Voodoo Doll Drawings Novels & Stories

Chloe walked back to the nursery to fetch the boy. "Liam, dinner's ready. Did you finish your draw—" Her voice died in her throat. Chloe’s hands balled into trembling fists as she stared at the canvas. It wasn't a happy family portrait. It was a depiction of hell. In the center of the paper, Liam had drawn three figures, but they weren't people. Two of them were towering "monsters," and the third was a small, broken boy cowering in a dark corner. The first monster was a man with eyes the size of saucers, wearing a tattered T-shirt. In one hand, he brandished a heavy belt; in the other, a glowing cigarette butt that he was pressing toward the crying boy on the ground.

Finally managing to step out into the light, V slowly walked over to the white crumpled objects that Siel dropped, almost sure that the reason for her grief was within those wads of paper. As he spread open the wrinkled angels, Vincent checked the drawings in red and green crayons. They were cute and colorful creations illustrating simple toddler toys and a puppy... Gifts that he would be quite happy to get for her. But what called his attention the most was one crayon sketch of a freckled-face brown-haired woman with that now-familiar smile. It was labeled, "Happy Mommy" and it was in feminine handwriting too. That drawing's smile was so contagious; he couldn't avoid grinning himself...

“He hung me up, I think. My throat’s been weird this whole morning. I thought I was coming down with something, but it felt kind of suffocating? So I think the doll probably got hung from something.” “Like those sunny dolls? What kind of kink is that?” I frowned and softly touched the doll’s neck. There was a sewing crease there, so it made sense for wrinkles to appear around that area. I could imagine the doll being tied up and hanging like a sunny doll. The more I looked, the more the sight of the crease began to irritate me. It almost looked like someone had wrapped a rope around its neck. I wanted nothing more than to smooth it out.

Maybe it I mutilated her whorish body that they were all gushing about, then they’d realize that she isn't worth anything other than the sexual desires she ignites in them. I tucked the voodoo doll into my dress and grabbed a match from my drawer before I marched out of my room and toward the maids’ quarters. I was convinced that she didn't feel the effects of the pins I’d stuck in the doll the other night because I’d done it from a far distance so this time around I wasn't willing to take any chances. Just as I was about to turn into the building where I knew her room was located, I saw two she-wolves from the corner of my eyes by the stream having a heated conversation and I sharply turned

At the cabinet full of things I'd never seen before. I was a virgin. Twenty-three years old. The only sex I'd ever had was a blurry memory from high school graduation, the after-party, too much cheap vodka, a boy whose name I couldn't remember. I'd woken up the next morning with a headache and torn clothes and a vague sense that something had happened. I'd never been sure. I'd never wanted to be. But standing here, in this red room, with a man who called me Doll, I felt something I hadn't felt in years. A pull. A heat. A part of myself I'd locked away a long time ago.

Like I was worth something. This is right. This is what I wanted. This is what I threw away. I looked at Ziva. She was drawing again. Her tongue was sticking out. "What are you drawing?" I asked. She looked up. Her eyes were shining. "A picture of our family," she said. "You. Me. Mommy. All of us together." She held it up. There were three stick figures. One tall. One medium. One small. We were holding hands. We were smiling.

He flipped again. A full two-page spread: A woman blindfolded and ball-gagged, hogtied across a mattress. Her legs were spread by a bar. Her toes curled in tension. Her holes sketched in tight detail -- stuffed, obscenely, with what was clearly meant to be two separate toys. The kind of drawing someone does only when they've lived it. Or needed to. His cock twitched. He didn't stop flipping. Page after page -- each more shocking, intimate, and raw than the last.

Paint splattered on the floor, on furniture, on Amara's clothes, evidence of the emotional storm that engulfed her. Finally, as the last rays of sunlight faded, Amara stepped back, her breath catching in her throat. The finished painting loomed before her, an unintended masterpiece born from the depths of her subconscious. The eyes on the canvas stare back at her, intense and piercing, capturing a familiarity that sends a chill down her spine.

Three colors representing different venomous animals appeared along with the burst of energies. “They’re the Three Voodoo Sovereigns of the Voodoo Cult, Master Collins. The one on the left in green is the Snake Voodoo Sovereign, the middle one in black is the Scorpion Voodoo Sovereign, and the one on the right in red is the Toad Voodoo Sovereign,” Madam Snake quickly told Chase.

Zeke took it from her hand and examined it—instantly overcome with anger. “You made a voodoo doll of Caitlin?!” He stared in disbelief at the ragged doll bearing Caitlin’s name, pierced with dozens of pins and smeared with a red substance resembling dried blood. Zora had gone full witchcraft. Medieval levels of spite. “Speak! What the hell is this about? Why would you do something like this?!” Zeke’s voice thundered through the room.