When I was young, I really enjoyed Edgar Allan Poe’s short stories. I still enjoy them, though I look at them differently as an adult. One story that doesn’t get as much attention as others is “The Sphinx.” (You can read it on About.com among other places)

[Spoiler alert: If you’re going to read the short story, do it before reading the rest of this!]

In the story, the narrator is visiting a friend. The narrator, as is often the case in Poe’s story, is a gloomy fellow, given to bouts of melancholy. To make matters worse, he spent his time at his friend’s house reading books which “were of a character to force into germination whatever seeds of hereditary superstition lay latent in my bosom.”

One day, while looking out the window, the narrator sees a monster, a terrible creature, coming down a nearby hill. I can’t do justice to Poe’s description, so I’ll reproduce it here:

Estimating the size of the creature by comparison with the diameter of the large trees near which it passed-the few giants of the forest which had escaped the fury of the land-slide-I concluded it to be far larger than any ship of the line in existence. I say ship of the line, because the shape of the monster suggested the idea- the hull of one of our seventy-four might convey a very tolerable conception of the general outline. The mouth of the animal was situated at the extremity of a proboscis some sixty or seventy feet in length, and about as thick as the body of an ordinary elephant. Near the root of this trunk was an immense quantity of black shaggy hair- more than could have been supplied by the coats of a score of buffaloes; and projecting from this hair downwardly and laterally, sprang two gleaming tusks not unlike those of the wild boar, but of infinitely greater dimensions. Extending forward, parallel with the proboscis, and on each side of it, was a gigantic staff, thirty or forty feet in length, formed seemingly of pure crystal and in shape a perfect prism,-it reflected in the most gorgeous manner the rays of the declining sun. The trunk was fashioned like a wedge with the apex to the earth. From it there were outspread two pairs of wings- each wing nearly one hundred yards in length-one pair being placed above the other, and all thickly covered with metal scales; each scale apparently some ten or twelve feet in diameter. I observed that the upper and lower tiers of wings were connected by a strong chain. But the chief peculiarity of this horrible thing was the representation of a Death’s Head, which covered nearly the whole surface of its breast, and which was as accurately traced in glaring white, upon the dark ground of the body, as if it had been there carefully designed by an artist. While I regarded the terrific animal, and more especially the appearance on its breast, with a feeling or horror and awe-with a sentiment of forthcoming evil, which I found it impossible to quell by any effort of the reason, I perceived the huge jaws at the extremity of the proboscis suddenly expand themselves, and from them there proceeded a sound so loud and so expressive of wo, that it struck upon my nerves like a knell and as the monster disappeared at the foot of the hill, I fell at once, fainting, to the floor.

When the narrator’s friend returned, he was at first shocked to hear the tale of the monster. Then his shock turned to amusement. He was soon able to point out that what the narrator had perceived to be a monster was merely a moth. The story ends with the revelation:

“Ah, here it is,” he presently exclaimed-“it is reascending the face of the hill, and a very remarkable looking creature I admit it to be. Still, it is by no means so large or so distant as you imagined it,-for the fact is that, as it wriggles its way up this thread, which some spider has wrought along the window-sash, I find it to be about the sixteenth of an inch in its extreme length, and also about the sixteenth of an inch distant from the pupil of my eye.”

I love short stories with a twist at the end. (Jorge Luis Borges of Argentina was very good at this) I especially like this story because I can relate it to my own life. So many times I get worried by monsters that come into my world, only to discover they are mere insects when seen from the proper perspective. These monsters (illness, financial problems, etc.) lose their importance when seen in the light of eternity.