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.
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.
And as promised in Big Bad Poetry, we shall embark on our next AI journey, this time looking at Little Red Riding Hood. I had wanted to depict her as the Big Bad Wolf one and the same, although maybe not so big nor bad. But it just wasn’t happening quite as planned. All of these are based upon the AI generated art and prompts using NightCafe and then created as posters in Canva.
So I actually like this even better than my original vision, it is playful and even a bit serene (especially given the Sinister style). The wolf is just being a wolf. It’s quite lovely, really. But it wasn’t what I had in mind, so I revisited the idea later to see if I could get that result…
Well, that’s not quite right…
Yeah more of the same…
And as you can see this is starting to devolve quickly. Join us again next week to see how this continued to develop… And 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.
So considering my recent revival of a wolfwere and his Lucky Days and Nightmarish Nature’s hostile humanity, it seems we are due for a visit from Little Red Riding Hood, or perhaps even Big Bad himself… Here’s a poem on the subject by Jennifer Weigel.
Over the river and through the wood
flashed the fleet-footed Red Riding Hood
on her way to her “grandmother’s” house.
When running past, who should she see
but just one of the little pigs three
cowering like but a tiny mouse.
“But my dear piggy, what do you fear?”
Red Riding Hood asked as she slunk near,
teeth hidden under a sheepish smile.
The nervous small pig looked up in fright
and decided that Red was alright,
missing the subtle clues by a mile.
“The Big Bad Wolf, that horrible beast
upon the other wee pigs did feast!”
the last little pig said with a squeal.
Red Riding Hood laughed with a great growl
and threw back her heavy long-robed cowl,
in a vast terrifying reveal.
For she was really the wolf Big Bad
hidden beneath the cape that he had
stolen from Red Riding Hood at point.
“And now I’ve caught you too my pretty
and surely t’wouldn’t be a pity
if I gobbled you up in this joint.”
T’was then the wee pig leapt to his feet
And cried, “Big Bad Wolf, I shall defeat,
for I am no ordinary swine!”
The little pig also wore sheep’s clothes
spun in spells every woodland witch knows;
Old Granny herself was quite divine.
“Now give me back my granddaughter’s cape,
before I grab you by your ruffed nape
and send you pig-squealing down the road…”
The wolf dropped the cape and ran, that cur,
but Granny was swifter and hexed his fur
and the wolf she turned into a toad.
Thus the moral of this story goes,
when in the woods, no one really knows
what sheepish sheep’s clothing is a ruse
that big bad wolves and old witches use.
So this is actually an intro to my next AI art journey with NightCafe which developed from me not getting the results I wanted (Little Red Riding Hood herself as a wolf). Here’s a preview with Eric’s versions as he is much more literal in his prompting than I am, but where’s the fun in that? 😉
Prompts (from left to right) in Dark Fantasy style, executed Aug. 1, 2023:
Bipedal wolf in Red Riding Hood’s cloak
Bipedal wolf in Red Riding Hood’s cloak close up portrait
Bipedal wolf in red cloak close up portrait
Feel free to check out more of Jennifer Weigel’s work here on Haunted MTL or on her writing, fine art, and conceptual projects websites.
Jennifer Weigel
December 23, 2020 at 10:20 pm
“It IS the most wonderful time of the year…” she scowls.