Creation

Mo already covered the grammar issues so all I have to say now is, this was very good. I enjoyed reading this! It kept me on the edge of my computer chair, held my attention, and made me wonder what was going to happen next. The ending was just...amazing! Congratulations! Well, that's all! Bye-bye!

XOXOXOXOX
Summer Night

Hello, I'm Mo. and I'll be the first person to review this.
Here goes.

Look to the west and you will spot a lonely shack high on the hills of grey. The sun never sets on top of the hill, but it also never rises. The clouds circle around the wood climbing to the Heavens, but create a path to the darkest roots of the Hells. There is only one man that stands inside that house, and for seventy-two years, he has been there, alone, without a family to love or care for him.

This man has never ventured outside of his home. There has never been visitors to go up the hill and say hello. He is not known for a personality, no known appearance to the humans below. The only thing the villagers know about the old, lonely man is the love for his own art. The man up on the lonely shack has painted for all of his life, with paints given by his only mother before she passed on at his young age. He has never been one to refill the paints; he would just continue without the color.

There have been a few mysteries surrounding the man. Some believe he has kidnapped children that have been missing for years, and others believe he murders those in their beds when they mysteriously die. But the door never opens and the lights inside never turn on.

The villagers go on with life without the old man, and the old man can continue to paint.

Today there is a girl passing by his window.

I am with this little girl and do not dare look inside the home. We can hear his voice talking to the unknowns inside his home. The little girl asks me about his creation today, and it is some sort of sculpture standing before him.

It doesn't move, doesn't react to anything the old man says. I tell her to move along; I'm sure the old man needs his privacy.

The little girl just stands there looking in the window, staring in awe.

The sculpture now has hair flowing down its body with features of a woman. It is as still as a tree and has no known features from the darkness surrounding the body.

The old man is still talking and I look down at the little girl. I ask her what she is so fond of,

and she tells me about the girl right before the old man. I think nothing of her imagination and watched the old man marvel at his sculpture.

The little girl then looks up at me and tells me to save the girl in the house. I tell her there is no one there, but I hear screaming come from the house. There, inside the house, is the sculpture moving freely towards the old man, as if she is angry at him! The old man begins to laugh and talks more about religion and faith brought upon the sculpture. The girl screams and shoves him against the wall we look at; there is no sound.

The girl starts to talk about the life she has had in the home and the miserable dreams she's been having the past week.

There is a loud bang and the painting behind the old man is colored red. The painting is complete.

The girl inside screams more. There is mass hysteria from the girl and she tries to claw her way out of the door.

She sees the two of us in the window and starts to hallucinate.

The little girl is terrified as the door opens and the screaming of Chaos emerges. She gets outside with the gun and I realize the creation the old man was talking about: he had created a murderer.