Tell Tale Heart Drawing Novels & Stories

Clara sighed and decided that maybe she could fix its bindings before returning them. She picked up the loosened page, and unlike the burnt one which she had read last night, this one did really belong to the book. And there she found an almost faded sketch of a gilded hand with fingers that were slender and nails that looked more like claws. It seemed to be holding a heart, dripping blood collected into a pool beneath it.

I wasn’t a legend on their screens. It was in one of those corridors that a little boy tugged on my sleeve. He couldn’t have been more than seven. His cheeks were smudged with dirt, his clothes too thin for the draft that seeped through the walls. He held up a folded piece of paper. “I drew this for you,” he said shyly. I opened it and froze. The sketch was crude but unmistakable, me, standing tall, but with wolf ears atop my head and eyes colored in with a furious red. Around me, lines of light radiated. The boy looked proud.

Her eyes, always so bright and innocent, carried none of the pain clawing at my chest. “Mommy,” she said softly, holding the drawing out to me. “This is what I drew today.” I knelt down and took the paper from her, trying to keep my voice steady. It was a simple drawing: the three of us — me, Tessa, and Elena — holding hands, stick figures with big smiles under a sunny sky. Somehow, seeing it made something inside me ache and warm all at once. “This is lovely,” I told her, a small, unexpected laugh escaping my lips despite everything. “You’re really getting so good at this.”

The horrific thing about the card was that there were two here figures, drawn in a childish hand. Two male figures in crude shirts and tuxes stood on either side of a fat, balloon-like woman figure in the centre. The trio were supposedly holding hands. But what made the rather childish drawing so macabre was the horror. What was terrifying was the face of the female in the centre. The crude drawing of the woman’s face had been scored off with a thick black marker, creating a cross. But what made Bianca gasp aloud, was the bright red slash across the stomach of the woman’s figure.

But now, he was here, standing in front of me, holding out a drawing like a peace offering. With a smile, I took it gently, carefully unfolding the paper. But my smile faded as I stared down at the image in my hands. It was just like his other drawings—dark, stark lines, the same unsettling red and blacks—but this one was different. It wasn’t just a vague scene. It was a face. A man’s face, drawn in heavy black strokes. Dark eyes, a cruel mouth. And beneath it, in the wobbly handwriting of a child, was a name.

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 first pages contained ordinary drawings. Faith. The house. The old fig tree. Then... His expression changed. Bethwel leaned closer. "What is it?" Alex turned the book around. Glen had drawn the northern woods. A square hatch. Six stick figures. One had a hat. Another had unusually large boots. Each figure carried a different symbol instead of a face. Joel smiled. "Children draw differently." Alex nodded. "No." "He wasn't drawing faces." "He was classifying them." He pointed at the figure with the hat.

"That's fine, I guess. I don't really have anything in mind for her. I just wanted to teach her a lesson for bullying other people." "I've issued her a warning and told her to reflect on her actions for three days before returning to work. I'm sure she'd learn." "I see." Grayson pulled out Hunter's drawing and showed it to Belle. "This is the drawing of the tomb that Hunter created. He mentioned that you wanted to have a look." Belle's attention was instantly diverted. "It's done?" "Yeah." Belle spread the drawing on the table, marveling at every brush stroke with awe.

My heart feels heavy. Claire is in her room, drawing. When she sees me, she smiles and holds up the paper. “Look, Mommy! I drew us. You, Daddy, Uncle Harvey, and me. All together.” In the drawing, the four of us are holding hands in front of the house. A yellow sun in the corner. And a bright star in the sky — Sirius. Tears rise again. I sit on the floor beside her and pull her into my lap, holding her tightly against me.

As I bent down to pick it up, I realised it had fallen open to a specific page. The illustration staring back at me held me in place like a beast with its claws in my chest. It was a drawing of a monster with long, dried-up black hair, claw-like nails, and prominent fangs. Below the drawing was a single red drop of blood, as if it were dripping from the fangs. I narrowed my eyes, trying to decipher the ancient, jagged writing that surrounded the drawing: