Suspense Drawing Novels & Stories

Suspense hangs heavy around him as he contemplates the source and its significance. Stephen's gaze sweeps across the room, searching for any signs of another person. His mind races with possibilities, emotions churning within him. Doubt mingles with anticipation, creating a palpable tension. Could it be real? Is there truly someone else here, or is it a trick of his weary mind? Uncertainty grips him, but curiosity propels him forward. Stephen steps into the dimly lit corridor, his heart pounding in his chest. Each footfall echoes in the silent cabin, heightening the tension and building suspense. He follows the trail of the voice, a glimmer of hope guiding his steps.

Like the kind of truth she usually only told at 2 AM or during wine-soaked first dates that ended with blocked numbers. The walls in this place were too high. But the ceilings weren't. The pressure dropped when you stood too long. That's what it felt like here. Low oxygen. Emotional altitude sickness. She rubbed her hands down her arms and kept walking. She needed space. Needed to breathe. Somewhere behind her, faint and small, came the whisper of paper scraping softly across a table. Later That Day She found the drawing on her borrowed pillow. Simple lines. Crude shapes. Child's art. A woman in too-bright clothes beside a girl with long braids. And in the background—a third figure. Tall. Al

Professor Mason's heavy sigh was like a massive boulder dropped into a calm pond, instantly drawing the attention of the surrounding students. When they got a clear look at the piece on my easel, sharp gasps echoed throughout the room. Their young faces quickly twisted with sheer disbelief and heavy, undeniable disgust. On my drawing paper, beneath a grotesque, terrifying pair of giant eyes weeping tears of blood, two hideous, skeletal hands tightly gripped a thin black wire, strangling and binding a blurry, shadowy human figure. Hanging from one of those wires was even a mangled, severed limb. I hadn't given the imprisoned figure any eyes; instead, I had viciously gouged out two pitch-black

I looked over it again and again as I hoped Chris would love it. It is a realistic drawing of him in black and white. No color pencil was used. He is a suit with his arms folded on each other. He looked so manly with his expressionless face standing there. I made the drawing to his stomach and stopped it there, not drawing further down. It looks like a portrait. I wish I could frame it out before he comes back from work but I won't even be going out today. I glanced up at the time and it was up to an hour before he arrives from work.

Luca stared at it, blinked, and then set the pencil down as if it had burned him. He rubbed his knuckles slowly, picking at the callus on his thumb. He didn’t think of himself as particularly good at art, but those bodies came out clear. Realistic. Like something you’d see in crime scene folders rather than in fantasy stories. Drawing was the only thing that didn’t make him stutter. There was no one here to flinch away from. No voice to catch in his throat. Just lines and shapes, accompanied by the quiet click of the pencil moving. He was halfway through sketching a second face, this one was eyeless, just empty sockets, when the door behind him creaked open.

The smell of spices filled the air gradually, grounding the house in routine that felt necessary after the chaos of the last day. Routine was survival now. Not comfort. Survival. “Come here,” Selena called suddenly. Her voice startled me slightly. I walked toward the table slowly, crouching beside her. “What is it?” I asked. She turned the paper toward me. It was a drawing. Crude. Simple. Childlike. But clear. Two small figures stood side by side. One slightly taller. One slightly smaller. Beside them was a large black shape. A wolf. My wolf.

What is she planning? "Sasha?" I shouted. Suddenly a flash of light fell up on me. I looked at my surroundings. At one particular place,there are canvasses on which some paintings were pasted. They are my pencil sketches. I went closer to them. Those are the drawings of my whole family along with my dad and grandpa. I still remember,I was four when I drew them. It is Cayden who kept them all after my mother passed. In another sketch,there is just Cayden and me. Those are the same drawings that typical kids would do. A stick like limbs attached to a thin human body. I didn't colour them. Another light flashed and another row of canvasses made appearance.

In one of the designs, a woman was kneeling on the floor while a man stood over her with his head buried in the crook of her neck. More of the same drawings were on the black box. Each of them depicts a different scene but with the same man bent over a female. “What strange things are this?” I traced a finger on one of the drawings. Suddenly, the same window opened a bit and banged shut. And suddenly, the lights went off, bathing the entire room in darkness. Up overhead, the sounds of rumbling thunder can be heard, and the streaks of lightning scared me shitless. “Fucking hell!” I covered my ears with my palms as I slowly chanted.

Deirdre's entire body froze as she glanced at the drawing on the paper. The artwork depicted a mother holding a boy's hand, capturing the mother's tenderness and the child's longing despite its simplicity. A sudden tightness gripped Deirdre's heart. 'Could this be a tribute to his mother?' As Sean heard the noise, he looked up and quickly hid his drawing, his face filled with embarrassment. Deirdre tried to regain her composure, but her mind was in turmoil.

The smaller hand was drawn pulling back, tiny lines radiating outwards, conveying shock, recoil. The cold dread solidified into ice. My throat tightened. “Just coincidence. Symbolic representation of Brayden…” But Brayden was a boy. This hand felt… adult. Malevolent. Then I saw it. The drawing is partially hidden under her knee. She must have been working on it just before I entered. It was different. Less abstract, more deliberate. It showed a table. A simple, rectangular table. Underneath it, crammed into the dark space, was a small child.