Are Old Blood Stains Permanent Novels & Stories

Vincent trailed at my side. My dad, Richard, matched my stride, his sharp eyes shifted to my sleeve. “What’s that on your shirt?” I looked down. The smear of red was clear against the white. Olivia’s blood. Her desperate grip in the garage flashed before me, her trembling hands, her wet face... “It’s nothing.” I rolled my sleeve higher, covering the stain. “Just a mess.” His stare lingered, but he said nothing more. “Good. Keep it clean.” Then he strode ahead, already cooing over the boy in my mother’s arms.

The light came through the gaps in the roof in long dusty beams and the air was thick with the smell of old hay and a sharper darker smell underneath and my stomach turned when I recognized it. The blood stain was still there. In the center of the floor where the dirt was darker than the dirt around it, a patch maybe three feet wide where the blood had soaked in and dried and become part of the ground. My blood. His blood. The blood that had come out of me in the dark while my body fought and lost and the rain hit the roof and no one came. I knelt beside it. My knees pressed into the dirt and my hands rested on my thighs and I looked at the stain and breathed and the memories came back in pi

My shoulder was complaining and my cheek was complaining and I noted both of those complaints and looked around the ground floor space for something useful. The sofa in the small ground floor sitting area that the building maintained for residents. The low table, which had nothing on it. The corner near the window where the shadow was thickest. And on the floor near the sofa’s base, a line of dark staining that ran along the carpet in a specific direction. Bloodstains. The particular dark brown-red of blood that had dried into carpet fibres. Not a spill… a trail, the kind made by something being dragged or someone moving while bleeding.

I said slowly, leaning forward to examine the marks more closely, trying to understand if I was seeing things or if the hunch that I had about this was becoming true. "I think someone spilled something on my desk. There are these dark stains that look like—" My voice trailed off as the realization hit me. Those weren't spills of drinks or food stains. They were too dark, too thick, and they had that metallic smell that I recognized from the few times Lucas had gotten bloody noses and from my injuries with the wolf in the garden. "Isabella?" Elena's voice seemed to come from very far away, as if I had been submerged inside water. "What kind of stains?"

Was this the result of a fight, or worse, an attack? As he continued to stare at the stain, his eyes picked up on other subtle details that he had missed at first glance. There were faint smudges around the edges of the stain, as if someone had tried to wipe it away. And then there were the small, almost imperceptible drops of blood leading away from the stain, towards the door. Dylan's mind was reeling as he stood up, his eyes fixed on the drops of blood leading towards the door. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was very wrong.

He shrugged, "I'm sure it's fine by now, the blood is probably from last night." Tyler pulled some clothes out of his closet and began to dress while I inspected the linen for further blood. There were a couple of minor smears here and there, but just the one large splotch, which, admittedly, wasn't huge, but had been enough to catch my attention and upset me to some degree. The stain on the bed seemed to be quite hard and dry now though, indicating that it wasn't fresh blood. Hopefully that meant that the wound that had caused it was indeed beginning to heal.

Blood. Her eyes widened. She raised her neck and looked toward the high bed. There, beneath one of the chains was a dark circular stain on the bed. A bloodstain. It wasn't completely brown yet. Showing that it had probably been less than four to eight hours. Was this what he meant by “clean?” Anais's lips quivered. Tears gathered in her eyes, it slipped down one after the other. “Damian… Don't do this.” she cried. Damian got irritated seeing her cry.

The phone screen went off after a minute, but then in the middle of her bed, there's a deep red stain. Red like blood. It's actually blood. Her menstrual blood. Definitely, Adeline is stained too.

He saw nothing. At first, but as he stared at it, he saw the wood here was darker than the other parts of the wooden floor. He scrubbed his hand on it, but of course he saw nothing. This room has been vacuumed and polished for almost two years now. He stared at the spot. Water can not stain wood this way, and no other drink could spread this far. This was blood, and in dizzying quantities. Just then he heard a knock on the door and said, “Come in.”

My stomach flipped. I closed it fast, shoved it back, but my hands wouldn’t stop. They moved on their own, pulling out the drawer beneath it. A folded black shirt, stiff in places. I unfolded it and the rust-colored stains spread across the fabric like a map. Dried blood. There's a lot of it. The metallic tang made my throat close. I dropped it like it burned me. And that wasn't all, there was more.