychiatric issues （including drug and alcohol abuse） reintegrate successfully with society after being released from prison.
D.P.’s weekly visits to Project Hope for counseling were part of the requirement of his probation, and he was to continue them for twelve months.
When I began working with D.P., I did background research into his family and was stunned to discover that he was the great-grandson of none other than William “Templeton,” the patriarch of the family Dr. Hicks and I followed for years for our study.
Coincidence?
More like a moment of synchronicity, which Jung defined as a “meaningful coincidence.”