It’s why whenever something rises from a tomb, or comes here from outer space, or emerges from the depths of the ocean its first piece of business is to eat us. Never cattle or rain forests or petroleum.

It’s what has been exiled, coming back because it’s ours. Because it’s us. Having spent so much time in an Aztec crypt or planet far from the sun it’s developed a distorted idea of things, as well as a lot of resentment.

If we defeat it it’s just going to come back in the next movie or nightmare or failed romantic relationship. We have to somehow get it to the table without being eaten alive—because that can happen, not everyone makes it to the end of the story—and share a meal with it. Give it some of the same thing we live on. Bring it back into the family. Carefully.