Fantasy, romance, superhero, horror, murder mystery, high school drama in space…
Let’s find out what happens when we take the same premise and shove it into different genres!
During the last stream, chat suggested/voted on auto-generated story premises and genres, then we took the top premise and wrote it in the top 2 genres.
This was the premise that won: an antique collector unknowingly marries a criminal, involving a magic spell, in a fancy sitting room.
The first genre we had to write it in was: body horror.
Here’s what we came up with:
It was the greatest heist I’d ever planned. Up until marrying Joseph, I’d just been a petty thief, pulling smash and grabs at convenience stores and anime convention parking garages. You wouldn’t believe what those weirdos keep in plain view in the backseat of the cars, and you really wouldn’t believe what those shiny trading cards sell for online.
Anyway, it paid the bills, thieves have to make rent and food too you know, but it wasn’t enough. There was always a greater treasure on the horizon, and I was sick of eating Top Ramen.
I’d first met Joseph at one of those conventions, showing off his historical wares at a booth. This guy had it all. Gold pirate coins, bricks from pyramids inscribed with hieroglyphs, a real Roman helmet, Aztec pottery. I had no idea if they were even legal, but I did know that I wanted them.
None of his wares were for sale though. Merely for show. People had offered him seven digits, and I’d seen him just laugh and say his collection was for show, not for sale. Thankfully I knew better than to offer him money — he was clearly already set in that department — so I offered him a smile and phone number instead.
Long story short, we hit it off because I pretended to love everything about him, and he was desperate enough to fall for it. When he asked me to marry him, the ring itself had a jewel as thick as a blueberry and far more juicy.
And that was just going to be the beginning. Once I moved into his mansion, I was going to take it all and run.
Of course I wasn’t an idiot. I didn’t duck and dash on the first night. I played it cool, laughed with him, helped him transport his goods to conventions, even sometimes enjoying it, for over a year. All the while, planning for when I was going to make my break with the really good stuff.
You see, there was one room in Joseph’s massive mansion that we never went into. When I asked him about it, he just winked and said that what was inside was too valuable to share just yet. I didn’t press him on it. I didn’t want to look suspicious. Especially not when I found the key, found the perfect night when Joseph was away, and unlocked the door to grab everything I could and run.
It was dark inside and there were no lights as far as I could tell, probably to keep the valuables safe. But I’d expected that and clicked on the flashlight on my phone, excited for my first heist in over a year.
It was odd. There were only statues of people, standing around the entirety of the small, dusty room. Someone that looked like a Roman soldier, an Egyptian pharaoh, even a Victorian maid, but their bodies were encrusted with gold, silver, jewels. Their eyes were diamonds, deep set in their sockets. Blue sapphires and viridian emeralds that watched me as I gazed at them in awe.
I’d hit the jackpot. Even if there was no way I could carry an entire statue myself, I didn’t know the whole damn thing. All I needed was an arm or two and I’d be set for life.
I grabbed a hold of the Victorian maid’s hand, to get a feel for how secure it was. Despite it being covered in shimmering stones, it felt surprisingly light. I shoved my phone in my mouth, grabbed on with both hands, and yanked.
The whole arm popped right off, as easily as a Pringle’s tube top. For a moment I held it, cradling it like a newborn. Until I saw what was coming out of it.
Blood spilled from the severed end of the arm. Congealed, blackened tar that reeked of rusted iron. Veins and arteries dangled like thin, tired tentacles, vomiting more of the foul ooze onto the floor.
I screamed and dropped it. The arm crashed to the floor and burst into a thousand pieces, each splattering the horrific goo everywhere.
The rest of the maid started cracking, her face torn into a shattering grimace of pain as it crumbled bit by bit, revealing the swamp-rotted skin and bone beneath. Voices echoed metallically in my mind, quiet at first, but reaching a crescendo.
Shatter me. Shatter me. Free me from this!
I turned and ran, right into Joseph. He stood tall in the doorway out of the room, staring down at me, shadows crossing his face.
“Well now look what you’ve done,” he said. “Madeline was the youngest of them. She’s only been here for 200 years.”
He slammed his hands on my shoulders, holding me in place. For the first time, I noticed his skin was a bit too perfect. A little too pristine. His hands icy cold.
I tried to pry him off me, but I couldn’t move my left hand. A heaviness started growing in my ring finger, leaching through the muscles of my arm. A dead chill spreading like fire, but lacking the warmth flames brought. With the light of my phone still in my mouth, I could see what was happening. My skin was turning to gold.
“Let’s take that out of there,” Joseph said, plucking the phone from my mouth. “I’m glad it told me where you were, but you won’t need it anymore.”
