Bloody Drawings Novels & Stories

It spotted a large black mark, as if something so strong had hit that side of the wall. Maybe that was the impact of the attack. But what exactly was it? Beside the same mark was a drawer, I opened it and it was a book full of drawings. From what I knew, she said wasn't schooled like most of us were , so how exactly could she read and write and draw? The book had disturbing images of wolves ,way bigger than normal ,their color, rare and emanating a certain aura of energy. I decided to keep it. I need answers , and I will surely get it.

At first, it’s nothing—just shadows in the red. But then? Eyes. Teeth. Mouths locked in silent screams. I smile—wide. The dry skin on my lips splits and bleeds, but I don’t stop. It’s beautiful—my own personal gallery in red and black hues. The blood isn’t just blood anymore. It breathes. It listens. And now, it talks—not in sound, but meaning. Rage. Hunger. Power. Old power. Forgotten. Waiting. I don’t just bleed—I conjure. The figures in the pool whisper without mouths, and the more I hurt, the clearer they become. My blood isn’t just leaking. It’s listening.

I hadn't given the imprisoned figure any eyes; instead, I had viciously gouged out two pitch-black, bottomless bloody holes with my charcoal pencil. The massive, sickening smears of dead black charcoal only amplified the macabre atmosphere of the entire piece. That wasn't art. That was my soul screaming in agony, and it would make anyone's blood run cold to look at it. "Oh my god, what a disgusting and twisted piece... How mentally deranged do you have to be to draw something like that?" Cruel whispers erupted all around me. "Is there something seriously wrong with her head? No wonder she never talks to anyone."

Until I looked down at my desk. It was covered with dozens of pages, which were covered with black ink. symbols I did not remember that I drew. Circles and circles and circles without end, jagged teeth of the runes and spirals of blood which leaked at the corners of the paper. They looked eerily familiar. When Elias entered, I jumped. He never made much noise like a man of his bulk. His eyes wandered over his drawings before I could thrust them aside. “How did you come by those?” he said.

John positioned himself just outside the room, a silent guardian in the hallway. Lila didn’t open the coloring book. She took a blank sheet of paper. And then she began to draw. Not shapes, not figures. Lines. Thick, furious, jagged lines in black, covering the page with a chaotic, terrifying energy. She pressed so hard the pencil tip snapped. She picked up another black pencil. More lines. Angry slashes. Dark scribbles that bled off the page. It wasn't drawing; it was exorcism. A silent scream rendered in graphite. Tears welled in her eyes, not falling, just pooling, magnifying the horror reflected in her dark irises as she attacked the paper, her small hand trembling violently. My heart br

But I used to like to draw, at least before my stepmother had died, and I had a little more freedom. It was dark, and I couldn’t see well, but I decided to give it a try. First, I drew the general shape of the medication and a question mark. Then I drew the salve the best I could and added a question mark to that as well, hoping he would know what I meant. He looked at my drawings in the dark. I knew he could see better than I could with his werewolf eyes. They had stronger senses than humans. I watched his face frown as he looked at my drawings before he abruptly got up and walked to the bathroom. I froze, was I supposed to follow him? I apparently didn’t because he came back out seconds la

I remarked and Kyler chuckled. “The pictures you sent me through the mindlink were wow ! Are you an artist in painting bodies with blood ? The precision of the cuts and the streams of oozing blood were too accurately done !! I could swear you were sending me the images of a painting if I had not seen your victims walking and talking for real ! The artwork was beautiful but gory,” Kyler said with a shudder. “I know you paint red better, babe,” I snorted as I thought back about Kyler’s victims tonight. All of them had been left hanging on a tree and I swear, I would have loved to turn that tree into a Xmas one if he had used actual decorations instead of corpses.

“Mara will love it. It feels real.” I didn’t tell her I wasn't giving Mara the other sketch. That one was too dark, too heavy to share. That one was mine alone. Later that night, after Riley had gone to bed, I sat with both drawings laid out on the desk. On one side, my mother is alive, smiling. On the other, my mother is dead and her eyes closed, with a pool of blood under her head. The contrast tore me in half. I slid the bloody sketch back into its hiding place. I could not let the outside world see it yet. Not until I understood what it meant.

club to find him. She had previously claimed that she had pushed her down, but he now claims that she would jump downstairs due to a drug addiction. Is it because of this that she lacks the right to know the facts? The blood from her arm wound had coagulated. She stretched out and tore the clots open, and blood flowed out of the opening. In truth, drawing was quite painful, but when she watched the blood run out, she felt it was exceptionally beautiful. She thought it was worth the discomfort to see such a lovely color.

Just unmarked leather and the weight of secrets waiting to be discovered. I opened it carefully, mindful of pages that looked fragile enough to crumble at a touch. The first page made me gasp aloud. Ink drawings filled the yellowed paper—not the crude sketches of an amateur, but artwork of remarkable skill and disturbing beauty. A wolf, massive and powerful, its eyes rendered in such detail I could swear they were watching me from the page. And beside it, a woman in flowing robes, her hand extended toward the beast as if in offering or benediction.