Remember: when monsters come to dance, ask them to leave their shoes outside.
Your human guests may track in mud, but your monster friends will leave a viscera that no deep cleaning will ever get out again.

When monsters stop for tea, put an extra lump of sugar in every cup, for your monsters need all the sweetness you can spare.

When monsters ask you to bring something to the potluck, politely decline.
They love you, but there's nothing to be done when you turn out to be the tastiest dish.

When monsters gossip, listen with rapt attention, but never, ever share what you learn.
Take all secrets to the desert, dig a hole, and yell it to the underworld. Bury it forever. Try not to even think about it again.

When your monster friends beckon from the woods while you are safe inside, simply wave as if you misunderstood what they meant, then close the curtains and double lock the doors.
Those were not smiles that glinted in the gloaming.

But some fatal night when the wilderness claims your heart, go with them beneath a gibbous moon and howl ... for even if you lose yourself and forget your human form, your monster friends will see you home and safe to bed ...

where you will awake in wonder, and with an abiding discontent that will see you through all the terrible days and pitch black nights that lie ahead.