A Story by Ricky

This piece was for my short story class at university and has been revised from its original draft. Hope you enjoy

Observation: “When I arrived to the residence all the entryways were opened and upon inspection there was no sign of B&E. I called out for both Mr. and Mrs. Nakano, when I got no response, I entered the building.” Officer Roberts’ voice was strained, and then he paused extensively during the debriefing staring off to nothingness, it was only when he was pressed by fellow officers did, he continue. “I should’ve left that place then and there. Everything in my body was screaming at me to leave, to not go in that house, but I didn’t listen. When I entered the residence, I shined my light and the place was in tatters, papers and furniture thrown about like a tornado had swept through. I swear to you, that I heard a little girl giggle, so I called out again, and I heard something move down the hall. When I looked nothing was there, checking the kitchen, the walls had some black liquid oozing off of it. The stuff spelled out something like “Haisha”, then I heard that same giggle, but I saw nothing.” Officer Roberts began to breakdown and sob at this point. “A-an-and then, something tugged at on my pant leg, w-when I looked down something shoved me in my chest. I must’ve landed in some swivel seat, because I started to spin, and that giggling wouldn’t stop! I stood up but couldn’t find my balance and fell into the window, I felt my lips being pulled back. I looked at my reflection and there were two tiny hands, as I noticed the hands starting tearing my lips. I-I tried grabbing them but I just shredded my cheeks, I started bleeding, but then…” Officer Roberts’ sobbing turns into wails and he cradles his head bobbing back and forth. “Something… a finger… move across my face. I felt the warmth of my blood tailing with it, I actually saw something scrunching my face drawing stick figures, I think they were the Nakano’s, then and a big X was drawn through them. I got the message of whatever this thing was and wanted to get the hell out of there. I went for the door but it wouldn’t budge, then I heard that goddamn laughter again. Shining my light down the hall again, I saw it, kneeling among all the debris was a small doll, the laughing was coming from it. Slowly I approached it, the laughter slowly subsiding as I neared it, by the time I picked it up the laughter was gone. It was a glass doll had a ragged red Kimono on and the pain was chipping off of it. A warm then dripped onto my hand, it was blood, my blood. The doll’s eyes then opened and looked at me with those eyes, they looked… they looked so real. I dropped the doll and fell back and, I know it’ll sound crazy but, it spoke to me. I’m telling you that f*****g thing spoke to me! It said I was fun to play with, more fun than the other people,” Roberts didn’t elaborate on who the other people were. “It said it wanted to play hide and seek with me and was going to count from 42. It started counting and a breeze blew through the house kicking up the papers scattered about. The lights flickered, and it felt like the whole house shook. I made a run for the door but it slammed in my face, I tried yanking it open, but something was holding it shut. As I reached the closest window it shuts, and one after the other they all shut, and the laughter starts again getting louder and the breeze picks up. The dolls keep counting its voice becoming distorted between the laughter and something else, something demented. A rubbery ping bounced from a ball that slammed into my face, and I began to be pinched, scratched, shoved. I started crying, frantically reaching for my gun, I could see from my peripherals that the doll had gotten up and was strolling over to me. The giggling and counting were demonic, its stare intensified I could see veins from its eyes oozing bubbling black liquid. I shot the door, I don’t even care if I got in trouble for it, I needed to get out of there, and I ran for my car. Before I left, I saw the doll-no that THING, staring at me it’s eyes followed me when in sped off.” Officer Roberts was desperate to have anyone in the room believe his story begging the individuals to do so.

Psych-Evaluation: After several visits to the psychiatric ward the medical evaluation deemed Officer Roberts is suffering from a severe case of PTSD and stress. The officer had scratches across his face and had skin found under his fingernails. Medical staff claim that the officer spoke in Japanese while he slept, along with possible sounds of childish giggling. These reports are still being tested; Officer Roberts will not be cleared for several months.

© 2019 Ricky

Author's Note

Feel free to critique. Just revised after a few more critiques. Also I've just been made aware of what's going on in my comment threads, so any more attacks on other users on my pieces will get you blocked.

My Review

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It does read like a news article... Not terribly captivating, your words are kind of set down before us on a table.

No offense, but I can't find a drop of passion in this story.

Make it a labor of love. Each word should be a sloppy wet kiss dribbling out your mouth onto the page

Posted 4 Years Ago

Well, you did ask, but this will sting a bit:

This, i'm afraid, isn't a story as the publishing industry views it. It's not a matter of how well it's written, or your talent and potential. It's that like pretty much all hopeful writers—including me, when I began recording my own stories—you're using the writing skills you were given in your grade-school days, and assume that''s what everyone uses.

Problem is, the vast majority of your writing assignments in school were for reports and essays. And after twelve years of that you're pretty good at writing reports and essays, which have as their goal, informing the reader.

Problem is, no one reads fiction to be informed as to the progression of events. The goal of fiction is to involve the reader emotionally, something our teachers never mentioned. So, given that the profession is called Fiction-Writer, and the skill you were given is called writing, you naturally assumed that all you need to write fiction is your existing writing skills, a good story idea, and "natural talent."

If only.

And forget that creative writing class you probably took. Fiction writing is a profession, and no way in hell can reading a chapter on writing fiction, then writing a story that's critiqued by classmates who know no more about writing than you do, teach you even a fraction of what you need to write it.

The short version: This reads like a report because it was written with report writing skills. It's not your fault, and you have LOTS of company, but still, unless you acquire the skills of the working fiction writer, everything you write will read like a report.

The good news is that the library's fiction writing section has lots of books on the subject, and they contain the views of pros in publishing, writing, and teaching. And, if you are meant to be a writer you'll find the learning fun. And if not? Well, you've learned something important. So it's win/win.

I know this was pretty far from what you were hoping to hear, but I thought you'd want to know.

Posted 4 Years Ago

0 of 1 people found this review constructive.

This comment has been deleted by this stories author.

4 Years Ago

You did make a few good points, But I've been reading j.r.r. tolkien and he would've suffered much o.. read more

4 Years Ago

• But I've been reading j.r.r. tolkien and he would've suffered much of your same criticism.
.. read more

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2 Reviews
Added on October 2, 2019
Last Updated on December 10, 2019



Seattle, WA

I am a young ambitious man who has always been fascinated in telling stories. And unlike the rest of my family who can draw very artistically i cannot so writing is as best as i can in displaying what.. more..