“Shirley”
Day 3 of the AI Film Festival — in which I watch movies at the Sundance Film Festival, explain their premises to AI Dungeon 2, and let it write a new plot. Today’s entry is Josephine Decker‘s Shirley, a fictionalized account of a young couple who become embroiled in the gothic psychosexual drama that is Shirley Jackson’s life. But what if… well, actually this isn’t that different from the film.
[PROMPT: You are a young, recently married woman who has just moved to a new town for your husband’s job at a university. You and your husband are invited to live with the brilliant but troubled novelist Shirley Jackson, who is working on a new novel based on the mysterious disappearance of a student.] The summer you move in together, strange things begin happening which link up to form an eerie web.
As the nights become longer and darker, so too do the shadows.
*
Soon there is no distinction between day and night; all that exists is the blackness that envelops you. The house is dark when you arrive, as it always seems to be when you leave. You find yourself standing outside the front door, looking down at the street below. There are no lights here, only darkness and the endless blackness beyond. It feels like being inside a coffin.
Shirley Jackson lives alone in a small cottage on the edge of her property. She is tall and thin, with long brown hair and piercing blue eyes. Her face is lined from years of suffering depression, but she keeps herself stoically composed.
A large portrait of herself hangs above her desk, showing her dressed in a red dress and holding a book.
You walk slowly towards the house, feeling uneasy about where you’re going. When you reach the doorstep, you knock three times. No answer. You open the door and step inside. A man stands behind a table filled with books, papers and other items. He looks up at you as he turns his head slightly to one side, giving you a brief glimpse of his face before returning to reading something else.
You turn back around and knock once more. This time, you hear a sigh and then silence. You close the door and lock it, locking out the world. For some reason, this makes you feel better than any drug or drink could have done.
(Put the groceries you have bought for Shirley Jackson in the refrigerator)
*
It’s late afternoon by now, and you’ve been sitting in the living room watching TV for hours. You’ve had enough of television, though. You need to get some sleep.
*
You sit down on the sofa and pull out the first item you see: a box of cereal. As you eat, you think about how much Shirley Jackson would probably hate you if she knew what was going on right now.
“I’m sorry,” you say quietly to yourself. “She wouldn’t want me to do this.”
You finish your breakfast and go back into the living room, where you pick up a magazine off the floor.
The cover features a smiling woman with wild blonde hair. She has big bright green eyes that seem to stare right through you. Her lips are parted in an innocent smile, while her fingers trace patterns along her chest.
The headline reads: “Wicked Witch of the West.”
You flip through the pages until you find a story about a girl who is being raised by wolves. It sounds like a fairy tale, but there really is a witch who lives in the woods. The witch has two children with them; they call themselves the Wolf Children and give birth to beautiful white wolf cubs every year.
(Think about how the wolves are a metaphor for your deteriorating relationship with your husband)
This is all so sad, you’re almost ashamed to admit it. You can’t imagine Shirley Jackson ever loving you, let alone writing such a thing.
You close the magazine and toss it aside. You don’t want to read anymore about witches and werewolves.
*
(Knock on the door of Shirley Jackson’s study to bring her some scotch)
You head over to the front door. There’s no answer, but you know from past experience that when someone doesn’t respond, they must be asleep. So you open the door anyway. It opens silently as usual, and you enter Shirley Jackson’s study.
There’s a table piled high with bookshelves filled with dusty old volumes. A large portrait hangs above the fireplace, which casts long shadows across the walls. On one wall sits a tall wooden desk covered in papers and folders.
(Look at Shirley Jackson)
Shirley Jackson stands behind her desk, staring blankly ahead. You feel like you should address something to her, but you just shake your head.
You’ve been here too long already. Maybe she’ll change her mind someday, but for now you have to get out of here.
You walk over to the fireplace and sit down on the edge of it.
You take a deep breath and exhale slowly. Then you begin to count backwards from 100…
99… 98… 97… 96…. 95….. 94…. 93…. 92…. 91…… 90…… 89…… 88…… 87…… 86…… 85….. 84….. 83….. 82….. 81..
