OH NO, SATSUJIN FINISHED A STORY?

Another thing for creative writing, haha. 8D;; 

AREN'T YOU TIRED OF THEM. :"D

It wouldn't fit in a diary entry, so... it's a page.



	Great. Just freaking absolutely great. Brandon Wilder, age 15, peered out of the windows of the train, toward
the foggy horizon. Even with the fog, it was swelteringly hot inside the cabin, causing his shirt and jeans to stick
uncomfortably to his skin. He bounced constantly since the ragged piece of machinery had no means to smooth out the
bumps in the tracks. Seven hours he had spent in this hell - and to his dismay, when he arrived at his destination, it
wasn’t going to get any better at all. His thoughts trailed back to the discussion he’d had before leaving.

	“But, Mom,”  he’d said, “can’t I stay? I don’t want to go over Sheri’s house!” His
mother had given him a disapproving look.

	“Honestly, Brandon. You should know that your poor cousin needs more friends.”

	“She doesn’t have any in the first place because she’s such a freak.”

	“Brandon!” His mother snapped. “You are going and that is final!”

	“But--”

	“You. Are. Going.”

	Brandon sighed, glaring at the land outside the window. It was so barren; dirt, dirt, more dirt, and a few really big
sticks sticking out of the ground that were trying to be trees, but quite making it. No, scratch that. They were
failing really hard at it. This was way out in the boonies. He glanced up, catching something in the corner of
his eyesight. It was a scarecrow; birds flew around it, pecking it to pieces. Brandon closed his eyes and imagined it
was Sheri. 

	Two hours later, he arrived at the door of Sheri's run-down shack. It could be called a house, but it was so
dilapidated it seemed as if no one lived there. The shutters on one of the windows were torn off completely, and the
other windows' shades hung limply from their hinges. Holes and termite damage corrupted the stairs over the years.
Several shingles were missing from the roof.

	Geez, how does she stand it? Brandon raised his hand to knock on the door, but it flew open before his fist
even reached the wood, revealing Sheri. An expectant smile was slapped on her face.

	"Brandon!" she cried. "My favorite cousin!"

	Brandon couldn't help himself. His eyes bugged out at Sheri's outfit. Her platinum blonde hair was pulled into two
ponytails that fell just above her waist. Around her neck was a lace choker with a skull pendant, and her dress was one
of those creepy gothic Victorian ones. The front was laced up, stopping just below her collar bone, the bottom fanning
out with millions and trillions of layers of lace. To Brandon, she looked absolutely idiotic.

	"Uh. . . huh." He said. She grabbed his arm and tugged him inside, giggling. 

	"Come on, Bran-Bran!" Brandon groaned; another thing he hated about Sheri was her stupid nickname calling. Seriously,
Bran-Bran? Nevertheless, he allowed himself to be dragged into the ragtag living room. A TV sat on an upside down
crate, barely pulling in any channels. It looked as if it there was a snow flurry, which Brandon was pretty sure wasn't
supposed to be happening on an episode of Full House. Especially not while they were indoors. 

	The rug was threadbare; with dismay, he noted a large brown stain in the center. There were only three pieces of
furniture in the room -- a small glass table, a couch in front of the table, and an arm rest on the far side of the
room. Brandon made haste for the arm chair, plopping down in it.

	"So," he said. "How goes it." Sheri threw him a winning grin.

	"Amazing!" she gushed. "My tutoring's been going perfect! Since, you know," she waved her hands around, "there's no
school around here and all. Goodness, it's so boring out here, you know?" She put her hands on her hips, turning to
face Brandon head on. "And it's gotten even better, since you're out here!"

	Brandon gagged mentally. Oh man, why'd she have to be so excited about everything? "Oh, that's. . . nice to hear."

	"Isn't it?" Sheri clapped her hands together, straightening up. "Hey, Brandon!" With a flourish, she whirled around,
throwing out her arm toward the hallway. "Come with me! You've gotta see my new doll collection!" Brandon cringed.

	Oh my god, she doesn't-- "Doll collection?" he asked, tentatively. 

	"Mhm."

	"You mean like. . . those porcelain, creepy things?" He made a face. "The ones that steal your soul?"

	Sheri continued to smile obliviously. "Not exactly. Now come on, you've got to see them. They're all so gorgeous!"
Brandon forced a smile onto his face only half successfully. 

