Suspense Drawing Novels & Stories

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.

Harvey looked at me shocked then swallowed, " Sir, I found one of the men, good at drawing and I described the man for him." He is lying but I'll let it slide, let's see where this is taking us to. There's something about the drawing This drawing is from a person who saw the man directly. The details are very clear. The power of drawing the features highlights How skilled the painter is! Curves and ripples reveal that he hates this person, it's so sharp it's like he wants to stab him, So weird! I knew this way of drawing. Who's this painter? And why is he stuck in my mind?

No wonder Killian couldn’t look me in the eye this morning. I reach for the sketch pad Elara left by the nightstand. My fingers tremble, but I grip the pencil like it’s my lifeline. I don’t even think, I just draw. Symbols. Circles. Eyes with fire spilling from them. A wolf with a shattered spine. A crown that burns. A clock with no hands. My hand stops only when I notice the paper trembling beneath my touch. Not from me. From the floor. A low vibration hums through the wood. Like a warning. Something is coming.

A cold dread pooled in her stomach. She laid it on the dining table, the sleek modern wood feeling like an altar. She slit the tape with a kitchen knife. The brown paper fell away to reveal a simple, elegant black portfolio folder. Her breath hitched. She knew that style of folder. Every serious art student at Hillside Prep had used them. She opened the clasp. Inside, protected by a sheet of archival tissue paper, was a drawing. Not just any drawing. Her drawing.

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.

"I know. Tell them to hurry." She walked back to the cutting table. She sat down. She picked up the pencil. She drew the building again. This time, she drew the walls holding. She drew the column supported. She drew the void intact. She drew the figure standing inside, safe. The pencil moved with precision. The lines were heavy and black. The structure would hold. She would not let it fall. She pressed so hard the pencil tip almost broke through the paper. The drawing was a spell. A promise. A blueprint for survival.

AVA Something is up. I feel it in my bones, in the way the air stills when I walk by. The mansion feels like it’s holding its breath, like something is lurking just beyond what my eyes can see. The drawing. That damned drawing. It’s been haunting me since yesterday. A crude sketch, yes…but there was something wrong about it. The boy with the crown. The girl with wings. A shadow reaching between them. A river. A shadow behind them. Sebastian and I both saw it, and something in him changed.

"I can't explain it, but I just need you to trust me." Sawyer's fingers ran over a drawing of eyes that were sketched landscape. It was smudged in areas to create shading and the blue and black colours of the irises shouted out at him—it was like looking in a mirror and for a moment, he thought he could see himself reflected in their image. Maybe she was on to something and the longer he looked at the drawings, the more he became determined to find out.

I swear yes I and this I. Okay, he draws, but he draws me? Astonishment makes me look still around the bed and under the bed, but no trace of other pictures. I don't know what to think about it, except that on the one hand it impresses me, and on the other brings him a glimmer of unrest. Why is he drawing me?

Until I looked down at my desk. It was covered with dozens of pages, which were covered with black ink. symbols I did not remember that I drew. Circles and circles and circles without end, jagged teeth of the runes and spirals of blood which leaked at the corners of the paper. They looked eerily familiar. When Elias entered, I jumped. He never made much noise like a man of his bulk. His eyes wandered over his drawings before I could thrust them aside. “How did you come by those?” he said.