Does this sound interesting?

[Rob Wright]

Not bad, I would go first person, but that's me.

I do a fair bit of writing, just finished my second full screenplay last night, yes kilts do make an appearance, and after much searching I am fixing to start a story for a cousin of mine because we cannot find what she wants to read anywhere, so I must ride to the rescue and write about 120 pages of story over the next four-five weeks.

If you ever want to talk writing pm me.

Rob

[Red Lioness]

Thanks for the input! I will work more on the descriptions and setting.

I always prefer writing in the third person; it gives the reader and writer much more scope rather than sticking with what the one character knows.

It's just been so long since I've written any fiction I've almost forgotten how! My entire Air Force career was spent writing reports and training and newsletter articles. I'm trying to get back into the swing of storytelling.

[Red Lioness]

How's this?

**********************************************


When he first saw the house, Dr. B. E. Dooriya wondered if you could accuse architecture of being overly dramatic. The old Victorian house reared up against the dark sky, barely visible through the bare trees. It was the perfect house for a murder. The sheriff was waiting on the porch for him.
“Dr. Dooriya?” The sheriff was an older man, who looked as if he should be way past retirement age. Rather than expanding around the girth as most older men did, this one seemed to have simply wizened, as if he had been sun dried. “Thanks for coming out.”
“You must be Sheriff Weaver! Thanks for inviting me.” Dr. Dooriya said with a smile.
“I didn’t exactly invite you out for a social call.” Sheriff Weaver said. “But we’ve got a murder here and the closest we’ve got to a crime scene investigator is a part-time forensic analyst. Our full time investigator won’t come to this house. She mentioned you were up for the conference so I made a few calls.”
“Understood,” Dr. Dooriya said, this time with a more serious expression. “What can you tell me?
“I’ll let Madison tell you; we’ve still got to clear the scene.”

After the gothic exterior, the interior almost came as a shock. While the outside was gothic to the extreme, the interior decoration was pure dollhouse chic. Flowery wallpaper plastered every wall, while overly-saccharine paintings of wall-eyed kittens and cherubic children managed to break up the endless flowers. Porcelain dolls and teddy bears clogged every nook and cranny. A ornamental mirror reflected Dr. Dooriya’s face back at him. A middle-aged man of average height with features that were, if not handsome, at least attractively interesting and dark hair just starting to go grey dressed in somber tones of charcoal and black looked severely out of place in this giant dollhouse. Sheriff Weaver led him to a sitting room.
“This is our part-time forensic analyst; Madison Coran. She’ll fill you in.” A woman rose from a chintz loveseat, putting a bit of knitting away in a black bag that hung from her shoulder. She was short, curvy, and pale, with a mane of wild curly hair that was somewhere between auburn and blonde and seemed to leap back and forth between the two as the light changed.
“Dr. B. E. Dooriya, I presume?” She said. “I’m Madison Curan.”
“It’s a pleasure, Ms. Curan. What can you tell me about what happened here?” The corner of Madison’s mouth turned up. He actually pronounced it ‘Mizz’. Most people stuck to ‘Miss’ until they were told otherwise.
“Call me Madison,” she said. “The victim is Mr. James Levy, 68. His wife went out of town on a trip with her daughter-in-law this afternoon. His grandkids were dropped off here at the same time. The children were outside until about seven p.m. They ordered Chinese food for dinner at seven-thirty, then everything was quiet until a little after ten o’clock. The neighbors heard screaming and called the police. Responding officers heard the kids screaming and ran upstairs. They found Mr. Levy stabbed multiple times and the children hiding in a wardrobe. They’re still trying to coax them out.”
“I see. Any signs of forced entry?” Dr. Dooriya asked, eyeing the overly decorated room.
“None, not that it there would be. The Levys never locked their doors. But there’s nothing missing and nothing looks disturbed, except for the bedroom.”
“You’ve - you’ve been here before? You know they didn’t lock their doors?”
“Oh yes; Mrs. Levy grows wonderful herbs. I don’t have the knack myself.” At his look, Madison smiled wider. “This is a small town, Dr. Dooriya. If you lock your door, how will your neighbors get in if they need something?”
“The same way a murderer gets in?” Dr. Dooriya guessed.
“Touché.” Upstairs, the sound of a child crying began and quickly moved down into the first floor. A deputy rushed by the sitting room door with a small girl in his arms. She was screaming hysterically. A second deputy followed him, this one carrying a small boy. The boy was silent, staring blankly ahead as glassy-eyed as the dolls lining the walls. Sheriff Weaver appeared in the doorway.
“We’re ready for you two now,” he said, gesturing to them to follow. Madison started up the stairs behind the sheriff.
“So if this town is so open and friendly, why won’t the regular CSI come here?” Dr. Dooriya asked.
“Jason won’t come here because this place is haunted.” Madison said.
“There’s no such thing as ghosts.” Dr. Dooriya snapped.
“You hold on to that thought,” the woman said without looking up. “I guess ’haunted’ isn’t really the right word. It’s more like super-mega haunted. One might even say ’cursed’.”
“That. Is. Ridiculous.” Brick snapped. “You people are scientists. And you believe in ghosts?!” Madison paused on the stairs, arching an eyebrow at the good doctor.
“Oh, so you’re one of those.”
“One of what?”
“Someone who has the entire universe figured out.” The woman stopped on the stairs and turned around. The advantage of two higher steps let her look Dr. Dooriya square in the eye. “Arthur Conan Doyle wrote: ’When you rule out the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.’ Well, the first part’s trickier than it seems.”
“Ruling out the impossible?”
“Yeah. In this town, Doctor, there ain’t no such thing.”