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Luvv A Sanwal
Sep 12, 2025
4 min read

Kid drawing - Family - a short story by Luvv It — Kid drawing - Family

This short story follows a parent-teacher meeting, where his son’s innocent drawings reveal something sinister. Each sketch shows a dark figure growing closer to their family, whispering secrets to the child. Perfect for fans of flash fiction, horror short stories, scary stories online, and psychological thrillers, this tale blurs the line between childhood imagination and lurking evil.

I walked into the classroom expecting the usual talk: grades, handwriting, maybe some trouble with math. Mrs. D’Souza, my son’s teacher, smiled politely as she gestured for me to sit.

I sat across from Mrs. D’Souza. A faint smell of chalk and old wood hung in the air. She smiled politely at first, hands folded over a neat stack of papers.

“First, let me say, Steven is a wonderful student,” she began warmly. “Very bright, curious, always eager to participate. His vocabulary is well above his age. And his imagination…” she paused, almost admiringly. “It’s extraordinary.”

I chuckled. “That’s good to hear. He does love his stories. He’s always scribbling in his notebook at home.”

“Yes, yes,” she nodded. “That creativity shows here as well. But… it’s his drawings I wanted to discuss today.”

“Drawings?” I chuckled. “He fills entire notebooks at home. Half the time it’s superheroes or rocket ships.”

“That’s what I expected too. And in a way, yes, the drawings are very… consistent. But perhaps too consistent.”

Then there was a pause. A strange heaviness slid into the room. She reached into the folder and pulled out a drawing.

I frowned. “Consistent how?”

Mrs. D’Souza spread the sheets out across the desk.

The first one looked harmless enough - a crayon sketch of our family. Myself, my wife, Steven, all smiling stick figures in front of our house. But behind us… A fourth figure. something towered. Scribbled entirely in black, Tall. Black. Entirely shaded, except for the eyes - two pale circles, hollow and staring. It stood right behind us just a tall looming shape with long arms, stretching almost to the edge of the page.

I blinked. “Oh. Kids draw weird things all the time. Maybe it’s a shadow?”

“That’s what I thought,” she said carefully. “But look.”

She laid down another page. Same scene, same happy family, this time at a park. Steven on a swing, my wife holding his hand, me on the bench. And behind us again - the dark figure. Taller now. Closer.

I felt my throat tighten. “What is that supposed to be?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she placed down a third.

It was our dining table. Steven had even drawn the little floral cloth we use. We were smiling, eating. But the black entity was sitting with us this time. Its spindly fingers reached toward my wife’s plate.

“Maybe he saw something on TV...” I began.

I shifted in my chair. “Maybe it’s… an imaginary friend?” I tried to laugh, but the sound was thin.

Mrs. D’Souza slid the last page toward me before I could finish.

This one was different. More detailed. Our house again. But the dark figure wasn’t behind us this time. It was behind him, the same entity, bending down as if whispering into his ear.

It was blank. No mouth. No eyes.

My hands trembled as I looked at Mrs. D’Souza.

She lowered her voice. “I asked him who this was. He told me… ‘That’s the man who lives with us. He says he’s always been there.’”

I forced a smile, though my palms were slick with sweat. “Kids… draw strange things sometimes. It doesn’t mean anything.”

I sat frozen in the chair. I wanted to laugh it off, to say Steven has an overactive imagination, to brush it away. But a thought crawled up from the pit of my stomach. The room suddenly felt smaller. Colder.

“He insisted on showing me this one,” the teacher whispered, her voice low now, as if someone might hear. “He said… this is what it will look like soon.”

For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The clock on the wall ticked, each sound louder than the last. She laid out the final drawing. This time, it was just my wife and Steven. No me. Just the dark figure, its mouth stretched open in a grotesque grin.

At the bottom, in Steven’s clumsy handwriting, were the words: “Soon, only family.”

I shoved the paper back, my voice trembling. “Where’s Steven right now?”

Ms. D’Souza glanced over my shoulder, her face draining of color. I turned.

Steven stood in the doorway, clutching his sketchbook. His clothes were covered in graphite smudges. His small face was calm. Almost too calm.

“Dad,” he said softly. “He says you shouldn’t pretend anymore."

Behind him, the hallway lights flickered.

And for the first time, I realized his shadow stretched far too long across the floor.

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