Sinful Shadows in the Painting
Chapter 1
My five-year-old daughter, Lily, was diagnosed with autism.
She refused to speak, spending her days scribbling with crayons on paper.
For her classmate Ashley’s birthday, Lily gifted her a portrait.
But Ashley only took one look at it before jumping from the school building.
Ashley’s parents insisted Lily’s drawing caused their daughter’s death, forcing us to transfer Lily to another school.
But when Lily gave a second portrait as a gift, another child jumped to their death.
Suddenly, Lily became an internet sensation.
Even the police considered Lily a prime suspect.
But they couldn’t find anything wrong with the portraits or Lily’s behavior in the kindergarten surveillance videos.
I didn’t dare let Lily draw anymore, so we quickly moved to another city.
Two years later, I gave birth to my second daughter, Mia.
But at Mia’s one-month birthday party, Lily drew another portrait…
1
Ever since Lily’s autism diagnosis, she’d become obsessed with drawing.
She didn’t speak, refused to communicate, and ignored even her former friends.
She was completely immersed in her own world of drawing.
But at her old friend Ashley’s birthday party at kindergarten, she suddenly drew a cute portrait for her and gave it to the birthday girl.
“Thank you, Lily,” Ashley said, then froze.
She had just seen her portrait.
There was nothing wrong with Lily’s drawing, but Ashley’s face was filled with terror.
As everyone stared in confusion, Ashley ran out of the classroom with the drawing clutched in her hand.
Five minutes later, a loud thud echoed from outside.
When the teacher rushed to the scene, she discovered Ashley had jumped.
The portrait clutched tightly in Ashley’s hand instantly became the source of this tragedy.
Even Ashley’s parents were convinced that Lily had caused their daughter’s death.
But how was that possible?
My daughter was only five years old.
She didn’t even understand the concept of death, let alone how to persuade someone to commit suicide.
Especially someone who was once her best friend in kindergarten.
Both the school and the police classified the incident as a suicide.
But Ashley’s mother was adamant that her daughter would never take her own life.
She stormed into the kindergarten, yelling, “You say your daughter doesn’t understand anything, but did my daughter understand?”
“It was her birthday! We just promised her a trip to Disneyland this weekend. Her wish hadn’t even come true yet, why would she jump?”
The teacher tried to calm her down. “Mrs. Miller, I understand how you feel, but we checked the surveillance footage. There was no one around Ashley when she fell.”
At Mrs. Miller’s insistence, the school reviewed the surveillance footage again.
Seeing her daughter’s terrified expression after looking at the portrait, Mrs. Miller furiously confronted Lily.
“Don’t tell me it has nothing to do with you! My daughter only makes that face when she’s terrified.”
“You must have done something to that drawing! You’re a devil!”
But Lily’s face remained expressionless.
She didn’t even glance at Mrs. Miller, only focusing on drawing her favorite little animals with her crayons.
Mrs. Miller blew the whole thing out of proportion.
Other parents started to complain, and I feared Lily would be ostracized, so my husband and I transferred her to a new school.
2
But just a month after Lily started at the new kindergarten, another little girl jumped.
Just like Ashley, she received a portrait from Lily on her birthday, then jumped from the building with the drawing in her hand.
The whole thing took less than five minutes.
Two similar kindergarten suicides in three months alerted not just the school, but the whole community.
The only common thread between the two suicides was Lily and her portraits.
Suddenly, Lily was famous.
People flocked to our house, some even offering exorbitant prices for Lily to draw their portraits.
I turned them all away.
I still believed these were accidents.
My daughter was only five; how could she have such a bizarre ability?
However, under public pressure, the police considered Lily a key suspect.
They reviewed all the surveillance footage from the kindergarten.
After confirming that Lily never spoke to the two victims, they shifted their focus to the two portraits.
Art experts and psychologists meticulously studied the drawings but found nothing unusual.
However, Lily’s teacher raised a concern.
