A short story my son wrote

Over the weekend I was cleaning the desk off and going through a bunch of papers. I found this story that the boy wrote. I was greatly amused so I decided to share. Give it a read and leave him a comment if you’d like.


I heard loud booming sounds in the field from a distance, I was too scared but curious so I checked it out. I heard fast crunching against the creepy surface, there was a scream, a bang, and someone falling. I saw a shadow running away. I couldn’t make out the figure. I was frozen in fear. I didn’t know whether to chase him and forget about the police, or to run away safe and sound and call the police. While I was still frozen , not knowing what to do, the figure stopped, turned around, saw me, pointed a black dot at me.

Oh know. It was a pistol!

My reflexes made me run to the nearest bush, tree…or anything! A flash went right past me. Thank God I wasn’t hit. I ran into a taller and wider man with a top hat on and a long cloak.

Oh know. There were two of them!

He had a sniper on his back, a machine gun in his front pocket, two pistols in his side pockets, and a snubnose! I didn’t know what to do. So I quickly grabbed a pistol, punched him in the gut, shot him in the foot.

“Go! Whoever you are, please I don’t want to deal with this. Go!”

The cops somehow showed up, I was clueless. I dropped to the ground, fell on my knees.

“What have I done?”

So far the cops hadn’t seen me. I ran as fast as I could. Breathlessly I fumbled open the door. My hands were slippery from the blood. Once I got in I started sobbing. Mumbling to myself what have I done? I killed someone! Why? Who were they? Why were they here? What were they doing? Who have they killed?

Author: Brian Lindenmuth

Former non-fiction of Spinetingler Magazine and fiction editor at Snubnose Press. Long time reviewer.

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