Spring Horror Collection: “The Bluebird”
Welcome to the first story of the Spring Horror Collection for 2022, where Haunted MTL’s writers craft original tales of terror with the fresh scent of grass. Check with us all week for new stories.
For more original stories, check out Haunted MTL’s Original Creations.
A wistful note from out the sky,
“Pure, pure, pure,” in plaintive tone,
As if the wand’rer were alone,
And hardly knew to sing or cry.“The Bluebird” by John Burroughs
One of the benefits of living outside of town was when the winter thawed, and spring arrived, Johnny Francis figured, was the freedom to take his pellet gun out into the woods along the small highway that led into town.
Twelve now and full of vigor, Johnny wanted to make the most of his gun-time. He dashed off the property along the dirt road that led to the highway. He would spend his Sunday taking in some target practice. There was a war on, after all.
When Johnny arrived at his clearing, just over a small gully along the road, he looked over what he had for targets. Most of his bottles seemed to have shattered, and a particularly ugly thaw left many of his wooden targets rotted and damp.
Johnny was about to give up on the whole exercise until he heard chirping. He glanced into the trees around him and saw a nest. In the nest sat a fat bluebird.
He shrugged and took a shot. The pellet ripped the bird apart.
With little left to do, Johnny made his way home. Today had been a bust.
The next day Johnny was thankful to walk to school without his heavy boots and winter coat. Trudging through the snow was always a pain, and the reprieve of mere mud was welcome. On the way to school, Johnny was sure to give the edge of the woods by the road a large berth. Last spring, a hunter accidentally shot his friend, leaving him with a limp.
Idiot.
The sound of chirping drifted into his ears as he walked. He glanced around and noticed no sign of a bird.
A prick of guilt forced its way into his brain for a second, and he recalled the sight of the bird as it exploded from his shot.
The walk home from town was somewhat chilly today. Chillier it had been for Spring.
Johnny had been menaced by the sight of a bluebird all week. Everywhere he turned, he would catch a glimpse of it. It didn’t matter where… the school lawn… above the drug store… even outside his window.
When it wasn’t seen, it was heard. Chirping everywhere and constant.
Again, chirping now. The sound grew louder and more intense as Johnny walked, even as he picked up his pace along the side of the highway.
A blue shape dove at his face with a sudden jolt, flapping at him. Johnny threw his arms in front of him, trying to swat it away but not making contact. The chirping was frantic, and soon Johnny darted into the woods, swatting away the bird that menaced him. He crossed the treeline and found himself in his gully.
Within moments, the chirping was silenced by a loud crack in the air. Johnny fell to the ground with a searing pain tearing through his neck, leaving him unable to scream. As he rolled over in a warm puddle of mud, blood, and leaves, he made out a deer darting off as he heard the cries of a man.
The last thing he saw before his eyes seemed to go dark was a tiny bluebird flittering off into the branches.
The smaller creature lay in the clearing, not moving beyond ragged breathing. Blood boiled out from a wound in the neck. The more giant creature, with the strange grey stick, seemed to paw at the smaller one, trying to keep the blood in.
The air was thick with fear, and its scent wafted through the clearing and into the trees.
The bluebird sat on the branch, observing the situation.
When the life had finally left the lungs of the smaller creature, the bluebird felt content and vanished in a puff of air.
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
March 20, 2022 at 2:05 pm
Love the imagery. Conjures up images of Iris from last spring… When I was growing up, maybe in middle school, we read a short story about a boy growing up in Africa who would shoot a rifle into the open air every morning just because he could. One day, off in the distance, he could make out the form of a deer twisted and writhing in pain as it was devoured by ants, wondering why it didn’t bound away until he realized that one of its legs had been shattered by a stray shot from a rifle (probably his own). That story has stuck with me to this day. This has that same kind of presence.
J.M. Faulkner
March 20, 2022 at 5:45 pm
Jesus… no wonder it stuck with you!
David Davis
March 21, 2022 at 11:42 pm
That’s a very sad story, but very good. Do you recall the title?
J.M. Faulkner
March 20, 2022 at 4:19 pm
Nice. Maybe I’m reading into it too much, but is there an anti-war message in there? It made me think of Metallica’s One and Johnny Got his Gun–not that I’ve read anything other than the Wikipedia page for the book!
David Davis
March 22, 2022 at 12:26 am
I imagined this set in the 1950s or so, so I saw the Korean War in my head.
Nicole
March 21, 2022 at 9:58 am
I swear I could smell the air in this. Had a slight copper scent.
David Davis
March 22, 2022 at 12:26 am
I appreciate that.