The window creaked as I closed it and I immediately thought of the last horror movie I’d watched, though it had been years before. Still unused to living alone, I shook off my chilled paranoia and turned to close another. The storm was coming in fast, and my spacious old house had a lot of windows.
Once done, I strolled to the living room, grabbed a tattered paperback I’d read about a dozen times, and headed to my room upstairs. As the thunder rolled closer, it resembled faint growls. The wind added a high-pitched whine and I couldn’t help but shiver. I had always loved stormy weather, but the last year had been tough. The medicine helped, but my feelings of irrational anxiety, fear, and the occasional hallucination took their toll. I almost wished for the safe hospital room with the quietly sympathetic nurses who were always on hand for comforting words to reassure me that I was OK. Here, I was on my own, independently vulnerable. Mixed emotions rolled through me as I tried to focus on the story in my lap. The heroine was so unlike me– strong, self-assured, and with no diagnosis of mental illness to hold her back from her full potential. I felt like I could be her if only I could quell my inner demons. She could have done it for me, if she were real. The storm grew closer and more powerful snarls of thunder shook my empty house. The hostility of the weather felt personal, almost. As though it knew I could only withstand so much; like the dainty flowering trees outside I quivered and tried to stay mentally upright.
I got up and paced the halls, worrying. I was starting to see dark patches in my peripheral vision again, the kind that generally warned of an upcoming hallucination. When I looked directly at the dark shifting blotches, they moved just out of sight again. I felt my skin crawl and it seemed like if I could just turn around quick enough, I would see a monster behind me, but I knew that was nonsense. It was a blend of an illness that I had sought treatment for and an overactive imagination in a house that was way too spacious for one person. Lightening flashed brightly, and I welcomed it in spite of its noisy partner. Light was always my friend. Every light and lamp in my home burned 24/7. It was critical that I not be in the dark. I might be safe from physical danger, but the emotional assault would be inevitable and devastating.
My wanderings took me through the rarely used kitchen, through the abandoned family-sized dining room, and into the library. It’s funny how even the rich can suffer so greatly. I hadn’t always had money, and I hadn’t always been sick. It almost seemed that to obtain one I had to accept the other. Not a good trade in my book. Still restless and fearful, I turned to head back to my bedroom and I saw it- just barely, but it was there and it seemed so real. Knowing it wasn’t, I ignored the evil eyes and bared fangs. These types of things are always bouncing around in my head, waiting to jump out like a mischievous child yelling “Boo!” only they weren’t children and they were very scary. The growls that I had taken for thunder now seemed to come from him. His eyes flashed yellow at me, reminding me of the lightening I had welcomed so naively. I turned my back on him, willing him away, trying to get ahold of myself before I wound up in the fetal position in full melt down mode. I tried to think of someone I could call, but I really was alone in the world. 911 operators don’t get paid enough to talk me down when I get like this. Feeling hunted, I walked down the hallway. I could feel him follow me, though there was, of course, nothing there. Hot breath caressed my bare legs as he panted in his excitement. I stopped and closed my eyes as tightly as I could. I would have to take my next dose early. I couldn’t make it without it. I turned in his direction because I had to in order to get to my pills. Impressed with my bravery, I felt a little more like the heroine in my story. Maybe I could face this after all. I took a few steps and then tripped over something. Something hairy yelped in surprise and sank his teeth into my arm. Pulled down by his massive weight I was astonished that for once I was in my right mind. My monster was real.
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Laura Austin lives in rural Kentucky with her husband and two children. She has been previously published by The Haberdasher and Better Than Starbucks magazine. She writes poetry, short fiction, children’s’ books, and song lyrics.
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 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…
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.
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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.”
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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.
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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
Portrait of myself with dark makeup and crow skull headdress, backlit by the sun.