Blood Splatter On Wall Novels & Stories

Before either of us could respond, blood splattered the wall and his eyes glazed over. His body slumped forward, into my arms. Looking to the left, there was a tiny hole in the window. There was a slight panic before I saw the door beside me. It was work opening the door without dropping him but I managed. It was a bathroom. Trying to make it look like it was just occupied, I turned the fan on, locked the door and shut it. “Clean up any blood.” I heard just as I was about to shut the door.

I could remember the walls of the tiny house to be clean and painted with pure white color. But when I stepped into the house, it's walls were covered with red splashes all over. Even the ceiling had that splashed stains all over. As if someone might have filled the tank with red paint and showered it all over the house. But it was not paint I was able to smell. It was something else. Something I was not expecting. Or maybe something I was afraid of expecting. My heart was drumming into my ribcage as if I knew something bad was about to happen. I looked for my family in every single corner of the house. But I did not find a single soul but the blood bath. Yes, it was blood that was all over

We soon approached a lighted room, two women in front of me, two behind. The room we walked into had blood splattered on the walls in different patterns. It looked like art for a second, but it wasn't. There was a fresh-looking splatter and I felt bad for the owner of the blood. Right there on the wall, was a part of his soul. The women led me past that room and we walked into another room. This room was divided into two by a short-heightened glass partition. While the path I walked was empty, the other side displayed a guy hanging from the ceiling, his body designed with huge trails of blood in his half-naked state.

"What the hell is that?" Wyne hissed angrily at the scribbles on the mirror's surface which were written using red lipstick that had been brutally crushed, so that the writing looked like dried blood scribbled on the mirror's surface. Then in the sink, someone accidentally clogs the water and puts red dye in the water, so that the water now looks stagnant and almost overflowing with a deep red color that looks like thick blood. Hazel looked shocked. Her body trembled in Wyne's arms and now her knees were shaking. She really didn't expect the terrorist to have returned. Even just a few minutes after the police closed the terror case she reported.

I snatched it up and threw it against the far wall. It shattered with a crystalline scream, shards raining down across the tile floor like falling stars. Red droplets sprayed across the cream-painted wall, dripping down in jagged streaks that almost looked like blood. I stared at the mess, chest heaving, and felt something hot bloom across my left palm. When I looked down, a thin shard of glass jutted out of the fleshy part below my thumb, gleaming slick with ruby blood.

The air felt different—charged, heavy, almost humming with danger. I eased the bedroom door open with a creak, then pushed it fully. No one was inside. Everything looked untouched—until my eyes fell on the wall near the bathroom door. The rolling pin slipped from my hand and clattered to the floor as I screamed. Crimson-red words, written in fresh blood, stained my white wall: "Leave. Never come back. Or next time, the blood will be yours." A rustle came from the living room. Whoever did this was still inside.

Is the blood from back then still on the sword? "Is it called… Splashes of Blood because blood is spattered on the sword?" she asked incoherently. "That's not all," he said and walked to the wall lined with heavy curtains, giving them a jerk. The wall behind the curtains immediately caught Ling Yiran's eye. This wall was different from the other several walls. It was not renovated and looked just like what it looked like back then. The splashes of discolored blood on the wall were so obvious!

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.

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?”