Are Old Blood Stains Permanent Novels & Stories

Again. The hell? I started pulling more clothes out, tossing them on the bed one by one. A weird pattern was forming—and not the fun, aesthetic kind. It was all the same strange whiteish, chalky-looking stain. Rough in texture. Faintly discolored. Like something had... soaked in and dried completely. I stepped back and stared at the pile, heart thudding faster with every second. It didn’t look like lotion. Didn’t feel like lotion. And unless all my clothes had collectively decided to develop eczema, this was getting very concerning.

That saved me the trouble of wasting precious time trying to cover my tracks. Or rather... The third-floor hallway wasn't clean at all. The sticky residue coating the floor looked like blood that had accumulated over countless years. It looked like bloodstains left behind by victims who had been dragged across the floor. Perfect. The blood dripping from my injured foot blended into the old stains beneath me, making it harder to notice. From upstairs came the sound of pounding footsteps mixed with the rhythmic clang of a hammer striking metal. I quickly slipped into the nearest room I could find.

I heard one of the men shout from upstairs. Another voice echoed from the back. “Nothing here, sir.” “No one.” I refused to believe it, they had to be here. I have the best tracking team and it definitely can’t be a mixup. I walked deeper into the building, refusing to accept another dead end. That’s when something caught my attention. A stain, dark brown against the grey concrete. At first, I thought it was old paint, then I looked closer and realized it wasn’t paint, It was blood.

Drake shook his head and looked around the room for any evidence before I frowned when I saw that there were cracked areas, and the smell of blood hit my nostrils making me frown as I walked toward the burnt spot of blood. Blood often left a spot regardless of burned, unlike water, it left a spot where it had happened. However, us finding any sign or fingerprints in this burnt place was going to be somewhat difficult. I looked down on the floor, getting down on my knees as I tried to catch a scent around, any scent that seemed odd or off, but all I could smell was fire. Whoever did this didn’t only want to mask their crime, but they also wanted to mask the smell. They wouldn’t have left the

Her eyes were straining so hard, looking for a sign, and numerous times her overheated imagination interpreted a smashed berry or a bit of mud as a sinister bloodstain. But this time it was a bloodstain. A very clear splash of blood, not bright red anymore but a rusty brown, on one of the thick poison ivy leaves. It was too high to be a random bit of dirt, and there had been no rain in the last couple of days so it wasn’t mud. Lauren put her face as close to the stain as she dared. Yes, it’s definitely blood. She thought she could smell a sharp copper remnant underneath the scent of greenery. And there was something about the stain, too, something . . .

Claire always knew how to get under my skin. I went to the staff locker room. Maybe Thessara came in early and I just missed her somehow. Her locker was open. That was weird. Thessara always locked it. I looked inside carefully. Her jacket was still there. Her bag. But something else caught my eye. A piece of torn fabric stuck to the locker door. Dark red stains on it. Blood. My medical training kicked in immediately. I pulled the fabric down gently. I examined it under the light. The blood pattern was strange. Not like a normal cut or injury. The stains were in weird places. And the color was slightly off. Darker than regular blood should be.

But then I frowned because I already knew it wasn’t gonna happen. Sadly, blood had a way of betraying beauty. It would start smelling soon. Then the color would dry and turn dull. Such a waste. Still… I kept staring at the way it had splattered across my sleeve, almost like a pattern. Made me wonder again if the tailors could do something with it. Mix real blood into the dye or whatever so it stays looking this fresh forever. No… that would never work. Still… it would have been perfect. I shook my head, still half-lost in that stupid thought.

After a few questions, they located the house. They knocked. No one answered. Maison assumed the recluse simply did not want to be disturbed. He turned to ask Jackson what to do, but his boss was not looking at him. Jackson's eyes were fixed on the door, his expression transformed. He had seen something Maison had not. Deep scratches in the wood. And just below, dried stains of a dark red. Blood. His past as a mercenary screamed at his instincts. “The blood is fresh. Looks like it was spilled last night,” Jackson's voice was low, grave, each word heavy with lethal analysis. “Dark red in the center, dull at the edges.”

The blood stains won’t disappear, they’ll need to replace the carpet completely. “Now that your mother has left, I’m going to ask a question and I want a truthful answer to. Judging by your quick response Knox, that this isn’t the first time this has happened. Where you have lost control?” Hector might be talking in a low voice but I know this isn’t because his own anger is calming, he’s mindful of his mate still being in earshot. “No Dad.” Jaxon seethes out through gritted teeth, his jaw was tense. Self punishment kicking in.

I stepped over a fallen archway and entered. My foot crunched onto broken tiles, and immediately I saw it—dark stains pooled at the center of the cracked floor, almost too old to be noticed unless you looked closely. I knelt down. The stains weren’t just dark; they were deep. Almost etched into the floor itself. Blood. Old blood. Dried and yet… still holding its shape. My breath caught as I brushed my fingers over it. The texture was grainy, sticky with age. Not paint. Not rust. It was blood. And it had formed into something.