The Fur Coat: An Original Story by Jennifer Weigel
I grew up in a small but comfortable house in northeastern Maine. The backyard overlooked the ocean from a short, rocky outcrop. The front faced onto the gravel road that Father drove to and from work. A poorly defined gravel driveway ended behind the house at a small ramshackle shed that I dared not enter under Father’s strict orders.
Mother never strayed far from the house despite her apparent contempt for the simplicity of her everyday existence. She cooked. She cleaned. She laundered the clothes and washed the dishes and did all of those things that a good housewife should. But every afternoon, she plopped my brother Shane and I in front of the TV to watch cartoons while she gazed longingly at the sea.
Shane and I shared a room. Our window faced a small broken-paned hole in the ramshackle shed. Late at night, long after the world was asleep, a faint glow emanated from that shed. Always careful not to wake my brother, I pulled myself up to the window and peered out.
Every night, Father stole away into the shed and flicked on a small lamp. He opened a door in the floor, from whence he pulled a large wooden box. Out of this box he drew the most beautiful fur coat. The brownish-gray fur glowed in the lamplight as if it were alive. He gently massaged oils into the coat to keep it supple and carefully replaced it under the floorboards. And when he had finished, he withdrew from this haven and locked his secret firmly behind a deadbolt. Until one winter day…
It was biting cold that day, the kind of cold that gnaws away at your bones from the inside out. Shane and I ran home quicker than usual, hoping for two mugs of hot chocolate to thaw us out. Preferably heaping with marshmallows. But Mother was nowhere to be found.
“Mother,” I called to the cupboards in the empty kitchen.
“Mother,” Shane called to the silent TV in the empty living room.
“Mother!” I screamed to the howling wind out the front door.
Nothing.
The wind beat the porch door into the front of the house with a rhythmic “Ker-chunk!” A terrified Shane dashed about the house crying. He frantically searched for any scrap of evidence while I braved the outdoors.
I rounded the house, past the frozen flowerbed and along the wind-tattered backyard fence. Another loud “Ker-chunk!” resounded through the air, but not from the front porch door. A chill wormed its way up my spine as I spied the driveway.
“Ker-chunk!” The door to the ramshackle shed lay in ruins, leaving a splintered gaping hole. In that hole, Mother swayed back and forth. Her clenched fist tightened around a hammer as she swung into the floorboards with a wild, untamed lunacy. I melded into the fence, unable to move and scarcely able to breathe. I stared at her.
A final “Ker-chunk!” and the floorboards loosed their secret. Mother madly grabbed the wooden box out from under the floor of the shed. She pried it open, her black eyes brimming over with tears. She pulled out the fur coat and barked a shrill cry to the wind.
Mother ran from the tattered shed clutching the fur to her chest and darted around the back of the house. Her gaze slipped right through me as she tore past, unaware of my presence. Meanwhile, the gravel road growled and spat under Father’s tires as he crested the hill towards the house.
Father sped into the driveway upon seeing the shed. His truck jolted to a harsh stop. He erupted from his poorly parked truck and raced around the back of the house just as Mother hurled herself over the rocky outcrop and into the sea. My heart sank into my stomach and my legs became jelly, free from their rigid, frozen stance. “No!” I screamed as I dashed to his side. He clenched my hand tightly, fighting back tears, while I buried my face in the warm cuff of his coat.
“Such a pity. Such an exotic beauty,” the townsfolk murmured. But Father and I knew. She had been our selkie. She had merely returned home.
So, as you may have noticed, we have a special fondness for spiders here on Nightmarish Nature. Well, they are kind of the spokes-critters for horrifying animalia, perhaps because they are so freakishly different from us. Or maybe it’s because I find them a little disconcerting for all that I try to take the “you mind your business, I’ll mind mine” approach, at least if they stay outdoors. Or just because I really like to draw spiders for all that I prefer not to find them sharing my home (though I’ll gladly take spiders over other bugs or mice or larger critters who didn’t get an invite).
Anyway, this segment is devoted to the largest Giants Among Spiders, as if you didn’t have enough to worry about already. And the top place is contested based upon body mass or leg length. Most of these are tarantulas, which globally take top place among the large arachnids.
Goliath Birdeater Tarantula
The Goliath Birdeater Tarantula of South America is the biggest brute of spiderdom, weighing in at over 6 ounces. They build funnel burrows and are known to eat birds (although rarely), mice, lizards, frogs, and snakes, but largely any big insects including other species of spiders. They have urticating barbed hairs that they fling at would-be attackers as an irritant to escape. And people even eat them after they singe the bristles off. Here’s a National Geographic video showing this spider in action, in case you wanted to see a giant spider take out a mouse.