	"Gee, I'd. . . love to."

	"Yes!" Sheri stalked over to him, grasping his arm and hoisting him out of the chair. "Now, come on!" She turned and
walked purposefully down the hallway. Brandon followed with less than half her enthusiasm. He could only think about
how stupid she looked, swinging her arms as if she was on a mission and she was just going to show him those dolls. 

	And dolls. Brandon shuddered. Those things were so damn creepy. Especially in horror flicks. It was always the dolls
that murdered people in the dead of the night. Little boy finds his parents dead in a sea of blood? His ventriloquist
puppet did it. Little girl stumbles upon her best friend hanging from the ceiling? Barbie got a little vicious.

	"Here we are!" Sheri's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. They were in front of a tall wooden door at the back of
the house. The only door in good condition, actually. Brandon wondered faintly if it had been put in there recently.
"Okay, are you ready?" Sheri placed her hand over the knob, turning back toward Brandon with expectation shining in her
eyes. When he nodded, a smile split her face and she turned the knob, flinging the door open. 

	The first thing Brandon noticed was how big the room was. It looked comical compared with the rest of the house, but
then again, it might've looked so big because it only held four items. They were the second thing Brandon noticed. When
Sheri had said "dolls," he'd been expecting the tiny little gremlins dressed in frilly clothing. And while they were
dressed in frilly clothing, these certainly weren't tiny little gremlins.

	"They're life sized," Sheri said, and she straightened up again, chest puffing out in what Brandon assumed was pride.
"Aren't they nice?"

	Brandon looked at her. 

	"Well?" she asked again, cocking her head to look at him. Her blue eyes appraised him carefully. "Bran-Bran, don't you
like 'em? They're really cute, aren't they?"

	"Er, well." He coughed, looking at the dolls again. 

	There were three girls, and one boy. The girls sat side by side, smiling at him vacantly. The boy was on the other end
of the room, alone, head inclined toward his chest. All four of them were wearing old-timey clothes; Dark pompadour
dresses on the girls, and the boy in a old fashioned suit, complete with tie and top hat. Brandon cringed inwardly.
There was nothing creepier than giant dolls. God knows they must be a hell of a lot harder to fight off than Chucky. 

	Brandon shook his head, clearing the thoughts. 

	"I guess," he mumbled. She turned around, smiling up at him.

	"I knew you would! Even though it's not that many," she said, giggling. "I can't wait until I get more, you know?"

	"Uh. . . yeah."

	"Well, that's enough of that!" Sheri shut the door, but not before Brandon noticed something peculiar on the boy's
shirt. The door closed too fast for him to really make out what it was, and quite honestly, he didn't really care. 

	"So, now what?" 

	"Well, have you eaten?"

	"No." Brandon shrugged. "Train food's disgusting."

	"Oh." Visibly upset, Sheri crossed her arms, staring up at him. "You know it's bad not to eat!"

	"Yeah, but I--"

	"You look fine the way you are."

	". . . Excuse me?"

	"Don't go anorexic. You have to eat, Brandon!"

	"What." Brandon deadpanned, giving her a blank look. Sheri looked back at him worriedly. 

	"I never knew it affected boys," she said. "I'm sorry." Her hand was clasped over her heart. "But look, if you need to
talk to me about anything, I'm so here for you, understand?"




	"Sheri, you're getting the wrong idea. I'm not anorexic. I'm actually very hungry right now." He rubbed his stomach.
"Grghgh. That was my stomach rumbling. Yeah."

	Sheri looked down at his stomach, then back up at him, frowning. A few tense seconds passed, then the goofy smile was
back on her face. 
	"Okay!" And she was off again, striding down the hallway as Brandon followed her. "I'll make something for dinner,
okay? You can watch TV or something while I'm cooking. Do you want a snack?"

	"Erm, no," the brunette said, "just watching TV will be fine. What channels do you get?" It'd be bearable if he could
get something awesome like Court TV out here. Watching murderers get justice shoved in their faces would be satisfying
even if it looked to be in the middle of a snowstorm. Sheri paused in her walk down the hallway. 

	"I don't know," she replied slowly, as if thinking about the question. "Hmm." A thoughtful expression crossed her face
and she pursed her lips. "When the weather's good, I get like two channels. But who knows how many're out there, with
this old clunker here?" Giggling, she pointed at the fizzy television. "Right now it's the weather channel and the
oldies!" 

