The thing is, there are three types of monsters.
The first type is obvious. These are your bog-standard critters — what the layperson calls a werewolf or a chupacabra or whatever tale the locals come up with. Some of them are true critters, wolves or lions or suchlike that have gone—off in some way, but most of them are poor fuckers who were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and now they’re like this. Don’t get me wrong, we still dispose of them—can’t have some wolfman running around ripping the bellies out of your pets and children, no matter how bad you feel about it—but it’s a little sad, you know?
The second type—the layperson may not even realize what they are, just that they’re something. Navigational anomalies. Unexpected storm fronts. Earthquakes where they shouldn’t be, and no earthquakes where they should be. A patch of desert that takes a day to get through, whether you’re on foot or on horseback or flying a plane. Houses and rooms that feel just a little off, all the time, no matter how many lamps you put in or how much sage you smudge. It’s a little less straightforward, but science and ritual take care of them. Usually.
The last is the most dangerous. These are the monsters that hide in human form. There are tells, sometimes, that your best friend/therapist/bagger at the local grocery store/neighbor/son aren’t who they say they are, that underneath that smiling face is a rotting void of meat and malice —
— but usually not. We’re better than most at it, but any idiot with a shotgun can kill some sad sap feeding off the blood of chickens. We know how to get it done, but in the end, enough good intentions and a couple of concerned citizens can stave off a “natural” disaster. But when it comes to finding the things that lurk beneath human masks, that’s where they need us.