Scream Drawings Novels & Stories

Her face was full of scratches from Hailey's wrath and I'm afraid for the trouble we created. Brent rushed to my side and pulled me from Zach. "Baby, are you okay?" he was so worried that I looked like a mess from the splashing. "Oh no!" We heard Aira panic while pointing her fingers to my feet. Blood was dripping and I got so nervous before everything went black.

Fear immediately crawled down my spine. For a few seconds I just stared at it. Then slowly, I bent down and picked it up. I shut the door quickly before walking back into the sitting room. My fingers trembled slightly as I opened the package. A folded piece of paper slipped out first. Then a drawing. My breath caught instantly. It was a child’s drawing done with crayons and it was messy. But the small figure looked painfully familiar. Tiny curls. Big eyes. A blue blanket wrapped around him. Liam.

Without a word, he stood up and walked over to Jasmine, leaning in to take a closer look at her drawing. I followed his gaze, and my breath caught in my throat. The figure on the paper was unmistakable. A woman with sharp features, eyes blazing, surrounded by flames. But what truly horrified me were the demon-like horns jutting from her head, twisted and menacing. It wasn’t just a scary drawing—it looked eerily like Shane, though drawn like a child, with an anger in her expression that sent a shiver down my spine. Dr. Levine kept his voice calm and gentle as he asked, “Jasmine, can you tell us about your drawing?”

"Or do they prefer caviar and critiques?" He snorted, squeezing my fingers. "Ramen, probably. Hides the desperation." His tone was joking, but his thumb stroked the back of my hand—a small anchor. "We'll wow them anyway. Your portfolio's gold. That falling series? It's got teeth." I glanced at him, the streetlight gilding his profile—sharp jaw, the faint scar above his eyebrow from a bar fight he wouldn't talk about. "Teeth, huh? Careful, or they'll bite back." Truth was, those sketches terrified me: figures plummeting through fractured skies, limbs splayed in mid-air, faces twisted not in fear but ecstasy. Dreams I'd had since childhood, the kind that woke me sweating and reaching for charc

I didn't want to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing me cry. I snatched a piece of paper and a pencil from my bag. I didn't listen to a word about the French Revolution. I just started drawing. I drew Ace’s face. I did my best to make sure his eyes look as cold as they really were. Then, I started writing around it. *Die.* *Go to hell.* *I hate you.* The cursives were messy and sharp, filling the space around his head. It felt good to press the pencil into the paper until it almost tore. It was the only way I could actually scream without making a sound.

“Creepy? Because he’s scared of a scary-looking woman?” “You’re not scary-looking, and yes, creepy. The first day I met him he was drawing a dead animal with blood pouring out of it with sidewalk chalk on the patio outside the kitchen.” She shrugged. “Sounds like a typical little boy to me.” I sent her a get-real scowl. “I never drew pictures of bloody things.” “I have a feeling you weren’t a typical little boy, either.” That was true, but it disgruntled me to think of how accurate it was. “I think I remember a couple gruesome drawings by Ezra a time or two.”

I didn’t stop walking. Upstairs, I shut my door too softly for the satisfaction I wanted. Kicking off my leggings, I grabbed a hoodie and crawled into bed. The moment the lights were out, my brain flipped the switch on its nightly torture reel. Old memories. New fears. That terrifying feeling I’d let something important unravel tonight and didn’t know how to rebraid it. I reached for my sketchpad. My safest escape. Tonight’s drawing began with a scar. A long one, slicing down a man’s cheek. His eyes were soft, though. Kind. I made him older. Mid-thirties. Ex-boxer, maybe. Wrote notes in the margin:

Were they just broken and hurting on the inside? Seeing the glee in the tormenter's eyes--she guessed it was more than that. They genuinely seemed to enjoy it. Jacob dropped the folder he'd been clutching onto for dear life and watched in horror as pieces of paper flew in every direction. On closer inspection, Jenna saw the pieces of paper were drawings. And they were amazing. It appeared to be a hand-drawn comic, inked in black and white, completed with speech bubbles and onomatopoeia. The characters looked like anime drawings, with cute faces and big eyes. They were gorgeous.

I said, ruffling his hair, as his twin returned with a drawing paper. “This is what I drew, mummy. I got it, right. I said drew.” He cheered, to which I smiled, stroking his soft cheeks. “Yes, baby. You did,” I said, collecting the drawing from him. “Now let's see what we have here.” There were four painted figures on the paper; two small ones, who I deduced were Liam and Leo with a slightly taller one with long hair and red lips, who I knew was me and a tall man with short hair.

It looks like I’m laughing, blissfully happy. My heart slams against my ribs as I flip to the next page, this one a drawing of me from the waist up, a mischievous grin on my face and my long hair covering my bare breasts. I flip to the next one. And the next one. Pages upon pages of my face, my body. There must be a hundred of them. Every single sketch is me.