Bloody Drawings Novels & Stories

Or anything. “Wow, is that a drawing of him, you are something else.” Mrs Haughter said as she pulled my sketch pad off my lap and admired the drawing of Lucas I made. Drawing was one of my talents. Actually, it was the best thing I could do. Perhaps it was because of my werewolf senses, I could draw images of people unbelievably well. “What's that on his arm? Hmmn, it looks like something I have seen before...wait, is that the Bloodbond?"

This isn't an outline, this is a full-blown drawing. “This is…” “A hobby I picked up, nothing interesting” He waves it off and my heart shreds up a little. I flip the next page and it's another drawing of me lifting a bloodied figurine high up above my head. My lips are pursed harshly and are painted a sharp shade of ruby red. My eyes are a different shade of brown, they look glazed over like I'm in some sort of bloodlust haze. There are specks of blood splattered all over my face and hands.

There’s a blood-stained altar in the middle of the room, and currently it holds about a dozen scrolls, each of them several feet long, all of them filled with scribblings and drawings. Like me when I came here the first time, Mara is automatically drawn to the altar. She unrolls one of the scrolls, and with a small frown between her eyes looks at it. “Can you read it?” I ask. “No, but these drawings are a little… unsettling.” They are, and they look like cave paintings. They have no depth and the perception is all wrong. “It’s not as bad as you think,” I say. “It’s just the Lycans’ creation story.”

A large table sat in the center, covered in maps, papers, graphs, and diagrams scattered like someone had been frantically working. The air smelled of old paper and something sharp, almost like blood. We crowded around the table, my eyes drawn to the strange drawings. The diagrams showed creatures,bhuman-like but wrong, with long fangs, or claws too sharp for any wolf. My breath caught as I read the handwritten notes: Hybridization Process: Wolf Blood Integration. Words like “vampire” and “Dracula strain” were scrawled everywhere, alongside charts about mixing wolf blood to create a hybrid, half wolf, half something monstrous.

The swords, diggers, shields, and chains were in one corner, while different kinds of liquids I couldn't identify were on the other side; some were bubbling, some brought out smoke, and others were of different colors. The walls had creepy drawings and paintings on them. There was dry blood on the walls, dry and decaying skeletons, and bones scattered on the floor. In a bowl at the end of the room, there is a bowl of red liquid; it looks like blood. I don't need to ask, What is that blood? I am sure that he must have butchered someone, but what made it sadistic was the patience that it took him to extract that blood. I gagged at the scene in front of me.

Most notably, he was surrounded by discarded papers, all depicting the same thing in black and red crayon. Dimly lit rooms, with creeping shadows around the corners. Large, angry stick figures with what almost looked like baseball bats or police batons in their hands. Smaller stick figures cowering on the floor. Shuddering, I leaned over and picked up the nearest one. It looked like a closeup of a man’s face, black stubble around his mouth and his eyebrows turned down as if in fury. He had pointy teeth, the ends of which were dotted with… Red. Like blood.

Her eyes are like And then it ends. My heart begins to pound. I rush towards the Beta’s corpse and pry the piece of paper from his hands, quickly opening it. My breath catches in my throat when I see what’s on the page–a crude drawing of a woman swathed in pencil-scratch gray, with a veil pulled over her head and broken antlers dangling crookedly. There’s something about the mania in the drawing, the panic, the desperation that makes me sick to my stomach.

Amongst the soaked paper was an unfinished drawing of a little girl and a mother with the caption ‘I love my mu’. The crayon trawled from the bottom of the u, across the picture, and to the edge where it died completely. Seeing the moment these people were ambushed made my heart stop beating. The soaked drawing and unfinished coffee led to a messed crib wedged down at the head of the bed. A bloody handprint wrapped around the frame and another was pressed into the twisted sheets. A baby’s rattle laid at the end of the rails, a pink bear jammed into the corner at the top. I lifted the crumpled pillow, marked by two handprints curled around either side, only to see the indentation of a tiny fa

And what is happening in there town? They don't understand at all, and why this horrible act is happening in their town? All of them stood there stretching there head in confusion; trying to figure out why people are dying, and who is responsible for this terrible action, from that day forward they called it BLOODY DAY! To me, this is a big mystery that can't never be solved. ( This Story continued) ATTENTION READERS: This book have different series book 2-9

Opposite and sides of the room sat tall shelves carrying textbooks, all medical. He was always studying. I stopped at the table, looking over the papers. Then I took interest on a particular white sheet of paper sticking out of a large red covered book. On the paper's protruded side was a drawing of some creature. I hate to admit that it actually looks like a werewolf but it did. Picking it out from the book and up to my face, I could clearly see the picture now. It's an image of a werewolf, it's body parts fully labelled.