	"Oh." Brandon sighed. This was the boonies, what was he hoping for? Four hundred channels with the sports package?

	"Aww, don't look so sad, Bran-Bran." Sheri tapped him on the shoulder. "Go ahead and sit down and I'll go make us some
dinner!" The two went in separate directions -- Sheri into the kitchen to the left, and Brandon straight ahead into the
living room. He sat back down in the chair he had been in moments ago and turned his gaze lazily to the television. 
Happy Days was on. 

	"Great. Just great," he groaned.

	"What?" Sheri called from the kitchen.

	"Nothing." The house was quiet for a few minutes, save for the staticy voices coming from the TV and the sounds of
Sheri bustling around in the kitchen, humming softly to herself. Brandon allowed himself to slip into his own thoughts
in the rare peace.

	God. Those dolls she'd shown him were absolutely creepy. Seriously, who in the world would even consider having life
sized dolls? Sheri, of course. He shuddered. There was something about that boy doll that was unnerving him, but he
could quite put his finger on it. What made it catch in his mind? He frowned. Something was strange about it. 

	"Bran-Bran!" Brandon jumped, Sheri's voice startling him out of his thoughts for the second time that night.
"Bran-Bran," she said again, "will you help me with something?"

	Brandon lifted himself from the chair. "Sure, why not." He shuffled into the kitchen, grimacing when he saw Sheri at
the counter in a frilly pink apron, wielding a knife. I definitely don't want to be around her if she has that.
"What do you need help with?"

	Continuing chopping away at the cutting board, Sheri didn't turn to look at him. She rasied a hand and pointed over at
the garbage can. "The can's full! Can you take it out to the back of the house?" Brandon raised an eyebrow.

	"The back?"

	"Mhm!" Sheri twisted her head toward him, shooting a grin over her shoulder. "The trash truck rolls through the back
of the houses; it's easier that way. He can just loop around when he finishes picking up all the stinky stuff." 

	Brandon was silent.  Stinky stuff. Oh, wow. "Alright." With a grunt, he grabbed the can and dragged it toward the
front of the house, pushing the door open with his free hand. Dust rose in a cloud around him as he pulled the trash
can along around the side of the house. When he reached the back, he set it down and stepped back to make sure it
wasn't going to fall over. 

	Huh? He blinked. Close by the house was a ragged scrap of blue cloth. Hesitantly, he picked it up between his thumb
and forefinger and examined it. No telling where it came from, and from its condition -- it was smeared with dirt and
riddled with holes where bugs had chewed through it -- it looked like it'd been out there for weeks. Guess the trash
man missed a piece. Brandon dropped it in the can and turned to go back inside. The cloth felt familiar, but he
couldn't place why.

	"Finished," he called, opening the door and stepping inside. 

	"Ah, thank you!" A clatter from the kitchen sounded through the house. "Oh -- Oops! Dinner's almost ready anyway,
Bran-Bran." 

	"Alright." Wait. Brandon shut the door behind him softly, thinking to himself. Hadn't she just started not ten minutes
ago? 

	As if reading his thoughts, Sheri called out, "It was pre-cooked! I'm just heating it up right now." The microwave
dinged. "And there it is!" He heard the microwave door pop open, glass scraping against glass, and the door slamming
shut again. "It's dinner time! I hope you like spaghetti."

	"It's not like I have a choice," he grumbled.

	"What?"

	"Nothing." He trudged begrudgingly into the kitchen, seating himself at the small wooden table at the far side. There
were only two chairs at the table, directly across from each other. He cursed his fate that Sheri wouldn't at least not
be able to stare directly at him while he ate. 

	A plate of food was clunked down in front of him and he looked at it dismally. The spaghetti looked horrible, like
someone grabbed a bunch of yellow yarn, threw it on a plate, and dumped a can of sauce on it. The edges were crusty and
hard where Sheri had overheated it. On the side were two limp stalks of steaming broccoli. Apparently, she had left
those on the plate while heating up the spaghetti. Brandon scowled in disgust at the food on his plate.

	Uncaring, Sheri set her food on the table across from him. "Would you like something to drink?" she asked, walking
over toward the refrigerator.

	"Why not."

	"Okay! Kool-aid, milk, water, or...?" she trailed off, watching him.

	"Anything's fine."

