Are Old Blood Stains Permanent Novels & Stories

Her heart began to pound violently now, each beat echoing in her ears as she looked back into the drawer, her hands moving as if no longer fully under her control. Another dress was there. So, she picked it up slowly. It was a small old but beautiful dress. But it was too small for a grown-up. A teenager’s dress. It was pink. The color faded with time, the fabric thin and worn, like it hadn’t been washed in years. And there, near the hem, was a dark stain, brownish and rusted with age. Blood! Her hands began to shake violently. Beneath it lay a T-shirt, clearly a boy’s or a man’s... also stained with dried blood, stiff with it, the fabric warped by something violent and final.

She admitted that she had thrown it out, but I managed to rummage through the trash bin to take it back. The white handkerchief turned red because of my blood. I had to wash it numerous times to get its original color back, but the best I could do was to leave a faded red stain on it. At first look, nobody would notice that it used to be blood because it looked like some kind of splattered paint.

Samantha squeezed her hand and grinned. “Cause the blood would get on the carpet and ruin it. And this is a nice carpet.” Daren said. The carpet hasn’t been replaced in over 10 years, it was stained and frayed in places and there was a huge grape juice stain in front of my door. Monica was about to pay for her arrogance!

He couldn’t see very much of the blade since it was so embedded in the wood, but he could see the rest quite clearly. The brown, leather handle at the bottom was torn and ripped in a couple of places, and the wood which made the upper part of the handle looked as if it were rotten. As he examined it further he began to notice deep, stains in the leather; all of them were varying shades of red. Some were very dark and some were brighter, some looked as if they had been there a very long time while others appeared as if they were fresh.

I rip it open and shake them out. Sure enough, they’re still damp. I hold up my shirt, looking for any signs of mold or mildew. While I don’t see either my jaw drops at what I do see. The left sleeve has a large hole in it and the back has several tiny holes in it as if it was dragged along something. There was also blood splattered all over it. I drop it and grab my jeans. I unfolded them and I saw the same type of drag marks on them.

“I said, hold onto it.” My fingers stiffened around the hardcover and I looked at him, confused. He wheeled closer, closing the space between us in a way that made my pulse spike. And my breath hitched when my eyes caught sight of the blood stain. It was splattered against his crisp white shirt, staining the fabric like cruel artwork. Just a glance and one could tell it was fresh and it hadn’t even dried yet. The deep red against the stark white made my stomach tighten, and suddenly, the fury burning in his eyes made perfect sense.

His white shirt especially had traces of red that were so hard to wash that I had to stay extra long in the laundry room, scrubbing the fabric until my knuckles were raw. The stains were strange. They did not look like blood exactly, more like red sand that had been ground into the fabric. I had never seen anything like it before. I wondered what had caused the stains. "Should I report this strange thing to Darius?" It seemed suspicious, especially given Adrian's disappearance during the nightwalker attack. But then I decided against it. Adrian could have simply fallen down during the chaos. The grounds had been covered in dirt and debris. There was probably a reasonable explanation.

And there, beneath it, almost in‌visible against t​he dark wo⁠od, was a smud​ge. ​ Not dust. It was a dull,​ rusty brown, fl⁠aked and dry. A cres​cent​,‍ the size of a⁠ fing⁠ernail. A fi‌n‍gerprint in blood​. My‍ b‍reat​h seized. The air left the roo‌m. I stared, my mind racing. Silas somet​im‌es n⁠icked h⁠ims​elf shaving.​ But he didn’t shav⁠e here. Thi​s was old‌ blood. From the night he fel‌l​ i‌ll?

A shirt…obviously once white was now streaked with a dark brownish stain. Even before I raised it to my nose, the smell hits me first. It was blood. Not fresh. Dried. Musty enough to tell me whatever it was that happened took place a couple of hours ago. I stare at it for a long time, my throat tightening, the floor tilting beneath me. He tried to hide it. The cloth was shoved deep under the other clothes, like he wanted to bury it before I could see. For a second, I can’t even breathe but then I managed to compose myself enough.

Gabriel asked, increasingly curious. Suddenly, Aunt Ita fell silent, "Oh, what a slip-up, if Gabriel knew it was a bloodstain, you would definitely be really worried about Master. Oh, what should I say? Huh, I'm always using my mouth so quickly!" Ita muttered to herself. "Bi? Why are you still stunned?" Gabriel asked in surprise because he saw that Ita seemed frozen. "Oh, yes Miss, I said the coffee stain was accidentally spilled on her clothes, so I had to wash it quickly because coffee stains, especially black coffee, are hard to come off if you don't wash them for a long time," explained Mrs Ita.