Blood Stained Concrete Novels & Stories

Even the dirt had been cleared of any footprints. I approached the stone slab, letting my shaking hands gently brush over the discolored rock. I spent several minutes inspecting the rust-red-stained stone. Every line and crack in the stone had been cleaned. There wasn't a spec of dried blood, and I smacked my palm down loudly in frustration. "It's all gone. Someone came back here to clean up their mess and hide any evidence." I turned, walking around one of the trees that I knew had chains tied to it. Chunks of bark lay scattered on the ground, having fallen from the friction of the metal rubbing against it.

Blood painted the stones and dirt in cruel splatters, pooling in thick, glistening patches that stuck to his shoes as he walked. It became worse the closer he got to the town square. Shattered beams and broken masonry marked where buildings had once stood, now reduced to smoldering ruins. Bodies were no longer intact. Heads, and limbs were scattered everywhere. Brain matter, innards, and blood smeared on the ground and what was left of the buildings. The air was choked with dust, heavy with the coppery stench of blood and the acrid sting of smoke.

Looking at the sun blooming slowly while scattering its rays all over, it feels as if the darkness has surrendered itself to it and the horror of the previous night has been relieved bare for all to witness. Blake slowly moves his eyes across the hall. The blood is seen being splattered all over the wooden floor. The white walls, the original white couch, everything has been dyed in red and dried a long time ago. In some areas, the original color of the carpet can’t be seen at all. It is all in bloody red. Pieces of wolves being torn to shreds, bodies of what seem to be human as well as non-human and pieces of what used to be the door, all has been scattered all over the house.

My plants knocked over, soil spilled like dark stains across the tiles. And right there in the middle of the chaos— blood. Dried. Dark. A small patch near the counter. I wasn't sure if that had been mine or my attackers. I don't think I wanted to find out. I stood frozen for a second, staring at it. My throat went dry. It wasn’t much. Just a smear, like someone had scraped a hand or dragged something heavy across the floor. Still, my stomach twisted. I didn't know the struggle was this bad. But how could I have known?

Nothing at all. I forced my eyes to scan the area once again. I had no idea what I was searching for, but I just knew I would know. Barely seconds after the thought had registered itself in my mind, something caught my attention. It was blurry at first, but then I saw it. Blood. Splattered across the ground in erratic patterns, almost as if the people involved had struggled for a while. It's metallic scent hit me square in the nose, and I saw it was streaked across the driver’s side door. It was still wet too.

Without hesitation, they descended. The basement was a nightmarish laboratory. Cracked glass containers lined the walls, their contents long gone but leaving behind sinister stains. At the far end of the room, a large, empty pool dominated the space. The dried blood coating its surface glinted under the dim lights. Rowan’s gaze fell on the massive blood pool, bigger than an Olympic-sized pool, his stoic expression tightening. The dried blood clinging to its surface shimmered faintly, the metallic stench making the air almost unbreathable. His sharp eyes caught strange carvings etched into the stone surrounding the pool. The symbols seemed to pulsate faintly, emanating a sinister energy.

Into people. Room 209 sits half-open in front of me while I kneel on the cracked linoleum outside it with a brush in one hand and a bucket of filthy gray water beside my knee. My jeans are already damp where they’re pressing into the floor. There’s a stain spread across the carpet inside the doorway, dark around the edges where somebody tried to scrub it before giving up halfway through. Blood. Old now, turned brown because nobody bothered to touch it until my shift started.

As the car slowed down near the guard shack, I saw something that scared me. I stopped breathing for a second. Right there, not far from the path, the grey stones were ruined. A big, dark stain, thicker than oil and deeper than rust, covered the ground. It looked like something violent had happened there, with the dark red smear trailing off into the grass, making the green blades look heavy and matted. I felt my eyes widen, my heart leaping into a frantic, uneven gallop. My fingers spasmed against Salvatore’s hand, my nails digging into his palm.

It looked like the aftermath of a meal paused mid-conversation, frozen in time. Then her eyes dropped to the floor. The blood was unmistakable. It had darkened with time, no longer fresh, no longer bright. Deep red stains spread across the pristine marble in uneven patterns, soaking into the cracks, dull against the light. The sight stole the breath from her lungs. “No,” she whispered, the word barely audible. Her mind rebelled immediately. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. It had to be a trick of the light. A spill. Some strange misunderstanding. Her thoughts scrambled desperately for explanations that did not involve what her eyes were clearly seeing.

She felt the sharp tug as her skin held fast in place. “Uh, no, I can’t,” Sidney replied. “I’m stuck.” “Damn it,” Brady huffed, placing his camera down on the bathroom counter beside him. “Is that blood dry again?” Sidney’s bare flesh glistened in a liberal coating of fake blood. The thick, red liquid drew patterns over her naked skin in drips and spatters. Stark, crimson smears tainted the garish white tub, evidence of Sidney’s every movement. Brady snatched the small spray bottle from beside his camera and bent over his model.