Novel & Cerita Creepypasta Bloody Painter

The last thing she heard was a smooth familiar voice yell; “Enough! She’s staying." data-p-id=7e9013ab2d2276816a3fc59976f040a9,Blood. More blood. Screaming. Blood. Screaming. Pain. Ghoul. Blood. Mum. Dad. Flesh. Human flesh. Blood. Ghoul. Pain. Dead. Both dead. Blood. Ghoul . . . Blaise.

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??

Her face was barely recognisable, all painted in ferrous containing gore, the liquid that piques the interest of many psycopaths to see it oozing out of their prey's supple skin, drop by drop, although disturbing for normies. 'Some lambs dare provoke a starving wolf!', a menacing voice creeped inside the lugs of the shivering figure trying to cower more against the surface of the cold iron. The eerie shadow lurking behind the shade of the lustrous candelebrum casted an image inside her dilated pupils.

It must have been done with a knife or… I walked closer, running my hands through the tears. Canvas was almost impossible to tear with bare hands, and even a knife wouldn’t have done the job so perfectly. Each painting had four horizontal tears. This didn’t seem like they were done with knives. In my mind’s eye, I recalled the nails of the blue-haired boy back at the Undercrypt—how they’d grown to become something that looked like claws. I felt a scream rising up to my chest. “Mom!” I yelled frantically. “Where are you? Momma!”

Blood and gore flooded out as I went into full panic mode. Scooting backwards on my bottom I was a gibbering wreck. The mangled corpse of the leather-faced Paulie now had a horrendously meaty smell mixing in with the sweat and whisky as blood oozed out of his broken neck. The amount of blood sent me spiralling back to that night when I took a knife to Luna Grace's bedroom.

Theresa alone had been altered. The pain caught up with me again as I glided over the stairs. I coughed, clutching my bloody belly, and stumbled to the ground, my blood spilling onto the floor. I had to get up, had to keep moving, but it was so painful . . . Then I noticed movements in Salem’s murals. The figures portrayed were distorting, bulging, until they pushed out from the walls and ceiling, becoming flesh and form. Claws and maws grew from every wall. The maids tore open as Uncivil ripped out from the paintings behind them. Their blood splattered against the walls, becoming part of the vast paintings.

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!”

"That I have secret fangs and will drain every drop of blood from you like a vampire?" "Was that... your attempt at humor?" I arched an eyebrow. Was this fucker reading my mind? If yes... I couldn't risk a single thought around him. "No—was it yours when you painted Penelope's Obsession? Pretty sure she wasn't handing that vampire her blood—it was her soul he slowly bled dry." I froze. He... he knew that painting? That was one of my earliest works, barely noticed outside a small circle. How the hell did he...?

The hooded, amorous hitman? “No way!” I hissed, slapping a hand to my forehead as I remembered the dude I’d run into. Hey, creepy stranger. You got a little white stuff. Right here. It had been paint I’d seen on him. White spray paint. And hadn’t I caught mists of red and black on his hands when he’d given me my cheese? “Whoa,” I breathed. Black Crimson had not picked up my grandma’s package of apology cheese for me, had he?

They would draw you in and made you feel you were falling down a bottomless well. He opened his mouth, let his canines grow out and bit hard into my palm drawing blood. The pain shot through my body and broke our eye contact. I screamed and took back my hand. I did not havr time to dwell on the pain. I ran to the door and started painting the blue hue around it with my blood. I watched the colour buzz and fade away wherever it came in contact with my blood. I had covered more than half of the door in blood when the bleeding stoped. I looked bacl at Luciano who had been starring at me quietly all this time.