Scream Drawings Novels & Stories

Her phone was still in her hand, the last words of Selena’s call echoing through her mind like a gunshot that hadn’t hit yet. He’s a target. A big one. Her eyes drifted back to the table, to where Pearl had left her half-finished lemonade beside a napkin covered in doodles. She stared at it absently. Then her gaze dropped. A corner of white paper peeked out from the side pocket of her bag. She reached for it. Unfolded it slowly. It was a drawing—crude, clumsy, and heartbreakingly earnest. Stick figures holding hands, coloured with uneven crayon strokes. A triangle of yellow meant to be the sun, a purple heart floating between them. Above each stick figure, names were scrawled in shaky letter

Her heartbeat quickened, not with fear, but with that strange kind of anticipation that only comes when something hidden is just within reach. She knelt down, slowly this time. Gently, deliberately, she pulled the drawer open fully. Inside: more drawings. Crayon sketches on yellowed paper — childish but full of detail. Two boys under a mango tree, one taller, one grinning with front teeth missing. Another of a house, clearly the Kareem mansion, drawn with careful precision and love. The name “Rami” was scribbled in the corner of one page. Zara’s fingers trembled as she lifted an old essay from a thin folder. It was worn at the edges, but the handwriting was neat, even, and emotional. At the

Nicole. “Heidi…” my heart softened as I dropped to my knees beside her. “I’m gonna put them back, I promise. I just wanted mum to stay here for a while.” One of her drawings rested ont he table too, almost covered by mum’s scarf. I pulled it from under there. It wasn’t the best picture but I could tell it was two older women with a child in between them. One of the women’s hair was done with a yellow pencil while the other was black, the child had tiny dots around her head to imitate hair, but what they all had in common was the yellow circles hovering over their heads and the triangle wings.

Most notably, he was surrounded by discarded papers, all depicting the same thing in black and red crayon. Dimly lit rooms, with creeping shadows around the corners. Large, angry stick figures with what almost looked like baseball bats or police batons in their hands. Smaller stick figures cowering on the floor. Shuddering, I leaned over and picked up the nearest one. It looked like a closeup of a man’s face, black stubble around his mouth and his eyebrows turned down as if in fury. He had pointy teeth, the ends of which were dotted with… Red. Like blood.

The drawings explained how deeply the person pined over the man and how crazy she became over the years or so. "Wow," Scarlette said, halting and staring at something. I traced her gaze and the image made me shudder. It wasn't the worst I'd seen but it still made me shiver. The lady was face down and getting mounted by a large wolf. The wolf was strange but I couldn't keep staring. I tore my gaze away and kept walking. It didn't take long before we reached an open space that looked like the bedroom of the woman. There was not much left in the room but an old bed, a broken bookshelf, and a stone table. The room was still lit and the drawings on the walls were different this time. It had the s

She was somewhere around seven or eight, completely absorbed in whatever she was drawing, her tongue pressed to the corner of her mouth in concentration. I lowered myself carefully into a chair near her, mindful of my ribs, and looked at the paper. The drawing was full. Not in a crowded way, in a deliberate way, like she had a clear picture in her head and was working her way across the page with intention. There was a dragon in the top left, red and blocky with impressive teeth. Below it, a woman in a red cape with a pointed hat on a flying broom, carefully coloured with a orange crayon. To the right of that, something with fangs and a dark cape that I was fairly certain was meant to be a v

"Emma, sometimes it's easier to show feelings than talk about them. Can you draw me a picture of how you feel?" Emma picked up the crayons and started drawing. She worked intently for twenty minutes while Dr. Chen and I sat quietly. When she finished, she pushed the paper across the table. Dr. Chen looked at it. Her face went pale. I leaned over to see. The drawing showed a small figure—clearly a child—locked inside a cage made of black bars. Outside the cage, two large figures faced each other. One had sharp teeth and claws. The other had wild hair and angry eyes. Both were drawn in dark, violent colors.

Tabitha’s POV We take turns sketching across the stone wall, passing the marker back and forth. We layer over each other’s drawings like we’re trying to outdo the last. Reed snickers while drawing an alien with three eyes and a meteor shaped like a dick. And then, there’s also something he claims is a “space wolf,” which I honestly think is quite cute. It’s the only decent thing he drew. We keep laughing until my stomach hurts and I’m wiping tears from my eyes. I lean over the narrow window to catch my breath.

As the detective carefully flipped through one, I caught glimpses of my name, Jace’s name, and chillingly detailed observations about our lives, our routines. Then I saw them. Drawings. Pages upon pages filled with disturbing sketches. Some were of Jace, idealized and romanticized. Others… others depicted me in vulnerable, intimate moments, images that could only have been captured through her hidden cameras. The violation was sickening, a cold dread seeping into my bones. And then there were the drawings that made my blood run cold. Crude sketches depicting violent scenarios, with figures that vaguely resembled me in positions of distress, and another figure, unmistakably Zara, looming over

Unfortunately, I had to go back. Begrudgingly, I returned to the little camp, the sun nearly completely gone by this point. But between Scarlett’s heightened eyesight in the dark and the campfire’s glow, there was no mistaking the scene I found upon my return. I instantly stopped dead in my tracks. “What are you...,” I whispered, barely getting the words out. He looked up from my notebook as I spoke, apparently not even caring that I caught him. “What are these drawings? Where did you get them?” he asked, flicking through the pages. “Some of them are... strange.”