I wanted to run. I wanted to scream. But the gilded prison had spread to my chest, stealing the cry from my lips before my lungs could give it breath. My mind was whirring with a hundred panicked thoughts, but my flesh was no longer capable of moving. The only part that I still had control over, my right hand, I used it to its fullest extent.
“That’s not a nice thing to do,” Joseph said. “It ruins the pose.” He curled my middle finger back into my fist, just as the icy stream of gold brushed over my hand and froze it in place.
Joseph reached over and popped the wedding ring off my finger, holding it sadly before him. He pushed me into the corner where the maid had been, then left and closed the doors, leaving me in darkness.
And very much alive. Yet immoble. It was like banging against a prison shaped to fit me perfectly. I could feel my thoughts slowing, my brain struggling in its new statuesque confinement. Day after day after day after day.
I can’t think quickly. I can’t feel anything.
Shatter me. Shatter me. Free me from this.
The next genre was: a detective in an alternative history.
Here’s what we came up with:
The church detective had seen many blasphemous acts in his life, grisly murders and adulterers caught in the act, but never before had he seen a crime scene so horrifically beautiful.
The clergyman had led him and his page into the hidden basement of his home, by pulling up a panel in the sitting room and descending down dark, rickety stairs. Torchlights hanging on the walls lit the small room bright as day, letting the detective see what he wished wasn’t real.
It was a statue carved from marble, curves as smooth as the ocean’s tide, so intricate it could not have been made by human hands. A woman sitting, holding a baby, her cloth flowing as light as lace yet hard as rock to the touch. The detective shuddered as he realized it was supposed to be a depiction of the Holy Mother and her child.
The detective quickly averted his eyes, before the corruptive idol could sway his heart from the truth.
“Begin recording,” he said to his page. The young boy took out his parchment and ink, and began transcribing the detective’s words. “Here, November the 2nd, in the year 2020 of our lord, I Detective Isaiah Forbes, hereby declare that I have discovered a sacreligious statue in the domicile of Clergyman Horus Thorson.”
Horus nervously wriggled his fingers together, not daring to glance at the profane statue beside them.
“If it pleases the holy detective,” he said, “could you put something in there about how this… thing… is not part of my collection nor do I consider it part of my house?”
“As you have spoken it, it has already been recorded,” the detective said, gesturing to the pageboy furiously scribbling away. “Now, to clarify for the deacon overseeing your wife’s tribunal, please explain what you mean by ‘collection.’”
Horus cleared his throat and spoke proudly. “As the head clergyman of Isenheim, I have a collection of divine statues, crafted by the fine hand of our Lord himself.”
“Let the record state,” the detective interrupted, “that I viewed said collection and confirmed with my own eyes that the statues could not have been created by human hands alone. Their pure white forms are far too sophisticated, far too beautiful to be anything but gifts from God’s earth.”
“Exactly,” Horus said. “The pure statues were all uncovered from locations in the blessed lands surrounding the Vatican during the Great Crusade of 1850, as a sign from God of His approval.”
“And yet there is this accursed false idol,” the detective said, pointing but not looking at the statue before them. “The Holy State has no record of its unearthing or transport. From whence did this profane effigy originate?”
“It was birthed from the darkness of this hidden room!” Horus cried. “I stumbled upon my wife exiting from it one night, and I immediately summoned the inquisitorial authorities of our Holy Empire.”
The detective narrowed his eyes at Horus. “So you’re saying that you had nothing to do with its creation?”
“I say more than just that,” Horus growled. “This cursed image was not created at all, it was summoned through devil magic by my heretical wife. Look at the unholy instruments she used!”
The detective allowed his eyes a small glance at the dirt floor, and the metallic tools that lay upon it. A sharp dagger-like apparatus that gleamed like the devil’s claw — its pagan purpose would hopefully remain a merciful mystery.
“Your wife, sir?” the detective asked. “You are still wed to this foul dweller of the dark?”
“Absolutely not! I have already prayed for redemption for my association with that creature steeped in darkness, and for dissolution of our union.”
The detective nodded and spoke directly to the page. “Let the record state that I have, with God as my witness, and the powers vested upon me by the Holy Emperor, confirmed that the statue is of demonic origin. It shall be purified and destroyed immediately, and the medusa who dared compete with the beauty crafted by God summarily blinded then put to death. May God have mercy on her soul.”
If you want to join us and help write a story by trolling in chat, or share your own writing for feedback, then we’d love to have you join us on Twitch.
And you missed the stream, you can still watch them on the YouTube channel or watch the full stream reruns.
Hope to see you next time, friend!