	"M'kay." Sheri leaned forward and rummaged in the fridge for a few seconds before pulling back out with a half empty
jug of red liquid. "Cherry kool-aid it is." She crossed the kitchen and opened a cabinet, taking out two glasses.
Brandon speared his spaghetti and began chewing on it as she poured the glasses, hoping that the sweet kool-aid would
be able to dull the monstrosity that was this spaghetti.

	"Here you go!" With a soft thump, she set one of the glasses down in front of him. Brandon took it and sipped
it as Sheri hustled back to her side of the table, sinking down into her chair. "How is it?"

	"Sweet. Tastes like cherries."

	"That's cause it's cherry kool-aid, silly!"

	"I know." He rolled his eyes, taking a gulp, attempting to drown out the taste of the spaghetti. Obviously, she didn't
understand sarcasm. Sheri hummed softly to herself, spinning spaghetti around her fork and tapping her foot under the
table. Silence reigned for a few (precious, to Brandon) moments.

	"So," she said at last, breaking the short silence. "How have you been, Bran-Bran? We haven't really talked at all
since you've gotten here."

	"Fine. You know. The usual." 

	"Really?"

	"Yes. Really."

	"Oh, well! That's good." Sheri pushed her plate away from her, folding her hands on the table. She smiled at Brandon.
"I already told you how things have been going here, with my tutoring and all." 

	"You sure did." 

	"Did I tell you I made some new friends?" Brandon's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Friends? Out here? He didn't
think anyone lived remotely close enough for her to even socialize with them. She giggled at his surprise. "I can see
you didn't expect that!"

	"This place is pretty far out, to tell you the truth. . ." 

	"I know! I was pretty excited when I met them, too." As she smiled, perhaps reminiscing, Brandon was exhilarated.
Sheri had friends? That meant he wouldn't have to go over this cursed place any more. He'd simply explain to his mom
that Sheri had found new friends, that she wasn't lonely any more, and that she definitely did not want nor need him to
come over. Oh, this was amazing. Glorious. 

	"So, do they come over often?" he queried, keeping his excitement hidden with only the most extreme concentration.

	"Umm, not really." Brandon's happiness nearly died out with that statement, but it flared up again when she added,
"But when they do come over, it makes me so happy!" 

	"I'm happy to hear that." And he genuinely was.

	"Do you want to hear about them?"

	He didn't. But it was for the greater good of his life. ". . . Sure."

	"Alright!" Sheri drew herself up, breathing in deeply. "Let's see, where should I start?"

	Oh god, oh god. . . what have I done? He tried to keep a straight face, dreading what was to spill out of her
mouth next.

	"Well, let's see. There's Geraldine and Mimi, to start with!" The blonde waved her hands around, moving them from the
base of her head to rest on her shoulders. "They both had really pretty hair. I mean, super pretty! It was all black
and glossy, and it reached right about here."

	"Is that so."

	"Yeah! Geraldine had the best sense of humor, too. And Mimi was just so quiet and kind. She never made fun of me,
ever. We played together a lot. With Geraldine, too! I really liked them."

	Brandon was quiet.

	"And, next, there was Caroline. Oh, Caroline! She had really pretty hair, too. It was long like Geraldine's and
Mimi's, but it had these really nice curls at the end." Sheri sighed dreamily. "I wish my hair was like that. All I
have is this boring straight hair! But anyway, Caroline was just as nice as the other two. She brought over books a
lot, so we spent a lot of our time reading."

	Something was wrong here, but what was it?

	"Oh, and then, Jared. He came over almost every day! I think he had a crush on me." An airy laugh. "He was so
adorable! I loved his blonde hair, and his cool eyes, and that blue shirt he used to wear every day. He had such a nice
voice, too. He never got to meet my other friends, though."

	It clicked.

	"Er, Sheri." Brandon cleared his throat, pushing his chair back from the table. Sheri cocked her head, giving him a
confused look.

	"Yes?"

	"Can I use the bathroom?"

	"Sure! Don't take too long, okay? I've got so much more to tell you!"

	"Don't worry, I won't." With that, he moved away from the table and toward the hallway. He passed the bathroom on his
way, continuing straight to the back room. The room with the dolls.
	What was wrong with Sheri's stories was that everything was in past tense. Geraldine had pretty hair. They all used to
play games together. Jared was so adorable. Brandon shivered involuntarily. What he had unnerved him the most was the
descriptions Sheri had given him. 

