Blood Splatter On Wall Novels & Stories

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.

I blinked repeatedly at first, unsure of what the hell I was seeing. I was in complete disbelief as I stared at the kitchen around me. The walls were all splattered with blood. The floor as well. The counter. Everywhere had some blood on it. It wasn't just blood. It was blood and...particles. Soft material. I looked at my hands and it was covered in the same thing. I stepped back until my back hit the sink. Garrett and Samantha. Where did they go?

It clings to the air, coats the back of my throat, settles deep in my lungs as if it belongs here. My eyes sweep across the room slowly, taking in every detail without reacting. There is blood everywhere, splattered across the floor, smeared on the walls, dripping steadily from the edges of the chair where the man is barely being held together by what little life remains in him. His face… There is nothing left to recognize.

With a determined silence, the burly man sliced his palm, causing a gush of blood to spill forth. The sudden gory spectacle left the onlookers stunned. Though he winced slightly, he persisted, allowing drops of blood to splatter onto the floor. As the crimson droplets met the ground, intricate patterns began to materialize, casting an eerie red glow. "By God..." gasped the astonished witnesses.

I can smell the scent of lightning. As I carefully walk through the house all I see around me is a bloody massacre. Blood drips from every wall and every ceiling and coats the floor like a thick, crimson, gelatinous river. Body parts are scattered everywhere. There’s an arm wedged in the chandelier, an ear dripping from the grandfather clock and teeth embedded in the walls. I continue to take tentative steps as I move around the house, my shoes leaving bloody footprints everywhere I go. There are remains of once-living people in every single room. This is gratuitous violence in every sense of the word.

Richard Blood everywhere my eyes go—all I can see is blood splattered across the walls, staining the floor, and pooling in gruesome puddles. The metallic scent fills the air, overwhelming my senses and sending chills down my spine. It's sickening to think about the violence that must have occurred in this room. The sight of the blood-soaked scene makes my stomach churn, and I can't help but wonder what led to such a horrifying display. It's a haunting reminder of the fragility of life and the darkness that can reside within human beings.

Omegas tried to run away from the spiked wall, but even with their Lycan speed, they were too slow. As walls slowly retracted back to an unknown place in the darkness where they emerged from, slain soldiers that were still hanging on spikes were dragged along with retreating walls. Their brain matter spilt across the surface of spiked walls along with their guts and blood. Each of them had so many stabbing wounds that it would be impossible to count them even in the daylight. Their blood was dripping as they were dragged away with the wall, leaving a dreadful blood trail on the floor. So, is this wall sensitive to motion?

He just thought that maybe Faz forgot to close it. But when he opened the door wider, the room was in a complete mess! Drops of fresh blood sprayed unto the floor indicating that the incident happened was just half an hour ago. There were stabs and scratches and holes on the walls probably left by sharp weapons during the fight. The vases were broken and the other things were scattered on the floor. Some were broken. Some were cracked.

I called out, my voice sharp with panic now. No answer. I stepped further into the room, my eyes scanning every corner. The window blinds were half-twisted, like someone had grabbed them on the way down — or on the way out. A chair had been shoved against the wall at an unnatural angle. The whole room had the breathless, frozen quality of a place where something had happened very recently and very badly. That's when I saw a splash of something dark on the floor near the window. Blood. Not a lot. But enough.

I clutched the railing as if it could anchor me to reality. Then I saw the hallway below looked like a warzone. Blood painted the walls in dark, smeared streaks. It dripped from the edge of the console table, pooled along the baseboards, splattered up the doorframes like some grotesque mural. My throat locked up. One man was slumped against the wall near the back patio door, his head lolled to the side, eyes wide open and blank. A visor and black ski mask still covered part of his face, but it had slipped, revealing a jaw smeared in red. His neck—oh God—his neck looked wrong, like something had torn straight through it. A thin stream of blood still leaked onto the floor beneath him.