Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-25593001-20160909233646/@comment-28060931-20160910225229

It was my twelth birthday and I was alone, my dad told me he was doing some work for a TV Show, and he was going to bring back a cool gift. [The last clause here feels awkward, maybe try removing "cool".]

My dad was a Ventriloquist. But I always hated Dummies, I wasn't afraid of them back than, I just didn't like them. They weren't funny at all. '''[Why would they be funny? Do they have to be funny to serve a purpose?]'''

Early in the Afternoon my dad came home. He was a happy man, and was always very welcoming. He was holding a rather large present.[The word "rather" is qualifier, those are mostly kinda useless and make the story feel rather slow.]

"I got you something pretty cool this year Scott!"

"Really? When can I open it?"

"Not now son, you'll have to wait until after we eat the cake!" [the dialogue feels wierd.]

He put the present away in the closet, and walked into the kitchen. Than my dad brought out a cheap, store[-]bought cake. He put twelve candles into it.

"I can't beleive you're Twelve years old... come on, blow out those candles!" [Unrealistic dialogue.]

I blew out the candles and my dad smiled, and I smiled back.

"Can I open it now?"

"Of course!"

He went back [to/into]the closet and took out the orange and blue present, and handed it to me. I ripped it up[open sounds better], an[d] there a rather large, almost coffin shaped, wooden box, with some words carved onto the top.

"Mister Amazo's Ventriloquism Emporuim!™"

I wasn't very excited when I read that, but I put on a fake smile and opened the box.

In it wad'''[s] a dummy, a dusty one with graying brown hair, and a white suit. I wasn't very happy, and the dummy didn't look so cheerful either, it was frowning. I still wonder why my dad bought me such an unhappy dummy, maybe for some corny sad jokes or something.'''[What! Why would his dad buy him a dummy if he hates dummies. And "such an unhappy dummy" sounds awkward in this context.]'''

"Do you like it?"

"Yeah dad! It's awesome!" I said, trying to sound happy.[dialogue issues again.]

He patted me on the back and went to his room, smiling.

I stopped smiling, I didn't care much for these things, unlike my father. They had always bored me.

I went to my room and stuffed the dummy in my closet, it was a little passed my bedtime, and I fell asleep. But my slumber was cut short. I heard a loud clanking noise in the kitchen. I went to my dad's bedroom, only to find him missing.

I began to feel uneasy, as I reluctently entered the kitchen.

Possibly the worst mistake I ever made.[cliché phrase]

I saw the dummy sitting on the kitchen table, it was staring at the hallway, at me, with that now terrifying sneer. My heart began pumping.

"Haha... Dad this isn't funny.."

"Dad?"

"Dad come on where are you?" '''[ better dialogue, but only slightly. I would put all this into one paragraph, but what you did is correct.]'''

I wouldn't move, I kept staring at the thing, I didn't want to blink.

"Dad[comma] please."

I felt like it was staring into my soul. I was so scared. I felt like it hated me.'''[How can you feel it hated you? Elobarate, please.]'''

"Son?"

My dad exitied[exited] my bedroom.

"Where've you been? I've been looking all over for you!"

I turned around, we were both facing eachother.

"What? I've been looking for you! I couldn't find you. Did you place my dummy on table?" [it would help if you stated who the speaked is.]

"No, I didn't. Stop joking with me, and put your dummy back!"

I turned around, only to see the dummy was gone. No trace of it ever even being there.

"Dad, where'd it go?"

"Please help me[comma] son." My dad said unhappily.[Is he burying a dead dog and unhappily asking the son to help him, or getting brutalized by a doll and screaming frantically for help?]

I turned around, he was gone.

I ran into his room, and he was sound asleep.

I stood up all night in the living room, staring at the hallway from the couch. I didn't want to go in my room.

My dad had no recollection of the previous night, he still says he was asleep. He Probabaly thinks I'm crazy, and he might be right. [Jugding by the abstract, nonsensical order of unexplained events leading to no conclusive climax, I'd say he's right.]

I re-entered my bedroom, feeling braver during the day, with my dad awake. I searched the closet and the dummy was gone. Sometimes I see it sitting in random places in the most unrelated of dreams, and no one ever notices. [If you mean people in the dream that's normal, if you mean people in real life, the of course they don't notice it, it's in your dream.]

Ever since that night I've been afraid of dummies, I hate them, and they probabaly hate me too. They're the worst. [That's an understatment.]

Well, that's what the kid said last night to his psychiatrist, seems I worked my magic a little too well. "Who says this? The dad? Wheres the quatation marks, wheres the speake's identity?"

(I hope you enjoyed the story, it's probabaly horrible, and I'd love to hear your feedback. Thank you for reading this.)

Sorry if I've been too harsh: the story is not ''that'" bad. The main issue here is the plot and the writing. And there really is no charecter except a nice father who knows magic and does some random shit to his kid for no reason. The writing is bland, and the plot is predictable and unoriginal. The twist could work if there was a reason for it and if it accually made a fair amount of sense.

That being said, good luck!