This story is written as a response to the Muse on Monday writing prompt for May 19, 2025: A figure in a black cloak and sword approaches you and tells you not to be afraid.

Head Monsters

I had a list of people to see that day. A figure in a dark cloak wasn’t one of them.

I had just stepped out of the bank when she stepped up to me, looking like she had escaped from a comic-con.

“Don’t be afraid,” she said.

“Got it,” I replied. “Thanks for the encouragement.”

I moved to walk past her. “It’s just that I need to kill that thing on your head,” she said.

I felt the top of my head like an idiot. Oh, great. There was a camera around and this would be going viral on Tiktok in a week.

“You can’t detect it,” she said. “Only I have that sight. I noticed as I walked past the bank that you have a Class 4 doom entity crouched on your head.”

I felt the top of my head again. Still nothing, but I felt like if there really was a Class 4 doom entity on my head, I should have some indication.

“Have you felt depressed lately?” the girl asked. “Mysterious misfortunes occurring?”

“I’m always depressed,” I said. “As for bad stuff, I stubbed my toe a few days ago. And the line in the bank was really long.”

The girl moved her cloak aside to show a long sword on her hip. “I just need to stab it with my magic sword, and it will disappear.”

“What, here?”

“We can go into the alley, if you want.”

I did not, in fact, want to go into an alley with a sword-wielding cosplayer, but I also didn’t want her waving swords around my head here in front of the bank.

“Listen, I appreciate your concern,” I said, “but I’m good. I don’t mind having a Class 10 doom puppy on my head.”

“Class 4,” she said. “You’d be dead if it was a Class 10.”

“Well, thank God for that then,” I said. I turned and started to walk away. I’d gone about five steps when there was a slight whistling sound over my head, and I looked up to see a flash of steel. I turned to see the girl putting her sword back in its scabbard.

“I got it,” she said. “You’re fine now.” She turned and walked away.

I went home, my errands done and apparently minus one Class 4 doom entity. That evening I sat down to write and for some reason I couldn’t think of anything. The words just wouldn’t come.

Oh no, I thought. What if that thing was my muse? What if muses look a lot like Class 4 doom entities, like coral snakes and king snakes? Or maybe my muse was hanging out with the doom thingy (it is a pretty weird dude) and she killed them both? That sword wasn’t exactly a scalpel. I was going to be so mad if she’d killed off my muse.

Maybe my muse had just been scared off by the magic sword. I could imagine it throwing itself out of the way of the sword, maybe hiding in my ear canal or something. Maybe I could coax it back out if I wrote a bit. I’d have to start slow and easy, put out some muse-bait, as it were.

Once upon a time, I started to write. Come on, little guy.