Bloody Painter Creepypasta Novels & Stories

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.

"Let me go, you f*cking leech!" With a roar, he flung me across the room. A crack sounded as I crashed into a painting on the wall. Weak, I slid down to the checkered floors. A wet substance slid down my temples. I reached up and touched it. Looking at my fingers, I felt a wave of dizziness pass through me. Blood, so much blood. Consciousness began to slip out of me, and before my world went black, I spotted two vampires approaching me. __

Arrow bowed before rushing off, leaving me alone, and I looked towards the scene in front of me, I forced myself to watch the crimson droplets that had yet to dry slowly dance down the white and creme swirl wallpaper, let the coppery twinge guide my first, second, third, and fourth step into the bloodied art haven, and felt this situation lit a spark inside me… All of this… All of this was because of the lies, if I wasn’t lied too… Something hot burned through me as I studied the once golden skin of a girl who was only a few years younger than myself, her long long life now vanished before my very eyes, and then sliding my eyes to the rest of her body, deep holes laid were one could only ima

I muttered, my gaze iron as I dissected the strange omen I had channeled onto the vellum, the canvas stretched taut over the wooden frame, with my horsehair paintbrush's lashes decorating it like black and brown stab wounds. Thick strokes. Deep pigment. Gleaming eyes: The Beast had emerged, as always. "I cannot stop painting you, my dear, strange Beast," I murmured, tracing the brush strokes of her black as night fur, the shape of her muzzle – her sharp eggshell claws stained with blood. My blood, thick midnight black clots like ruin as recognizable as my own fingers.

Splashes of blood dripped down from his hair and fell down to his lips because of the rain. As the sinful taste exploded on his tongue, as whimpers left his victim’s lips and he begged him to stop, he willed himself not to close his eyes...He didn’t want to miss the moment he had been waiting for all evening. He wanted to see that fear in the bastard’s eyes...He would enjoy it. Fuck! He was enjoying this. The blood on his skin and tongue, the blade in his grasp...He had almost forgotten how good it felt to be a monster.

She have seen her mother being devoured by the Reapers in her dream and seeing it now felt like Agatha was one of those bodies. Minutes after, there's nothing left on the bodies but bits of flesh, blood, and bones, but the Reapers seemed to want more. They slithered towards the Badbloods that lined on the entrance but they were sent staggering backwards as the guards pushed the torches to them. They hissed and we're scratching their sharp claws. The smoke that's coming out from their bodies mixed with the smoke of the torch. The guards advanced to them, thrusting the torch forward, sending the monsters wiggling backwards.

I shove the lifeless man, his head hitting the car window with a sickening squelch, leaving a grisly abstract painting of blood in its wake. Leaning back in my seat, I survey the scene with a self-satisfied smirk. The metallic scent of blood, and the sound of my own steady breathing fills the air. The sticky sensation of blood on my face is a reassuring reminder that no matter how hard Casper tries, I will always be the vampire he never wanted me to be.

I let out a soft but shocked gasp as the creep laid unconsciously on the floor, with his blood mixing with the water. Is he dead??

Night had fallen when the maids of the Gothic palace had the body of the breeder that had her blood consumed thoroughly cleaned and placed in a sack awaiting Darian Stormrider's orders. As per the norm, he would journey out at night and go meet his spies from the Werewolf realm and give them the body. Even though they were humans too, that didn't bother them anymore as they were not in the same rank as the breeders. They preyed on it. Vampires consumed blood while the werewolves fed on the body, and as a fee for them helping him out as his spies and take tellers from the adversaries kingdom, he always brought the dead body of whatever breeder that had their blood consumed to them.

He picks up one of the prisoners and sinks his teeth into the skin easily, the blood oozing out the sides of his mouth, the sweetness in the air which was making my stomach do backflips, when Christian pauses and turns back to me, his lips are stained with blood, his eyes a deep black “We don’t have long” but I was frozen to the spot, even Reaper was speechless but my teeth started growing, I don’t know if it was because I could smell the blood or because I was becoming desperate for the crimson liquid.