“Because Lily has autism, I paid close attention to everything she did.”
“Although she drew all day long, her drawings were all of small animals, flowers, and plants. She never drew people. The portraits she gave away were the only human figures I’ve ever seen her draw.”
“That’s strange.”
Her words immediately caught the police’s attention.
But whether it was the police or the psychologist, Lily remained silent.
She simply buried her head in her drawing.
The psychologist sighed, “This child has severe autism. She won’t speak until her condition improves.”
After the police and the psychologist left, my husband and I tried to talk to Lily.
“Lily, if you don’t want to talk, can you draw it out?”
“Why did you give them portraits?”
This time, Lily obediently drew a cake on the paper.
“Lily probably means she wanted to give them presents because it was their birthday,” my husband said.
I continued to ask her, “But why portraits? Don’t you like drawing animals? Why didn’t you give them drawings of animals?”
This time, Lily didn’t answer my question on the paper.
Instead, she drew a rainbow-colored pony and handed it to me.
I stared at the rainbow pony for a long time before saying, “Lily, today is Mommy’s birthday. Do you want to draw Mommy a portrait as a birthday gift?”
Hearing this, Lily looked up and gave me a strange smile.
3
But the smile vanished in a flash.
It felt like my imagination.
I rubbed my eyes and realized Lily hadn’t looked up at all.
Hearing what I said, my husband snatched the crayon from Lily’s hand.
He angrily rebuked me, “Are you crazy! Have you forgotten how those two kids died?”
How did they die?
Because of my daughter?
I didn’t believe it.
I pushed him away and continued to talk to Lily, “Lily, don’t be afraid. Mommy believes in you!”
Lily didn’t react.
She took a new crayon from the box and began drawing on the paper.
Five minutes later, she handed me the drawing.
It wasn’t a portrait of me, but a golden crown.
But then she drew another picture and gave it to my husband.
She had actually drawn my husband’s angry expression from just a moment ago.
Seeing the drawing, my husband’s anger flared again.
He grabbed Lily’s collar.
“Why did you draw me!”
“Why!”
“John, are you crazy? She’s just a child!” I pulled Lily away from him.
We’d been married for years, and my husband had never been so angry with her before.
I figured Lily must be terrified.
But when I tried to comfort her, she walked back to her spot without any expression and started drawing again.
My husband furiously threw all the crayons and drawing paper into the trash can.
“I threw them all away! See how you draw now!”
No crying, no fussing.
Lily, like an emotionless puppet, slowly got up and walked into her room.
I hurried to my husband and took his hand, trying to calm him down.
“Honey, those were coincidences. Don’t you even believe in our daughter?”
“And you’re perfectly fine now, aren’t you? If Lily’s drawings really had the power to make people commit suicide, why are you still standing here?”
It seemed my words had worked; my husband gradually calmed down.
“I’m sorry. I scared her just now.”
“I’ll go apologize to Lily. She must be terrified. Autistic children are fragile.”
I nodded and watched him leave.
The string of incidents had put us all on edge.
So I understood my husband’s outburst.
“Ah…”
But less than five minutes after my husband entered Lily’s room, I heard Lily scream.
My heart leaped into my throat.
What happened?
I rushed to Lily’s room.
Lily was sitting at her small desk, holding a marker and quietly drawing something.
But my husband was gone.
I saw the previously closed window was now open, and a terrible premonition washed over me.
I almost fainted when I looked out the window…
My husband lay in a pool of blood, his face frozen in terror.
He had jumped from the window.
What was going on?
“Lily!” I cried, rushing to my daughter’s side.
But after seeing the “portrait of my husband” she had just finished, my world shattered…
4
My husband was still clutching the drawing of his angry face in his hand when he died.
There were no cameras in the room, so I didn’t know what happened between him and Lily.
The police investigated for a long time, but couldn’t find any clues.
But I grabbed Lily’s shoulders, frantic.
“Why did you hurt Daddy! He was your Daddy!”
