The House of Joy

One of the reasons I keep doing these short animations is because I'm preparing for a longer animated short film, maybe 15 minutes long, and fully voice acted. The general idea for it is that a bunch of boys enter a strange haunted area (Twilight Shores Resort in the final version) and are transformed into women one by one, then their subsequent misadventures, both sexual and cute.

Once I feel confident that I know enough about the Ai tools to make it, that will be my major project, until then you're going to be seeing a lot of ghost and magic transformations as I get better at it.

The Morning After

Sunlight slanted through cracked shutters, striping the tiled pool deck in pale gold. Ten figures stirred among towels and scattered bottles. At first, they thought they were waking from hangovers. Then they saw themselves.

Shrieks cut the silence.

Dan sat bolt upright, his chest heaving in lace, breasts jiggling against straps that bit his shoulders. He grabbed at them, eyes wide, voice cracking: “Get it off me! This isn’t me—what did you do to me?” he screamed high and girlishly as something terrible fluttered inside his groin.

Benny clutched his thighs, trembling at their sudden weight and curve. Mike crawled to a mirror, only to recoil at the soft face that blinked back. Jared laughed too loudly, hysteria bubbling out of him: “No way, no way, this is a prank, it has to be a prank!” The laughter tipped into sobs as he clutched his dripping wet vagina.

All around the pool, ten frat brothers had become ten shocked women.

It came back in flashes. The night before. The bravado.

They had entered the old mansion, once known as the House of Joy, daring each other to last until dawn.

They remembered spilled beer across the marble, hands wiping damp jeans—clothes flickering, unraveling, then reforming into lingerie.

They remembered mocking each other in lace and stockings, until the laughter curdled into fear.

They remembered scattering through the halls, some crashing into boudoirs, others into powder rooms or dressing closets. Every threshold seemed to pull them deeper in, and every step changed them more.

And then the pool.

Music that had no source. Ghostly women in vintage swimsuits, beckoning with champagne flutes and ancient laughter. They had stumbled forward, unwilling but unable to resist, until they were part of the party themselves. giggling with the others.

Now, in the morning, the ghosts were gone. The music silenced.

Only the bodies remained—curvy, soft, lingerie fitting perfectly, voices higher. They remembered who they were, but the house had remade them to partake in one last party, just like the days of old.

Dan held his new boobs as if they might melt away if he pushed hard enough. Benny whispered, “It was the house. It did this to us.” Jared shook his head, still crying, “No—it’s us now. We’re stuck.”

The truth was plain. Ten fratboys had entered.

And ten women, panicked and screaming in the dawn, had been left behind.