13 Days of Krampus: Traditions
He coughed again and the woman in front of him turned around again, like clockwork, face pinched but empty. She never said anything, but her eyes said enough. She reminded him of his mother.
The lines in J.C. Penney for checking out were overwhelming, wrapping around the clothing areas, over and over – a labyrinth of bulky bodies clutching their heaps of linens, blenders and clothes. Connor only had one thing, a small jewelry box that was already hot and sharp against his palm.
He coughed again, struggling to suppress it, but succumbing to its twitching urge. The woman turned, frowned, and turned back around. Andy Williams reminded them for the third time that it was the most wonderful time of the year.
He hated it. Every inch of these feelings – the people, the waiting, the box, the music, the woman who reminded him of his mother. The expectations. God, yes, those. He had only been dating Stephanie for two months, if it could even be called dating. She spent most of their time together on Facebook and Pinterest.
He couldn’t really say no to his mother, though. He was already fifty-two and this, unfortunately, had been the longest he had been in a relationship. The thought made his stomach squeeze uncomfortably and that itch was in his throat again, trembling against his larynx.
He coughed. The woman turned. Frowned. Turned back. The jewelry box pulsated. It was the most wonderful time of the year again.
Anxious clockwork.
It didn’t matter what he had wanted from his life; it was just endless cycles ultimately determined by causes external to his will. He could carve the years backwards and find every outcome was preceded by the wants and wills of others. The ring didn’t matter. The proposal didn’t matter. The dating. The job, the college, the degree, the first day of school when his mother forced him into the plaid corduroy pants – it was all ultimately others’ actions and reactions that drove his life.
That twitch again, now burning as he tried to hold it in. His lungs stung, felt like splitting, as he desperately clung to the sensations.
His mind raced as the ring was heavier in his hand. What was he supposed to say when he asked her? What was he supposed to do in the years that followed? What was he supposed to say, down the road, to a child with his long, sad face?
What the hell was he supposed to do then?
Coughing harder than before, he felt something crack -physically snap- inside his ribs. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t breathe. He was failing at composing himself, from calling attention to himself.
The woman turned, she frowned, but it did nothing to calm the spasms twisting through his body. He clutched the jewelry box like a lifeline as he wheezed and hacked, that itch more palpable, crawling up his throat.
Horrified, he watched blood splatter from his open mouth, easily spilling onto his shoes with each cough. The itch was now scratching, pushing, gnawing to be loosed from his swollen throat – urgent and desperate in its need.
More horrified when he watched the expelled chunks of flesh fling onto the carpet, as Andy Williams assured him manically that this was the most wonderful time of the year! As the woman still said nothing, face pinched doing nothing but following her own predestined clockwork.
On his knees, he could only expel, couldn’t suck in any air. He was drowning, slamming the jewelry box into the floor in blinded agony. Until finally, it was free. Until finally he could pull air into his torn, bleeding lungs.
Until finally, there in the cradle of purple-veined pulp, was the creature. Now free, it turned towards him. Black and lithe, its long face reminded him of his mother.
Frowning.
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.
Jennifer Weigel
December 23, 2020 at 10:20 pm
“It IS the most wonderful time of the year…” she scowls.