Bloody Drawings Novels & Stories

Of course, there are so many others in here admiring the artworks. “This is…” I start, but Michael completes it. “Erotic.” I blush hard. “I’d say sinful. A very sexy, sinful artwork.” I study the drawings starting from the one with a woman shoving a dildo into her big pussy, her face scrawled with desire, and her mouth dropped open to her chest. I move to the next with the drawing of an older man with his cock in hand while his seeds drip from his crown like droplets of water. There’s one with two teenage girls on their knees, their hands bound as they suck a cock from a glory hole.

But that wasn’t what he was drawing today. There was a picture of two girls—rendered crudely in crayon, but still identifiable as girls. One of them had short blond hair and the other had long brown braids. Their hands were on their faces and their mouths open in screams. David had drawn these as big black circles. A huge black shadow hovered before them, a shapeless body with red eyes and clearly defined hands. The hands looked like long silver knives. There were many drawings before this one. Lauren wondered how long David had been at it.

Bennie took the drawing pad from him and he flipped it open. He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary in it but his mind told him to go on. He did and he got to the part where the drawings of the burning flame wolves were. He was shocked to his bones because the drawings were too accurate, too detailed and it shouldn’t be possible because the last of the pack was dead before Alexander was born.

It swirled in lazy patterns with every step I took, making it obvious no one had been in here for years. The stillness in the air felt heavy and untouched, as if the room itself had been holding its breath, waiting for someone to return and disturb it. Drawings covered the walls, some pinned haphazardly while others were curled at the edges where the adhesive had failed. They depicted all kinds of things, but the majority were creatures twisted, nightmarish things with too many limbs, hollow eyes and gaping mouths lined with jagged teeth. Among the creatures were strange Landscapes places that looked warped and wrong, as if reality had stretched too thin. There were also people, some drawn i

She watched, paralyzed, as Liam picked up a crimson-red marker and began to draw a thick, jagged pool of blood beneath the painted boy. As he finished the last stroke, Liam’s composure finally shattered. He began to scream silently, his mouth open in an agonizing sob that made no sound. He began to stab the paper with the red marker, over and over, puncturing the images of the two monsters. He wasn't drawing anymore; he was attacking. He gripped the pen like a dagger, his eyes filled with a raw, ancient hatred that sent a shiver of pure terror through Chloe’s heart.

I grabbed the handle and tried to open it, but it seemed locked. The sound reverberated in our ears for a long time. A musty, dank order sneaked into my nose. Weeds of dark leafy were clinging on the roof, due to which any person would faint. The house's walls showed black decay with various names written on them with red ink or blood. Stains of original paint indicated the house's prior affluence. The fresh blood of humans covered the corners of the doors with tiny black spiders thread towards their loot. It reflected a royal yet haunted image as if Kings and queens lived here for centuries.

I sat on an overturned crate, opened my sketchbook, and started drawing. The lines came fast. Jagged edges of broken concrete. A single rusted fire escape clinging to the side of a warehouse like it was trying to escape. Shadows pooling in the corners like spilled ink. I didn’t think about Dmitri. Not consciously. But somewhere between the second and third page, I realized the figure I’d started sketching in the foreground—half-hidden behind a stack of rotting pallets—was tall. Broad-shouldered. Dark hair falling into his eyes. I hadn’t meant to draw him. My hand had just… remembered. I stared at the rough outline of his profile, charcoal smudged where my thumb had tried to soften the line o

I knew for sure that this day was my death, just had to wait for the painless wound. A man carrying a machete stared at me with a red eye then started slowly towards me , his machete dripped of blood, his hand tied with a scarf. Everything about him reflected “death”. I could not bear the thought of being hitched to death, it was surely not the painless death that I had prayed to come.

Besides, I think they're too impatient to do things calmly. "What do you know about this wine called 'Blood of the Wise'?" Judging Orion's expression, there's no doubt, he's willing to tell him everything he wants to know. Ah. The scent of victory.