The Horror, the Horror

When summer becomes insufferable, youngsters here in the Minor Outlying Islands often yearn for the sea breeze and a chance to chug overpriced drinks in an atmosphere of vulgar hedonism.  Thus, the exodus to the East End begins.  By train, by car or by bus (excusez nous, we meant to say jitney), they haul themselves out to the once-pleasant Hamptons or, for those without a trust fund, the bucolic fishing village called Montauk.

And there, the horror begins.

Summer's boozy pleasures have been disrupted this year by sightings of a hideous creature, said to resemble a hairless dog with a beak and foreclaw.  

Legal secretaries are afraid to stumble home to their rented cottage in the wee hours, and ex-jocks trying to make it as stockbrokers have been seen retching piteously into the shrubbery, no doubt after glimpsing the Montauk Monster.  

The Church has not been silent in the face of this abomination -- at least not entirely.

One Manhattan congregation bravely hosted a prayer vigil, to support those endangered by this creature.  And make no mistake:  this is an urban problem.  An astute zoological observer has observed that a creature so hideous must surely have its origin in the most polluted waterway in North America, Brooklyn's Gowanus Canal.

Now, we at the Egg have a confession.  These stories chill our blood at a personal level. (Or as they say these days, "a deeply personal level.") Years ago, we briefly shared a Montauk cottage.  And in those same years, we lived in a third-floor walkup beside the Gowanus Canal.  Our memories are hazy, but there was one morning when we woke up red with what must have been claw marks.  So, ever since the story broke, we have have hunkered down in the sacristy, surrounded by scapulars and Latin formularies, trying to exorcise ourselves of one haunting terror.  In our youth, we may -- just may -- have hooked up with the Montauk Monster.