Blood Splatter On Wall Novels & Stories

Chapter 53 Location: red blood pack Caroline's POV More blood spill abd drop from spines abd back head of the half conscious guards. His every flowing and yet healing blood injury stains heavily my perfectly painted wall. The floor tikes not exempted. His dumb blood also ruins it's perfect and great appearance. How annoying. But I though am less bothered. Am unconcerned over the royal cottages bloody appearance nor the guards continous and non stop bleed soften my heart region.

The natural wood grain underneath the layers of renovation work revealed itself to me like a secret the house had been keeping. And there—right there on the wall to my right—I spotted a dark stain. Old and severely faded from years of attempts to hide it. But clear as day to me now with these strange new eyes. What the hell was going on? There was blood on that wall. Someone had tried desperately to scrub it away, working tirelessly to erase the evidence. But I saw it all. I could see through every single layer to what lay buried beneath. "How did you get hurt?" I pointed directly at the stain with an unsteady finger. "Right there. On that wall. It's blood. Someone bled there."

She smashed the wrench into the glass with everything she had. SHATTER. The tank didn't just break; it exploded. A wall of blue gel and broken glass hit Bianca, throwing her backward. The pressure was immense, like being hit by a tidal wave. She rolled across the floor, gasping as the freezing liquid filled her lungs. In the center of the room, Dante fell forward. He hit the floor with a wet thud, the wires tearing out of his skin in a shower of sparks. He was naked, covered in blue slime and blood, shivering violently in the sub-zero air.

His entire being was radiating darkness and decay. I watched as he violently pushed a woman away. His face contorted uncontrollably with anger. I frowned slightly. Clearly, it was not just his demeanor that had changed. However, none of it compared to the shock of looking at someone who had my face. At first glance, it was terrifying. Upon closer inspection, though, the resemblance was not perfect. Perhaps the plastic surgery had gone too far. Her features were swollen and unnaturally smooth, and even the heavy makeup could not hide the fine scars at the corners of her eyes.

I adjusted my spectacles, the plastic frames feeling slippery against my sweating skin, and pulled the yellow police tape taut behind me. The blood was across the walls, the floor, and the ceiling. It was a masterpiece of violent geometry—arcs of crimson sprayed with the precision of a Jackson Pollock painting, if the artist had traded his brushes for a jagged edge. In the center of the living room, the victim lay in a twisted heap, a silent exclamation point at the end of a very loud struggle.

When she didn't answer he quietly shut the door behind him and left her alone. She stared at the shiny, white octagon tiles on the floor. Every eight tiles a black one offset the pristine surface. Kind of like the blood on the wall in her apartment. She swallowed and glanced at the mirror over the sink. Ryan had wiped off her face while they waited for the cops to arrive, but there were dried, rust colored spots on her silk blouse and darker splotches on her jacket and pants. Blood. That was what it looked like in clothes. Movies made it seem dark and syrup like. This was more akin to a bit of tomato sauce that had splattered on her during a good meal. Except it wasn't.

Dried blood that was probably decomposing from the way it smelled. There was blood on the wall and the more I looked, the more disgusted I became as the entire place reeked of nothing but death. It made me want to stick my hand down my throat and vomit. The marks didn't make it easier, especially because one of the blood splatters on the wall was the shape of a palm. Like someone had bled and slapped their hands on the wall. My eyes widened as I scanned the room and found that I was not the only one in this place.

Chapter 97: The Bloody Ranting **Bella’s POV** The glass exploded against the marble wall in a violent spray, shards skittering across the floor like tiny daggers. The wine smeared in a streak down the wall’s white surface, thick and dark, almost like blood. My hand was still raised, fingers trembling, veins taut with fury. I hadn’t even realized I’d thrown it until I realised the wreckage, the broken glass and the ugly stain like a reflection of what he had just done to me.

I can't see shit clearly but I wiggle free of Knox's hold and rely solely on Ryan, who helps me to the sofa. My gaze lingers on the spot where they found me and I instantly regret painting the walls white. My wall is covered in blood splatters, my blood. I don't even know where I'm bleeding from, but it's a lot. If I weren't here myself then I did think I died, that's too much blood for my liking. “What happened here?” Knox snaps, his loudness making my head pound louder. “Stop yelling, slipped and fell.” “You—” “Where's your first aid kit?” Ryan asks, stopping a pending argument. “Thalia?”

It’s the same room as before, but it looked like something out of my worst nightmares. There’s blood splattered all over the walls. It’s pooling on the floors, and I could see bloody handprint smeared on the glass where the assistants fought so hard to escape. Nobody has bothered to clean the place up, but they somehow managed to get the woman strapped back to the table, probably at the cost of a fresh body on the floor beside her.