Creepypasta Bloody Painter Novels & Stories

I narrowed my eyes and rubbed the bridge of my nose. “Begin,” I said and he got to the job, picking a screwdriver and taunting his victim. Fresh curses filled the place. Apathetic, I continued mixing fresh paint on the already dry paint on the palette. I stretched out my hand and brushed my fingers over the soft brushes before picking one and dipping it into the brown paint. “The dark rose clan knows I'm here. If …” Stefan trailed off as the screwdriver was shoved into his thigh. His mouth opened up and a sound from the pit of his stomach came out.

"I know they're going to kill me." My blood ran cold. She continued speaking. "If anyone finds this..." The audio suddenly distorted. A loud screech echoed from the speakers. The screen glitched repeatedly. Brooks tried adjusting the volume. "Come on..." The picture returned for barely two seconds. "...tell Joel..." The video cut off. Just like that, with the black screen and nothing else..Brooks immediately replayed it. Same result, the file ended there. Neither of us moved, finally I broke the silence.

He sputters, and I don’t waste time in sinking my teeth into his jugular, and I rip it apart. His claws painfully dig into the bones of my lower limbs but it slowly falls away as the light is snuffed out of his eyes. He transforms into a young male, skinny and pale with an oozing wound on his neck. He’s dead. I should feel bad because he’s only young. But I don’t. I try to form words to my pack through the mind link but I can’t. My body hurts, and tiredness seeps into my pores. I see a clearing in the distance and a pack house. I know I shouldn’t go. I know it’s likely a rogue pack, but it seems too lovely for one.

“He said she doesn't deserve to have a face like that, ‘member? If she’s gonna live, she should live with something that fits… her level of hideousness! So, what do you say we make that happen right now too?” The leader reeled in realization. She reached under her pillow and produced a large glass shard. “Damn straight,” she agreed, her lips twisting into a lopsided smile. “This is a f*cking murderer we have here, ladies! A murderer shouldn’t look remotely like—this!” A new shot of pain erupted in Deirdre’s stomach. It ate so deeply into her that she arched her back instinctively— Then, new, sharper pain came, tearing through Deirdre’s face. The women were drawing—the shard was their pen; he

"He can also hear my voice inside my heart." "Is he really a vampire?" asked Leora curiously. Every scene she remembered instantly. "That's right, none of that could have been done by an ordinary human being," Leora said softly. Leora lay herself on the bed while continuing to think about Elmer. A mysterious fierce man. That's the nickname Leora gave him now. Finally, Leora fell asleep. Because she thought too much about Elmer, she dreamed about that guy! ***

My vision flickered and spots of black clouded my sight, but I did not know why. It could not be grief, could it? That would be too humiliating. 'Lana Branch, you really misjudged him, didn't you?'

He laughed, shaking his head. "Mr. Jeffers, I promise you this is real. I've done the research, and what I find most intriguing is Darick 'The Bloodthirsty’, leader of The Brooklyn Blood Brothers, has done some horrible things that’ll surely make the front page,” I explained, trying to keep my voice even. "Such as…?" Mr. Jeffers waved his hand, motioning for me to continue. "Rumor has it that he leaves gruesome bite marks on the neck of his victims," I whispered, hoping the suspense would win Mr. Jeffers over. “Vampiristic marks.”

“Their blades weren’t ordinary. They cut deeper… like they were made to remember.” Ava frowned. “But you’re not supposed to bleed like this.” “They were old. Cursed, maybe. Their metal stung like it knew what I was.” Something twisted in her chest—fear, yes, but something else too. A knowing. Without another word, she unsheathed a dagger from her side, pricked her thumb, and let her blood fall into the open wound. It hissed. And then— Her world shifted. The firelight vanished. The earth beneath her feet dissolved into mist. Ava stood in a dreamscape filled with pale fog and floating stars. At the center stood a woman—tall, regal, eyes glowing like twin moons.

The curtains were half open, allowing the newly risen moonlight to seep in faintly and cast indistinct shadows across his face. Several photographs were scattered on the desk. They were taken from various angles: faces, chests, hands, wounds and crude tattoos belonging to people who were no longer alive. The bodies of the rogues who attacked Eirene were stiff, their eyes staring blankly. Blood had dried on the asphalt, mingling with dust and last night’s rain. Fabrizio stood with both hands braced against the edge of the desk. His gaze was sharp and cold as he scanned every detail, trying to pierce the layers of dead flesh to see the truth beneath.

Looking at the sun blooming slowly while scattering its rays all over, it feels as if the darkness has surrendered itself to it and the horror of the previous night has been relieved bare for all to witness. Blake slowly moves his eyes across the hall. The blood is seen being splattered all over the wooden floor. The white walls, the original white couch, everything has been dyed in red and dried a long time ago. In some areas, the original color of the carpet can’t be seen at all. It is all in bloody red. Pieces of wolves being torn to shreds, bodies of what seem to be human as well as non-human and pieces of what used to be the door, all has been scattered all over the house.