Creepypasta Bloody Painter Novels & Stories

He had been one of the most wanted serial killers in history, which alone was a significant title, judging by the lengths he had gone. "I need the image fast, Malcolm. I need to find whoever had done this..." I said as Malcolm nodded, sketching the man's image further. I sat down as some minutes passed by, with my eyes glancing around the paintings, knowing they were made with the victims' blood and were still the bestsellers on the market, with the buyers craving such paintings. "I'm done." A voice jolted me back as I watched Malcolm approach my side. "He seems really great for my taste, but it's sad that i can't have him, or can I, Dominic?" Malcolm questioned. But this man, whoever he was

The type for a special meeting, and not for a special kill. I sat on a long bench facing a huge painting on the wall. A tray of cinnamon tea was set beside me. I distracted myself from the woman that would soon be present in this room in a minute by staring into the huge painting on the wall—an oil on canvas piece of art. It illustrated dark romanticism. Blood moonlight and a roaring fire ignite the mouth of a cave. A narrow, rocky bridge stretches across a gorge, illustrating a perilous crossing while light pours from a fiery cave opening on the right. In the background, a soft glow of crimson moonlight contrasts with the fiery light, enhancing the dark apocalyptic atmosphere. On that narro

We went by a couple of rooms, then the living room, the fireplace, treasure room and yes, he even showed me just how many bathrooms can fit an entire house packed with werewolves can possibly have, which was thoughtful enough for him. And then we found ourselves standing in a large room surrounded by an abundance of paintings. For a moment I was astonished at how these art pieces were crafted exquisitely and with finesse. I couldn't quite take my eyes off one of the paintings of a partially naked woman, and a nightshade black wolf both covered with blood lying lifeless on the ground. Everything about it somehow brought out the sorrow in me, allowing me to symphatize with whoever the painter

I stepped on something wet. I froze. A cold shiver climbed my spine. “Hold on,” I whispered. Blinky groaned. “Oh my God, I said I'm not...” “Blinky,” I said urgently, “STOP.” He paused, irritated. “Okay WHAT is it now?” I turned on my phone flashlight. What I saw made my stomach twist painfully. Blood. Fresh. A pool of it. “Blinky,” I choked out, “it’s blood. Fresh blood.” His face drained instantly.

He has changed and morphed into something unrecognizable. As I glanced around the room, it was like staring into the eyes of a horrifying creature or a monstrous being. The sight that met my eyes was chilling. Blood was splattered everywhere, staining the furniture, chairs, floors, and even other objects that my father seemed to have a twisted fascination with painting in blood. The walls were adorned with streaks of blood, a deep crimson hue that stood out starkly against the bright white sheetrock, even in the darkness of the room. This wasn't the work of an ordinary human. No person with a shred of conscience could commit such gruesome acts.

I entered the dark house being greeted by the smell of dried blood, I walked down the hall towards the bedrooms, past the larger suite towards the bedroom, our bedroom, opening the door to find dust and mold covering the bed, floor, and turning the immense painting towards the wall, his present, our present. In the huge picture, the river of blood running through the fissure in the earth, the tiny bodies numbered five, the small feet with names chosen by her. I made her choose while begging her to stop while crying on her knees looking at the painting. The sentence painted by her shining in letters distorted by white paint. ' The heart only serves to beat It was after that after her gaze pen

Dieter hanged herself in the painting room and faced the drawing of the demon eye. Ms. Dieter decided that the picture had to be resolved as soon as possible. At that time, Edward became a very famous painter. He was engulfed in praise and ambition. When Mrs. Dieter took down the painting to burn it, the demon's eye simultaneously instigated Edward to dedicate the life of the person he loved most. Edward took the knife and beheaded Mrs. Dieter in an unconscious state. The servant was so scared and called the police. Edward was imprisoned but for some unknown reason was able to escape. Later, it was found that he used his own blood to wash the drawing of the demon's eye. However, blood did no

The men ogled me like I was a treasure freshly unwrapped and meant for their possession, while the women's eyes burned like pure venom. I took a sharp breath, just as I tried to avert my gaze, my eyes caught sight of Madam Morveth, in a blink, she was gone. “A message for the demon!” a little child screamed distracting my gaze, he walked up to the stage where I knelt, then whispered into my face, eyes pierced mine with undoubted certainty. “You shall be haunted by desire…” A quick chuckle escaped his lips. “…and nothing more.”

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 looked like a very cheerful person with a happy life. She also worried about her mom and her co-workers and then a man named Gabriel Micheal. She wondered if the cops were looking for her. She held his gaze and the hate he felt for her felt hazy because the scent of her blood was all around him. "Who are you?" She managed to get out of her chapped lips. "Your Master" he replied watching the emotions dancing across her face. Her mind was racing with different thoughts. Most of which ended with him being a psychopath who had a fetish for blood drinking. She wondered if she would be dead before they discovered her missing.