Bloody Painter Creepypasta Novels & Stories

I couldn't afford to go. I switched off the screen and pulled myself back into the dark. Whatever happiness belonged to normal college students, it wasn't mine to have. I had a dream that night. Dad, a man I'd only ever seen in financial magazines, stood over Mom after knocking her to the ground. "Diane Sutherland, you and that hick son of yours are nothing but a couple of freeloaders, always crawling back with your hands out."

The vision abruptly disappears. Brook-ta-man vomited. The hunter's blood splattered across the floor like a sticky goo. The vampire, full of disgust for what he had drunk, moved his hands creating spell threads, froze for a second. The white-faced's blood flared up like gasoline, the mutilated body caught fire. The vampire set the hunter on fire. Brook-ta-man looks at the burning body of the enemy.

They all stopped meowing at once. The place that was filled with hellish crying earlier suddenly became dead silent. The huge contrast was tough to get used to. “Did… Did something come out from the blood pool?” Maya asked with a tone of uncertainty. Alex nodded. “Yes!” “Is there really something? What is it?” Anna asked. “It’s a female ghost! I thought Mr. Hanson was a more humane member of the Blood Cult who only used cat blood but not human blood. It seems like I overestimated him. Quite a number of people had died in this blood pool!” Alex said.

The blood was painted on the dirty blood-stained floor, fresh. " I'm such a brilliant artist. " He took his time staring at the dead body with a satisfied grin. When finally his eyes fell on the pale and silently crying doll. Her lips were blue even her nails, this freezing temperature was too much for the fragile like her but the thing was turning even white it was his presence. " Did you enjoy it, my love? " He asked me to come closer to her and sit on the floor with his legs folded comfortably. She kept her mouth shut but her eyes were hollow, feeling him near.

But unlike his previous cocky voice, the man’s eyes were filled with little concern for her now. His thrusts were slow, but my body felt a wave overwhelming me as my pupils dilated and lord knew why I was screaming when everything was feeling good. He was biting me with his sharp canines as he was moving inside and outside. My gaze happened to fall on the mirror, which reflected two figures, involved in devious sin. The white sheet underneath us was like a canvas and our blood was paint and, like he told me before, he would use my blood to create his masterpiece to remember me forever. He was weird and perhaps a freak… but do I care?

Shapes loomed in the dark, all hidden beneath white cloths. I approached the nearest one and peeled the sheet away. A painting. I stared. My mind was too foggy to understand. The sea. Why the sea? Nothing made sense. I moved deeper into the room. More paintings. All covered. All waiting. And then, footsteps. Not real ones. Painted ones. On canvas after canvas. Dozens of them. Maybe hundreds. Endless footsteps painted in thick strokes. It felt like walking through a maze of ghosts. I was confused. Dizzy. My thoughts tangled. This… This must be what Jazper Ray’s mother told me about. The black ones... the hidden ones...

I flipped to the next page. “The voice won’t stop. Keeps telling me what I am. What I’ll do. Monster. Killer. Can’t escape it. Can’t make it stop.” The next page was worse. It didn’t even make sense, not that the first two pages did, either. “Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Gore. A knife. Need the knife if I’m going to complete his ritual.” The rest of the page dissolved into illegible scribbles. I kept reading. It was page after page of the same thing. Fragmented thoughts about death and blood and murder. Some of the words were truly vile. Some in all capital letters, others written so tiny they were like the text form of whispers.

A low raspy laugh filled my ears adding horrific images to my paranoia. I quieted it was no use fighting the unknown. I had no choice but to hold on to Yulian’s promise; I would be okay. My breathing hitched, dampness brushed through my breast. The strong smell of paint covered my nostrils. Strokes were meticulously laid and I became a canvass of an obscure art. “She’s all done,” announced a man, I presumed the painter. He rounded me once more before patting my behind. “Yeah, she’s all good. What marvelous skin you have! A living porcelain doll!”

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??

I run into the woods, blood, I need blood. I sniff, there's a human in here, I look around, noticing two elderly couple walking and smiling at each other. I lick my lips. I speed in front of them which startled them. I quickly grab the old man neck and suck out all the blood in his vain, making the old lady scream. The man fell from my hand lifelessly, my eyes turn red, my demons showing itself, I look at the terrified woman before grabbing her and finishing what I started. *****"**