Suspense Drawing Novels & Stories

"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.

Lindsey had some eerie music on, and scented candles were flickering nearby as she fully focused on the screen. Summer didn't know how long she had slept, but Lindsey had already finished with her linework. Summer walked over. The moment she saw the linework, she was mesmerized. Even without colors, the poster exuded an eerie, bewitching atmosphere. "Summer, you're up?" Lindsey had turned around when she noticed the movement behind her, only to be so startled that she almost dropped her pen. "Don't tell me you've been drawing nonstop since I fell asleep?" Summer said.

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.

He hadn’t seen him this relaxed in weeks. Not wanting to disturb him, the Sheriff stepped inside quietly, reaching for the desk lamp to turn it off. But something caught his eye—a drawing, half-covered by a book. His fingers paused mid-air, curiosity taking over as he picked up the sketch. It was a hyperrealistic drawing of a woman, detailed and lifelike, almost as if her eyes might blink at any moment. Hunter had always been this good at drawing. But the Sheriff’s brow furrowed in concentration, narrowing his eyes to study the image more closely. There was something familiar about her face—something just out of reach in his memory—but he couldn’t quite place it. Just as he was trying to rec

The lab was very quiet for a moment. I moved to the far wall because standing still in a room that smelled the way this one smelled while processing what Kaelen was reading was not something my body wanted to do. The drawings stopped me. Crude, scratched directly into the stone rather than carved with any skill, but specific. Bodies in various states that I was going to file in the category of things I had seen and would deal with the feelings about later. Wolves. Figures with something flowing out of them that the artist had rendered as light, though whether they had intended it to look hopeful or terrible was genuinely unclear.

Something fluttered from her hands as she turned the corner, a piece of paper, drifting slowly before landing near my chair. Silence swallowed the room, causing my stomach to drop. I stood up slowly and walked over, my movements heavy, like gravity had suddenly doubled. I bent down and picked it up. A drawing. Crayon and paint, bright and uneven, edges smudged with fingerprints. I stared at it. Three figures stood in front of a house. The woman had long hair and a wide smile. The little girl stood in the middle, holding both their hands. And the man, tall, broad, unmistakable stood on the other side.

The lines are dark and heavy, pressed so hard into the paper in some places that it’s torn through. There are people in the cars but they’re not drawn like people. They’re shadows, dark shapes with too many limbs, reaching toward each other or maybe reaching for help. I can’t tell which. I look at the drawing for a long moment, then at Jonah. “What’s this about, buddy?” He shrugs one shoulder, looking down at the drawing instead of at me. “Jo?” I keep my voice gentle. “Can you tell me about it?”