Suspense Drawing Novels & Stories

A piece of paper fluttered out. It was a drawing. Crayons on construction paper. Catherine picked it up, and her blood ran cold. The drawing showed two stick figures standing on a jagged white line (the ice). One was labelled "Daddy," drawn in blue. The other was labelled "Sad Man," drawn in red. They were fighting. But above them, the sky was ripped open. A black hole was drawn in the clouds. And coming out of the hole wasn't light. It was a tentacle. A massive, black, spiraling limb covered in eyes.

He was already used to the weirdness. --- Later that night, he sat at his desk, sketching. He'd found an old charcoal pencil buried in the drawer earlier. Looked untouched, like it had been waiting. He didn't question it. The lines came easy tonight. Curved strokes, soft shading, something…familiar. Halfway through, he realized what he was drawing: A hand. Slender. Resting palm up, reaching. Not begging. Inviting. He stared at it. The pencil slipped.

But that wasn’t what he was drawing today. There was a picture of two girls—rendered crudely in crayon, but still identifiable as girls. One of them had short blond hair and the other had long brown braids. Their hands were on their faces and their mouths open in screams. David had drawn these as big black circles. A huge black shadow hovered before them, a shapeless body with red eyes and clearly defined hands. The hands looked like long silver knives. There were many drawings before this one. Lauren wondered how long David had been at it.

Her disbelief was profound; the resemblance was uncanny. Bernice couldn't shake the eerie feeling that something was amiss. She looked at the two drawings side by side, her own image and the woman she had sketched. It was as if the woman in the sketch was a mirror image of her. Her curiosity grew, and she knew she had to unravel the mystery.

He was the only one who knew about the drawing and where I had hidden it. As much as it sounded absurd that he could give away his own naked drawing just like that, he was the second suspect in my mind. “Do you mean you were not the one who sent the drawing to me?” She asked as she sat down on her chair. I shook my head. “No, I was not the one. You know that I never sent my drawings through the mail before. And how did you even sell it so fast?” She sighed. “Well, do you remember the client I told you liked your drawings? I called him to come and see the drawing after you sent it to me, and he liked it and bought it.”

It's a better scent than anxiety. Back at the counter, I opened my sketchbook. Lines formed. A swirl of cityscape, a smear of shadow that might or should have been a figure. I let the pencil move, trying to draw the noise out of my head. Minutes, maybe hours slipped past. The light shifted from grey to a clearer gold. Eventually, hunger nudged me. I made toast, slathered it with butter and honey, and ate standing at the counter. My phone buzzed once from the coffee table. I heard it, knew the vibration against wood by heart, but didn’t move. Not yet.

It's like a hobby, something I do when I get bored but I don't do it regularly. I turned to the back if my rough note and started drawing the first thing that entered my head, mountains, waterfalls,rivers. Soon detention was over for the day,we exited the detention room. " Let me drop you off" Amaya offered " Don't worry Amy I've got to go to the workshop to get my car,go on without me" I said. "Oh okay stay safe" she said and left. I went to my locker to put away my books when the book I did my drawing in fell out of my bag, I picked it up and looked at the drawing again. I was so into what I was doing that I didn't realize the person standing beside me until the book was snatched from my h

“I missed you too, sweetheart,” He kissed her on the forehead, the familiar warmth of her skin almost undoing him completely. Tessa grabbed his hand, tugging at it with excitement. “Come look! I made something.” Kris let her pull him across the room, each step feeling like a lead weight. She led him to the floor where a pencil drawing lay on a sheet of paper. Kris sat down beside her, feeling numb as he looked at the drawing. It was simple—just three stick people. A man, a woman, and a little girl in between them holding both of their hands.

I nodded, but inside, the knots in my stomach tightened. Later, I lay on the couch with my sketchbook again. The house was silent, except for the hum of the security system. I drew without looking—my fingers moved faster than I could stop them. When I looked down, I froze. I’d drawn a figure standing at the edge of the lemon grove. Just outside the window. Long black coat. No face. I didn’t remember drawing it. I slammed the book shut. Maybe it was just fear getting to me. Maybe it was nothing.

In the drawings it looks like something geological, like rock strata pressing down, like the accumulated mass of something that has been building for a long time and has reached the point where its own weight is the force that drives it. In the most recent drawing, the one I did at three this morning when the vision pulled me out of sleep, it covers him completely. There is a figure in the center of the page that is Chase, and around it and over it and through it is something so dense and settled that the figure is barely visible inside it. I look at the drawing in the morning light. Then I pick up my phone and I call him. He answers on the third ring, which is one ring later than usual, whi