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Deep Ocean Trick or Treating
With Into the Storymaze you get writing ideas or writing-in-progress; something creative I’m excited to share; a highlight from my comic book writing; and a quote that’s worth a think.
Last year, I was thrilled (and surprised) to win the Lumafusion Halloween video editing contest. Not just ‘cause of the spooky connection — Halloween was *the* family holiday growing up — but because it was such a pure play Storymaze exercise. (Storymazing?)
I’d put off the entry until the weekend before the deadline, and creating the short tale of supernatural revenge then depended on a creative mind wander. An opening line itch that wouldn’t let go ricocheted into the next, into one more, and on and on.
This skeleton season I thought to get a jump on my pumpkin king title by starting the video early. I had the essence of this new one right after my win: a strange obelisk from the sea that corrupts an oceanside village with H.P. Lovecraft-inspired ancient deities and ultimate madness.
The same ricocheting rhyme scheme that served me well last time took me by its hand (or tentacle, as you’ll see/sea) and I’d sketched out its bones in a quick quick hour over coffee while waiting to meet (name drop incoming) Fabian Nicieza for lunch.
The only upset to my plan for trick-or-treat triumph? Just the fact Lumafusion didn’t run a Halloween contest this year! 😹 By the time I’d run out the clock on “Well, I’m sure they’ll announce it *this* week…” — I was even deeper into the Storymaze.
Rather than back out, it was creatively more fun to wander through, grabbing stock clips to mirror or express the narration, finessing and forcing sound effects and music clips, and twisting language to goad AI image generators like DALL-E 2 and Stable Diffusion to create appropriate monster god mutations that I needed for that extra flavor in the cauldron.
In the immortal words of Marty DiBergi, “Enough of my yakkin’…” Happy Halloween!
Down by the shore the old town did thrive/Thanks to a totem they’d found on a dive
Local fishermen pulled it up from the deep/And awoke something dark from its ancient, wet sleep
They raised it up high in the village green/And that was the night they all shared the same dream
Something slithered its way far into their brain/To promise a new life of fortune and gain
Ritual and worship were all it did ask/And the joining of hands in a murderous task
One midnight a year when the cold tides rose high/From among their number they would choose one to die
Out to the waves they’d drag a mother, father, son, daughter/And hold one of their own down for the slaughter
Love held no power when it came to witch-craft/As the surf and the screams fed an old god’s cruel laugh
But a new generation proved less true to the pact/When obligation came calling they instead turned their backs
“Superstition!” they jeered, and the town elders grew pale/For punishment follows a faith that does fail
With no blood on the beach in the midnight hour/The thing from the sea unleashed its full power
The rage of the ocean dragged the old town away/To where devils below feast on their prey
Look for a desolate cove down by the shore/And maybe you’ll find where evil settled its score
What will you do when it whispers your name?/“Now you know our story, so come play our game.
“Worship and ritual are what feed our rise./“We reward our disciples, all others must die.”
They say its statue still waits in the sand/With stone cold tentacles that now reach for your hand…
Most of the time, falling under the executioner’s blade would mark the end of the story. But in Cult of the Lamb it marks the delightful, demented beginning of a video game equal parts adorable and unsettling. You play as the title Lamb, who is quite literally led to slaughter by hooded baddies straight out of an Anton Lavey revival.
But quicker than you can say, “Baa-Ram-Ewe” you are resurrected by a Cthulhu cousin, an Old One who wants revenge on the other ancient gods who rule this weird and wonderful world. As the Old One’s agent on earth (or at least on screen) you are charged with forging a cult in order to amass loyalty: the fuel you’ll need to ultimately defeat your dark lord’s enemies.
Half the game is a series of randomized, fast-paced battles — a “roguelike” in gamer geek terms — as you win back the lands under the sway of those opposing ancients. Along the way you collect loot (gold, wood, food, curses, and blueprints) and followers (rescued, recruited, or bought on the auction block) to take back to your burgeoning commune.