	The dolls looked exactly like her descriptions. 
	
	He reached the door. Glancing over his shoulder to make sure Sheri wasn't watching, he hesitantly reached out,
grabbing the knob. He took a deep breath. Slowly, he turned and pushed the door open. 

	They were just as they'd been before. Three girls, one boy, lined up in that order. Brandon walked closer and
scrutinized them. The first girl had long, black hair that framed her face in bangs. It reached slightly past her
shoulders. Geraldine? he thought, or Mimi? His gaze shifted to the second girl, who shared the same type of hair. 

	Uneasiness crept down his spine as he looked at the other two. The third girl had gorgeous dirty blonde hair. It went
almost to her waist, tapering off into delicate curls. The boy stared back at him with empty blue eyes, blonde locks
sitting messily under the top hat. Something Sheri said earlier popped back into his head. 

	"I loved his blonde hair, and his cool eyes, and that blue shirt he wore every day!"

	 Blonde hair. Blue eyes. And a blue shirt. Brandon thought back to when he had taken the trash out. That scrap of blue
cloth. . . No, it couldn't have been. Could it? A wheeze of breath sounded out of nowhere, and Brandon jerked back
startled. 

	"Hhhh. . ." He looked around for the source of the noise, eyes widening when he realized the doll had just parted its
lips. He swore softly under his breath. A few more wheezes escape the doll's lips before they began to move.

	"H-h. . . el. . . p."

	"Oh, damn," Brandon said, reaching forward. "Are you okay?" 

	"Bran-Bran." Sheri's voice cut through the air. Brandon started badly, nearly knocking the "doll" in the face. He
whirled around. Sheri stood in the doorway, silhouette outlined by the bright light coming from the kitchen. Her arms
were crossed. 

	"S-Sheri." 

	"Why are you in here, Bran-Bran. . .?" Sheri stepped into the room. "Did you like my dolls that much?"
	Brandon looked her in the eyes. "Sheri, what have you done to these people?"

	"My friends?" She tittered. "I didn't want them to go, so now they're here. We can play together all the time! Except,
they don't move much, you know? It's kind of boring. But we manage!" Her cousin shook his head. 

	"No. Sheri, no." She pursed her lips, looking at him sadly.

	"But, Bran-Bran! Are you jealous?" Before he could even reply, she cut him off, taking another step. "Don't worry. I
like you a lot, too! So you can stay here as well." 

	Oh, hell no. As if he was going to become one of these. He rose, fully intending to storm past Sheri and out the door,
when he felt his legs weaken. He staggered to the floor, inhaling sharply in surprise. 

	"What--?" Strength was rapidly fleeing from his limbs. Dull panic settled in his stomach. Why couldn't he move? He had
to go, and right now. He willed his arms and legs to move, but they wouldn't respond. From her spot on the other side of
the room, Sheri smiled warmly at him, laughing softly.

	"Now you're finally enjoying the meal!" Brandon's eyes widened and he tried to choke out a response. She'd messed with
the drink? That god-awful spaghetti? He realized with a start that Sheri had never eaten anything. She hadn't drunk the
Kool-Aid. She hadn't touched anything she'd offered him.

	It had all been tampered with.

	"S-Sh," he croaked, shakily. It was the only thing he could force past his lips. Sheri continued to smile as she
reached into the front of her dress, and Brandon couldn't contain a small cry when she withdrew a syringe. 
	
	"Hush, Brandon." She advanced toward him. His brain was screaming at his legs, telling them to move, move but they
just wouldn't listen. He watched helplessly as Sheri crossed the room and bent down in front of him, smiling. Another
realization hit him, cold and hard.

	"Y-Y." You called me Brandon.
	
	Sheri's empty smile met his gaze. "Don't you worry, Brandon," she cooed, and he winced when he felt the cold needle of
the syringe pierce his skin. The plunger moved down, and whatever drug was in there, it moved with haste. Not even two
minutes after she'd injected him, his eyelids had begun to feel heavy. He struggled to keep them open. He was losing.
Sheri giggled. 
	"Now you can't run away. They tried to, too. But now we have fun every day!" She looked absolutely delighted as she
leaned in close by his ear to whisper, "And now we can, too."

	Brandon slipped into unconsciousness.