People think of monsters as things, as entities such as ghouls, subterranean octopuses or Ted Cruz.
This is correct but limited. A monster also can be a place: a vicious bar, an unsavory street corner and in some cases even a church. The study of such monsters is known as “cryptogeography.” Cryptogeographers study predatory locations, whether they be undead, super or preternatural, extraterrestrial in origin or otherwise just predatory and dangerous to meet.
The monster Kentucky first came to the attention of cryptogeographers in 1792, when the state became the first state west of the Appalachian Mountains to enter the United States. The monster lures its victims in with visions of the state’s rolling hills of bluegrass and many other attractions, and soon the monster begins feeding off them like a Venus fly trap consuming houseflies. Those who escape, say, to teach overseas, always find themselves drawn back, as the monster regards them as an unfinished meal. In time such people have been known to suspect old friends of making up monster stories just to tease them.
Some cryptogeographs develop a reputation for outright savagery — there’s a corner of Bradford Street in Pittsbugh that has been known to send librarians to the hospital, for instance, without ever relying on muggers; and a set of coordinates in the Pacific Ocean that gets its jollies by sinking ships — but Kentucky is much slower and more methodical. Witness what its long association with Mitch McConnell has done to his hands.
Kentucky’s appetite for race horses was commemorated in the folk song “Stewball.”
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