It is viewed, to a large degree, as an object. Something to want, something to keep, something to value because of its uniqueness. At best, it is elevated to the status of a pet—a living creature, but one who’s will and desire are, if not irrelevant, at least considered far less important than our own. At worst, they’re just a face and a name to try and trap our fear of the unknown, containing it with a ring of words that will make the undefinable more defined, and by definition, easier to control or destroy.

Even now, knowing all of this, I often think of Harvey as “the monster”. Less because of what it did than what it is—something that we didn’t understand and that we should have been terrified of.

****

It took digging up three stones before Harvey could move through the space, and I remember the thrill of fear when it did so. I felt like we had snuck into a circus and opened up the lion’s cage. Except as it passed the threshold of its prison, it wasn’t a lion, or even a leaf devil any more.

Now it was a large hedgehog.

It was far larger than any regular hedgehog, being roughly the height of a medium-sized beagle, and its appearance was vastly different as well, but that didn’t change the fact that it had gone from being a largely invisible force to a fantastic version of a cute woodland creature. Its face and paws seemed to be hewn from some kind of light, living wood, and its spiny back was a tightly woven thicket of leaves and sticks. When it moved, you could hear a light rustle not that different than the sounds the leaf devil version of Harvey had made.

The fact that it looked like a very cute and non-threatening animal, while a relief, did give me a bit of pause even then. Either that was its natural form or it was an appearance that was deliberately chosen. If Harvey had chosen to look that way, was it because it wanted to be appealing and ease our fears, or because it wanted us to let our guards down?