Giant Huntsman Spider
And with the longest legs, we have the Giant Huntsman Spider of Laos, with a leg-span of 12 inches. Their legs have twisted joints and they move in a crab-like manner, which furthers their impressive appearance. ‘Cause they’ve got legs, and know how to use ’em. They prefer to live in underbrush and cave entrances. These are like the big relatives of their Australian cousins, which we’ve all seen online and developed a healthy aversion to.
Brazilian Salmon Pink Birdeater & Brazilian Giant Tawny Red Tarantulas
Next we have two more South American species: the Brazilian Salmon Pink Birdeater, which boasts one-inch fangs, and the Brazilian Giant Tawny Red, believed to be the longest-lived spider with a lifespan of up to thirty years. Both are in the tarantula family and have urticating hairs, a word you probably never read much before today unless you are in the hobby. So apparently South America is not the best travel destination for you if you struggle with arachnophobia, though I suspect you’d figured that out already. (I wouldn’t recommend Australia or Southeast Asia either.)
Face Size Tarantula
And finally the Face Size Tarantula, which has a very terror-inducing name reminiscent of the Face Huggers of Alien-glory. Anyway, these spiders have an 8-inch leg-span and live in India and Sri Lanka. They look kind of like big hairy wolf spiders with stripey legs, sometimes with pink and daffodil coloring.
If you enjoyed this eight-legged segment of Nightmarish Nature on Giants Among Spiders and their larger than life kin, please check out past segments:
So here is our last installment of our AI journey exploring the idea of Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad wolf being one and the same. All of these are based upon the AI generated art and prompts using NightCafe and then created as posters in Canva. Feel free to check out Part 1 and Part 2 of this exploration if you missed them.
A non sequitur I know, but I couldn’t resist. If you picked up where we left off you’ll get it.
Seriously?! Again with the cropped off head cop out…
Finally! That was a journey. And not even worth the result, in my opinion.
Anyway, here is a bonus montage I made out of a bunch of additional Red Riding Hood prompts for an article that never happened…
Prompts for Montage:
1.) What if Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf were one and the same being?
2.) Her wolf face peering out of her red cloak, fangs dripping with the blood of another victim, lost in the forest and never found.
3.) Little Red Riding Hood closes in for the kill, lunging from her red cloak, her wolf fangs dripping with blood.
4.) I am Little Red Riding Hood. I am the Big Bad Wolf. I am coming for you.
5.) Howling within, the rage sears forth from the red cloak, discarded in the deep woods. Red Riding Hood succumbs to the lycanthropy.
6.) Heaving breaths. Dripping blood. Red Riding Hood is not what she appears. She is a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
7.) Her red cloak masks the fangs hidden below the surface.
8.) It starts with a long sighing breath. Waiting. The wolf within stirs.
9.) Red Riding Hood trembles. She succumbs to the lycanthropy.
10.) The wolf bursts forth from within. It takes over Little Red Riding Hood’s mind, her body, her being.
11.) Red Riding Hood howls. She is ravenous with hunger for blood. The wolf within has taken over. Mind, spirit, body. She feasts on the blood of the moon.
12.) Big Bad Wolf Red Riding Hood ravenous blood moon feast
13.) Blood moon beckons. I. Little Red Big Bad Riding Hood Wolf. Freedom howling night curse.
14.) Beware. Bewolf. BeRedRidingHood. Betwixt. Beyond.
15.) I pad quietly as the forest dissolves around me. Red Riding Hood and Wolf, one and the same.
16.) Wolf within howling dark recesses of the mind, Red Riding Hood lost
17.) Red Riding Hood HOWL wolf bane true existence polymorph within-and-without.
18.) Red howl Riding Wolf dark existence brooding within
So thank you for joining us on another AI art journey. You can still catch the last AI art journey on Haunted MTL here. To see more such devolutions into AI generated art, check out the Will the Real Jennifer Weigel Please Stand Up? blog.
Continuing our AI journey from last time exploring Little Red Riding Hood herself as the Big Bad Wolf… All of these are based upon the AI generated art and prompts using NightCafe and then created as posters in Canva.
How very… Phantom of the Opera predatory… this is definitely not what I had in mind. Maybe something more cutesy?
Ugh. Maybe not.
Wow, that seems like such a cop out, cropping off the head so you don’t have to depict it. And I don’t want to lose the Little Red Riding Hood reference completely.
So no surprise there, I knew that was too many references to work.
And we continued to devolve, join us again next week for the final installment to see how this ended… And again, if you want to catch the last AI art journey, you can find it on Haunted MTL here. To see more such devolutions into AI generated art, check out the Will the Real Jennifer Weigel Please Stand Up? blog.
