Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a nameless monster. The monster was dying to have a name, so the monster set out on a journey to find one. But the world was a very large place. The monster split into two and went on their way. One monster went East. One went to the West. The monster who went to the East found a village. At the village’s entrance there lived a blacksmith. “Mr.Blacksmith, give me your name” said the monster. “I can’t give you my name” the blacksmith replied. “In return for giving me your name, I’ll go inside of you and make you strong.” “Really? If you make me strong, I’ll give you my name.” The monster went inside the blacksmith. Thus, the monster became, Otto the blacksmith. Otto the blacksmith was the strongest man in the village. But then one day… “Look at me, look at me. The monster inside me is getting so big.” He said. Munch-munch, chomp-chomp, gobble-gobble, gulp. The hungry monster ate Otto from the inside out. Once again, he was a monster without a name.
When he went inside Hans the shoemaker, however… Munch-munch, chomp-chomp, gobble-gobble, gulp. When he went inside Thomas the hunter, but… Munch-munch, chomp-chomp, gobble-gobble, gulp.The monster was nameless once again. The monster went to a castle to find a nice name. Inside the castle lived a sick boy. “If you give me your name, I’ll make you strong.” “If you can heal my illness and make me strong. I’ll give you my name.” The monster went inside the boy. The boy became full of vigor. The king was overjoyed. “The prince is healthy. The prince is healthy.” The monster liked the boy’s name. He also liked living in the castle. So he restrained himself even though he was hungry. Day after day, he would be terribly hungry, but he restrained himself. But the hunger became just too great. “Look at me. Look at me. The monster inside me has gotten this big,” said the boy. The boy devoured the king and and all his servants. Munch-munch, chomp-chomp, gobble-gobble, gulp.
Everyone was gone, so the boy went on a journey. He walked for days and days. One day, the boy came upon the monster who had gone west. “I have a name. It’s a wonderful name.” Said the boy. The monster who went west replied. “I don’t need a name. I’m perfectly happy without one, after all, that’s what we are–nameless monsters.” The boy ate up the monster who went west. At last he had found a name, but there was no longer anyone around to call him by it. Such a shame, because Johan was such a wonderful name.
As we’ve seen before, 50 Berkeley Square is the most haunted house in London. This infamous home is supposedly full of spirits, but what if there’s something worse crawling through its halls? Ever since the 1840s, there have been stories of a nameless horror lurking in the upper floors. While some claim the “thing” is a violent ghost, others believe Berkeley Square is home to a real-life eldritch abomination.
In the 1840s, paranormal skeptic Sir Robert Warboys accepted the challenge of spending a night in the second story of London’s hell house. At the nervous landlord’s insistence, Warboys armed himself with a candle and a pistol and was ordered to yank the bell pull if anything strange happened. At 12:45, the landlord was jolted from his sleep by the ringing of the bell and the roar of a gunshot. He charged up the stairs and burst into Warboy’s room to find the young man huddled in a corner, smoking pistol in hand, and very much dead. There was no sign of an intruder, but the landlord could tell by the look left on Warboy’s pale face that he’d seen something horrible.
The second encounter took place in 1943, when two sailors named Martin and Blunden, both broke after a night of carousing, decided to spend the night in the abandoned house. They found a relatively dry and rat-free room upstairs, made a nice little fire and fell asleep on the floor. But after midnight, Blunden woke to the sound of creaking hinges and sat up to see the bedroom door slowly opening. Petrified, he woke up Martin, and that’s when they heard something wet, something slimy, dragging its way across the floor, slowly oozing towards them. Martin saw the creature, something he could only describe as a “hideous monstrosity” (perhaps because it was too awful for the human mind to comprehend), and it was blocking the door.
The monster suddenly sprang toward Blunden, wrapping around the man’s throat, choking the life out of him. Martin took off screaming and found a police officer patrolling the neighborhood. The cop was skeptical of Martin’s story, but after searching the house, he found Blunden’s body in the basement. The sailor’s neck was broken, and his eyes were bulging out of his head. Obviously, a more plausible scenario would be that Martin murdered his friend, but then why would he make up such a preposterous story? And what about numerous other sightings where witnesses described seeing a massive, viscous blob armed with tentacles? There are things man was not meant to know, and it might be that one of them lives in 50 Berkeley Square.