Dried Blood On Concrete Novels & Stories

In the end, though, they were unsuccessful. "Forget it, let's focus on the investigation," Nicholas whispered. He was a little disturbed by Paul's angry expression, he didn't want Paul to get angry with the students and make his image look bad. "How did it go?" "After checking the blood with luminol, I found a lot of blood on the floor," Nicholas said. "Most likely, the blood on the floor is the victim's blood. Some of the blood has already started to dry, and the body is also starting to show corpse bruises in some parts of the body."

Freshly polished floorboards covered in scuff marks and bodily fluids. Heavy dents decorated the floors. Deep imprints of knuckles scattered around here and there and shallow scratches from chipped nails dug into the slicked wood. The dirt that came from his heavy boots caked the floor. The patterned soles thumped harshly against the floor every single day, loud and familiar. The blood has darkened over time. Splatters and small pools sinking into the thin, man made cracks that littered the floor. Cum, that has long dried since the last session, mingled in the dried fluid. The sight was familiar, yet it made my skin crawl all the same.

I took a cautious step forward — and felt my shoe dip into something slick. I glanced down, sharpening my wolf vision to pierce the gloom. It wasn’t mud, nor water. It was blood. Dark, congealed, and pooling in shallow hollows. My gaze followed the blood to where scattered bones lay half-buried beneath moss and dirt. Not old enough to be forgotten, not fresh enough to still reek. The sight settled a cold knot in my gut. My muscles tensed. This wasn’t just another decaying part of the ruin.

It was now soaked with the blood of our fallen soldiers. When I had a better glance at the pavement, I saw it. There is a pattern. Some of the blocks were exuding dribs and drabs of faint black smoke and dust. The smoke became more intense in the places that were covered with the blood of warriors. Given the dark in here and the subtlety of the smoke, if not very focused, one could easily miss it.

I can’t tell exactly what I’m looking at because the view is obstructed, but even with such a narrow glimpse, I’m quite certain of what that dark substance all over the tile by the front door is. Blood.

My blood would turn the same dark blue as Dicken's if the mutation continued. Although there was a distinct difference between Dicken and my blood, Laura had never actually come into contact with Dicken's fresh blood. I discovered a long time ago that when Dicken's blood was exposed to air, it condensed into a solid-state. The blood could not be tested unless drawn from the body like I was doing right now. Laura, I'm sure, was aware of it as well. That's why she told me to draw blood from Dicken. So my blood color would now deceive them.

Her eyes were straining so hard, looking for a sign, and numerous times her overheated imagination interpreted a smashed berry or a bit of mud as a sinister bloodstain. But this time it was a bloodstain. A very clear splash of blood, not bright red anymore but a rusty brown, on one of the thick poison ivy leaves. It was too high to be a random bit of dirt, and there had been no rain in the last couple of days so it wasn’t mud. Lauren put her face as close to the stain as she dared. Yes, it’s definitely blood. She thought she could smell a sharp copper remnant underneath the scent of greenery. And there was something about the stain, too, something . . .

And then I saw it. The blood. A small pool, dried at the edges but still dark and unmistakably real, stained the ground beneath the trees. But there as no body, no sign of the car or anything else just the small pool of blood. I froze. There it was. The final trace of me.

And there, beneath it, almost in‌visible against t​he dark wo⁠od, was a smud​ge. ​ Not dust. It was a dull,​ rusty brown, fl⁠aked and dry. A cres​cent​,‍ the size of a⁠ fing⁠ernail. A fi‌n‍gerprint in blood​. My‍ b‍reat​h seized. The air left the roo‌m. I stared, my mind racing. Silas somet​im‌es n⁠icked h⁠ims​elf shaving.​ But he didn’t shav⁠e here. Thi​s was old‌ blood. From the night he fel‌l​ i‌ll?

Just then, I spotted it—a patch of murky, slightly muddy dirt. It hadn’t rained in weeks now. I crouched down, brushing my fingers across the damp soil. When I pulled them back, they were slightly red and faintly tinged with the scent of copper. Blood. I frowned and looked around, then spotted something else. This time, it was a boot print in the dirt a few paces away. The same boot print we’d followed from the crime scene last night. I stood to wave the others over, but found Bianca standing right behind me. Her eyes widened, and before I could speak, she whirled around and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Hey! I found something!”