Monastic Sasquatch

Patrick Deneen as a cryptid would obviously be some kind of Rust Belt Monastic Sasquatch, the sort of creature that only appears near abandoned factories, Catholic universities, and footnotes complaining about liberalism.

Picture this:
He lives in the liminal space between a cloister and a faculty lounge. Sightings occur when someone mutters “procedural neutrality” three times into a mirror. He’s described as carrying a leather-bound copy of Democracy in America, leaving behind muddy boot prints and a strong scent of communitarian disappointment. Locals report that he doesn’t attack—he just lectures, quietly but relentlessly, until your Enlightenment assumptions collapse inward like a dying strip mall.

His call is a low, mournful sound, often mistaken for wind through cornfields, but if you listen closely it’s saying, “This was inevitable.” Attempts to photograph him fail because the camera somehow turns into a town-hall meeting.

He’s not hostile, exactly. He just watches modernity wander into the woods, trip over its own autonomy, and then shakes his head sadly before disappearing back into the mist to write another book about it.

In short: not a jump-scare cryptid. A slow, inevitable cryptid. The kind that ruins your worldview, not your campsite.