Here’s where the game turns into a cult-management simulator. Those followers now under your thrall are put to work clearing land, conjuring faith, building temples and stocks and sacrificial altars. For your part, you’ve got to keep them fed and sheltered, rewarding devotion, punishing blasphemy, and demonstrating your unholy power. And, oh yeah, cleaning up their poop. Lots and lots of poop.
Combine the two — the fights and the sim — and you’ve got yourself a twisted little narrative balance. Fall behind on your sinister sermons and you’ll have less faith to power your next mission for the Old One. Fail on the battlefront against the ancient gods, and your flock will start to doubt you on your return.
I don’t see this one being talked up too much in the traditional church bulletin. But as far as treasures discovered in the Storymaze, there nothing quite like being won over by the wooly cuteness of a wittle wamb — right before it levitates, backed by hellfire as blood oozes from around its eyeballs.
Continuing a serial replay of the afterword to BOOM Studio’s marvelous Nightbreed collection. Featuring quotes from editors Marcus McLaurin and Gregory Wright…
TO HELL — AND BEYOND
I wasn’t behind the closed door meeting that Archie had with Clive that first day. But I have to imagine part of the conversation touched on Archie’s reputation with the landmark Warren horror comics Creepy and Eerie. Because when the door opened, the decision had been made to develop a contemporary, far fiercer anthology series based on Clive’s Hellaiser series of films. And I was suddenly put in charge of figuring that out.
This was classic “get what you ask for” meets “get what you deserve.” (Happens a lot in those comic book horror tales, as your local cryptkeeper can tell you!) I had long pestered Archie with queries regarding launching a new title related to spooky stories. Archie felt the market wasn’t right — and, because his legendary status was well-deserved, he was correct.
But with the hot commodity of “name brands” like Hellraiser and Clive Barker driving sales, this long-overlooked genre had the spotlight it needed. What was still required was a plan for what a Hellraiser comic story could be — more specific than “inspired by” open interpretations of the movies, or the “Hell Bound Heart” novella that had birthed them.
“Clive was less interested in interfering with the process of the comic,” relates Greg, “and more interested in seeing what new elements the creators could bring to his world. He was always happy to see new ideas and brainstorm story lines that might alter the main characters.”
We had signed up for the church of Barkerism. Now we needed scripture. Clive contributed the central tenet that his hell wasn’t a traditional pit of discord and rage. Instead, it was built around a discipline of precise, sinister order. Additional brainstorming with Archie and writers Erik Saltzgaber and Phil Nutman gave me everything I needed to author the full series bible that evangelized the rules (sinister order, remember?) and opportunities for the creative teams we began to enlist in our cause. (This series bible is now available as a bonus to subscribers!)
“Clive Barker gave a fully developed skeleton of a universe and happily asked others to develop it and add unique and varied flesh to it,” Marcus observes. “I don’t remember him putting any specific limitations on working with his characters and property, other than to respect them with the same love and caring attention that the author had given to them.
In that we, of course, avoided the weak sensationalist trope of killing characters merely for dramatic effect, or creating shock for shocks sake alone. All of these elements must serve the story, come out of it, and propel it forward or get the hell out of the way.”
“The chief enemy of creativity is ‘good’ sense.” — Pablo Picasso
Amazing Times
I’m D.G. Chichester. If that looks pretentious, feel free to just call me “Dan.”
I earned my storytelling cred writing comic book titles like Daredevil, Terror Inc., Nick Fury Agent of SHIELD and Clive Barker’s Hellraiser, along with digital widgets in the world wide web of advertising. I like weird tales, so if things here bend that way — now you know why!
Folks seem to like the comic book adventures I’ve written, so if you haven’t checked one out — please do. Many are now available in fab collected editions.
For the eager moments between newsletters…
@dgchichester — 280 characters from the Twitterverse
@dgchichester — images via Instagramland