Gerald had been trying to be terrifying for eleven years, without much success.
The problem was his manners.
He would burst from a cupboard roaring — then immediately apologise for startling everyone.
He would creep up behind someone in the dark — then say "excuse me" before tapping them on the shoulder.
He once spent three weeks constructing a lair, only to invite the village in for a tour and offer them refreshments.
"You're the least frightening monster I've ever met," said the knight who had been sent to defeat him.
"I'm working on it," said Gerald.
"Why?" said the knight. She had put her sword away and accepted a cup of tea.
Gerald thought about it. It was a good question. He was warm. He was well-fed. He had a very nice lair. The villagers brought him cake, now that they weren't afraid of him.
"I suppose I thought terrifying was what monsters were meant to be," he said.
"Maybe," said the knight, "you're just a different kind."
Gerald considered this.
"Would you like a biscuit?" he said.
"I would love a biscuit," said the knight.
It was, by any measure, a successful afternoon.