Scream Drawings Novels & Stories

I don’t think Carrie realized she heard, and with my head between them, she may not have seen the grin. Just knowing that it would make her squirm, I moved my hand up and cupped Carrie’s bust while looking over her shoulder to see what they were reading. It turned out to be some pen and ink drawings of women in erotic poses. Some were nature scenes, others were of two or three people in various states of undress and in the midst of various sex acts. The one on the right page was a woman licking up the base of an erect cock of some unseen man. The woman in the picture was looking up at her man with a gaze of pure lust.

He climbed onto the sofa beside her and opened the notebook. Crayon lines filled the page. Bright colors. Simple shapes. But the drawing was recognizable. Three stick figures stood side by side beneath a large sun. Evelyn had seen similar drawings from him before. Usually the same three figures. A woman. A child. And a tall man with darker shading around the eyes. Silas held the notebook proudly. “Do you like it?” Evelyn forced a soft smile. “It’s beautiful.” He studied the picture carefully. Then pointed to the tallest figure.

Fuck this babysitting shit. I had been really suffering a lot, and life decided to make it more worst, and that very night I saw again what I didn’t wanted to see, and that was the final draw The bitch was on one of the camp table, butt naked, his dick perfectly inside her, and her arms were wrapped perfectly around his shoulders, she had a fufliling smile on her face, but his was more focused on what he was doing than pleasure…no he was having pleasure…

LYRA POV Even though the room was dimly lit, it couldn't hide what surrounded me. Drawings. Everywhere I looked, there were drawings of me. Me standing in the garden, sunlight catching my hair. Me sleeping, my face peaceful and relaxed. Me walking through corridors, my dress flowing behind me. Me laughing at something, joy captured in careful pencil strokes. My hands shook as I reached out to touch one of the papers. The detail was perfect. Every line of my face, every strand of hair, every small expression—all captured with stunning accuracy.

The cover was embossed with a symbol that looked like a twisted, enraged claw mark. Nate crossed the room, the ghost sense of Kieran’s touch still tingling on his skin. He stood beside his chair, close enough to feel the warmth coming from him, and peered down at the pages. The script was old, but the images were brutally clear: depictions of wolves, but different. They were monstrously big, their musculature exaggerated and vicious, with four separate, scary sets of fangs in their gaping maws.

Opposite and sides of the room sat tall shelves carrying textbooks, all medical. He was always studying. I stopped at the table, looking over the papers. Then I took interest on a particular white sheet of paper sticking out of a large red covered book. On the paper's protruded side was a drawing of some creature. I hate to admit that it actually looks like a werewolf but it did. Picking it out from the book and up to my face, I could clearly see the picture now. It's an image of a werewolf, it's body parts fully labelled.

What I saw inside the envelope made me nauseous. It’s a picture of a man with full of blood. There’s also a picture of its back with a words engrave in it. THE HUNT STARTS NOW! -JMJ What the hell?

He saw that the cover had ‘Caiden Silver’ written on it. Raising a brow, he flipped it open and his heart dropped. The word ‘Die’ was written in different fonts with blobs of red paint splattered across the page. Corbin flipped the page over, and his eyes widened, on the second page was a drawing of an arm which was slit open and written on the arm was ‘Caiden Silver.’ The third picture had a pack of sixteen wolves drawn on it, eating a person and on that person's body was written ‘Me’ as if the ‘me’s’ were colouring it. Each wolf had a name written on them representing all his siblings and parents in the drawing.

He stepped inside, eyes flicking automatically over the organized chaos of her desk—journal stacks, a half‑drunk coffee, Park’s latest draft open on the tablet. No stapler. Of course. He turned to leave and saw it. A photo, half‑tucked under a file, edge peeking out just enough to catch the eye. A small hand, smudged with blue and red crayon. A wolf drawing with too many teeth. Curiosity was a reflex he’d never successfully shut off. He reached out and slid the paper the rest of the way clear. Two sheets, actually. On top: the drawing. Three wolves—one with a small, one with bared teeth, one with a crooked leg, and a long line in its paw. Labels in wobbly, determined letters.