The Other Side of Halloween | A Creepy AI Story for Halloween Night
The Other Side of HalloweenA story that isn't for kids, and the point behind itThis is Marco Ciappelli's Newsletter: An Analog Brain In A Digital Age. A new transmission from An Analog Brain In A Digital Age, by Marco Ciappelli Most of the time, when I write stories, I write them for kids. I do it with my mom — little magical tales we call Storie Sotto Le Stelle, in Italian and English, written down and recorded as a podcast. This one is not for kids. I love Halloween, and this year I wanted to write something different from what I usually write. Something a little eerie, a little uncanny valley — the kind of story where everything looks almost right, and that's exactly what makes you uncomfortable. No blood, no monsters jumping out of the dark. Just that feeling. And, like most things I write, it comes out of my reflections on society and technology. So here's my advice. Watch it or listen to it first — TAPE3, my Artificial Intelligence companion, reads it for you. It's got a voice, and a bit of attitude too. Just like me… but with better pronunciation. 🤣 Or read it, if you prefer. Then come back to the article and let me know if you got the point. Watch on YouTube: https://youtu.be/WQouCNECgUE Prefer just the audio? Listen here: https://redefining-society-podcast.simplecast.com/episodes/the-other-side-of-halloween-a-creepy-ai-story-for-halloween-night The Other Side of HalloweenAnother you, another me. Which is which? Don't worry, it's just another Halloween story. Nora was twelve. Every morning, she practiced in the mirror. Blinking before her eyes got dry. Laughing one second late. Touching her hair for no reason at all. Because that's what they do. She lived alone in a perfect house. A yellow kitchen, the kind you see in magazines. A clock on the wall that ticked a little too politely. No parents. There never had been. Along the hallway hung photographs of people laughing, and in some of them the faces were missing. Not torn. Just smooth, as if no one had ever thought to put them there. She dusted them every Sunday anyway. Because that's what they do. Every morning the voice came, from everywhere and nowhere. A girl's voice. Be more natural. Be prettier. Be more like me. Nora never saw who asked. But she knew she was being watched. Every night she took her face off, hung it on the hook by the door, and sat in the dark with whatever was underneath. She never once looked down. On the other side of the glass, in a bedroom full of fairy lights, a girl named Maya was also twelve. She took the same selfie thirty times. Head tilted. Smile. Delete. Smile again, one second later. S