“Why!”
This time, Lily didn’t bury her head in her drawing.
Instead, she looked at me with innocent wide eyes, saying nothing.
There was no sadness, no confusion.
Her calmness was terrifying.
“Why does everyone jump after seeing your drawings!”
I knelt before her, crying.
At that moment, I forgot I was a mother.
As a wife, I couldn’t accept that my beloved husband had died so inexplicably.
I even pleaded with this five-year-old child, “Your drawings can make people kill themselves, right? Draw a portrait of me, let me die too!”
The police pulled me up and tried to comfort me.
“Mrs. Davis, please accept our condolences. We’ve examined the scene.”
“Your husband committed suicide. It has nothing to do with your daughter.”
Yes…
Even if she had the strength, a five-year-old couldn’t possibly push an adult out of a window.
But why would he commit suicide?
My obsession with finding out the truth drove me to a mental breakdown.
Five-year-old Lily had to be sent to live with her grandparents.
Because of the previous bizarre jumping incidents, the police assigned a psychologist to treat Lily’s autism and placed her under 24-hour surveillance.
When her grandparents came to pick Lily up, I only had one request.
“Mom, Dad, please don’t let Lily draw.”
5
After a period of treatment at the psychiatric hospital, my mental state improved.
As I emerged from the shadow of my husband’s death, I fell in love with my therapist, Dr. Sam Evans.
The following year, our love culminated in the birth of our daughter.
A lovely little girl we named Mia.
She reminded me of my Lily.
Seeing the sadness in my eyes, Sam smiled.
“My friend at the police station told me Lily is doing well now.”
“After a year of surveillance, the police haven’t found any similar suicide cases around Lily.”
“And after being forbidden from drawing, Lily has taken up playing the piano.”
“Really?” I found it hard to believe.
Sam suggested, “Lily must have been heartbroken by her father’s death. We can’t let her lose her mother too.”
“Let’s bring Lily home on Mia’s one-month birthday. I’m confident I can cure her.”
I nodded.
The memory of blaming Lily for my husband’s death flashed through my mind.
I felt a pang of guilt. “I’m afraid Lily will hate me.”
“She won’t.”
Encouraged by Sam, I brought Lily home.
“Lily, I’m sorry. I was wrong before. Can you forgive Mommy?”
She didn’t speak, but a faint smile curved her lips.
Then she walked over to the cradle.
I patiently introduced her, “Lily, this is your little sister, Mia. Just like you, she’s Mommy’s precious girl.”
She didn’t say anything, just quietly observed the baby in the cradle, seemingly filled with curiosity.
Many guests came to Mia’s one-month birthday party, and Sam was busy greeting them.
My phone rang.
It was Detective Parker.
He was in charge of the three bizarre “jumping suicides,” so I had saved his number.
But that number hadn’t rung in over a year.
Why was he calling now?
A wave of anxiety washed over me.
I quickly walked to a quiet corner and answered the phone.
“Is this Mrs. Davis, Lily’s mother?”
I hummed in response.
“Is Lily with you right now?”
I glanced at Lily, who was gently rocking the cradle next to it, and said, “Yes, is there something wrong?”
“Listen, Lily is in danger right now!” Detective Parker’s voice was urgent.
“I just received news that Lily’s grandparents jumped to their deaths shortly after you took her home.”
“They were both holding portraits drawn by Lily.”
“What!”
A chill ran down my spine.
I rushed to Lily, horrified by what I saw.
6
Mia’s face was covered with wet drawing paper.
And Lily, with a smile on her face, was still adding more.
I furiously pushed her away and tore the papers off Mia’s face.
Mia’s face had already turned purple from suffocation.
“Sam, call 911!”
I rushed Mia to the hospital, not even glancing at Lily.
Fortunately, we got there in time, and Mia was saved, but she suffered permanent damage.
I sobbed against Sam, “Sam, I almost lost another daughter.”
