Dried Blood On Concrete Novels & Stories

Ariana’s pov “Where?” I screamed immediately. She pointed to a rough patch on the floor. “Over there.” I quickly ran forward to inspect it. Jake and Jason ran behind me too. The blood was dry and flaky on the ground. “No,” I said, shaking my head in denial. “It’s not blood. It’s probably paint. It’s probably nail polish. She might have been polishing her nails and spilled a little, right?” None of them spoke.

Maybe she was inside and couldn’t hear me because of some sort of soundproofing, even though the house didn’t look like it had soundproofing. I opened the door to one room. It was empty. Then I moved to the next room. When I opened the door, I saw a pool of blood on the floor at the center of the room. It had seeped through some clothes on the floor and the floorboards and was spreading rapidly. I took a few steps closer to it, crouched down, and slowly touched the blood. When I did, the blood was wet, dripping back from my fingers onto the floor—not dried and sticky, like someone who had been left there for days. This was a very recent occurrence.

Inside, I turn on the light and, pausing in the doorway, I look. Sand lies scattered in a thin layer over the concrete floor in an elaborate pattern of swirls and whorls. Not obviously so. The casual eye would take it as spillage from the open sack propped in one corner, scattering its contents. But I know better, comparing what I see to the image on my phone, taken as I locked up last time I was here. No footprints. No shifting of the small grains. There's nothing out of place larger than a few mouse droppings.

Corey threw out words of protest, but I tuned him out and motioned the others to drag him outside. Once the bar was emptied out completely, I went back to the spot that’s been nagging at me all this time. Behind the bar, right in front of the door to the kitchen, was what appeared to be a pool of dried blood staining the floor. I knelt down, my eyes fixed on the dark stain. “Jun. Collect a sample. Now. Send it for DNA testing.” He stepped closer, glancing at the trampled area. “Sir, with all these footprints crossing through it, the sample might be too contaminated to get clear results.”

The deep red liquid spilled onto her shirt, staining it and spreading outwards like a macabre halo. The blood had already started to dry on her skin, leaving a dark, crusty trail that extended from her neck down to her chin. The sight of it made me feel sick to my stomach. As I looked closer, I noticed that the blood had also trickled down onto Clara's face, leaving smears of red on her cheeks and forehead.

“It’s me, Elijah. Are you home?” No answer. I moved deeper into the shop, past shelves of herbs and crystals, past bookshelves and bottles of strange-colored liquids. Something was wrong. I could feel it in the air. Suddenly, a glint on the floor caught my eye—something dark and flaky against the worn wooden boards. I knelt down, leaning close to inspect the substance. Something coppery wafted through my nostrils. Blood. Dried blood, days old by the look of it. My stomach tightened.

Into people. Room 209 sits half-open in front of me while I kneel on the cracked linoleum outside it with a brush in one hand and a bucket of filthy gray water beside my knee. My jeans are already damp where they’re pressing into the floor. There’s a stain spread across the carpet inside the doorway, dark around the edges where somebody tried to scrub it before giving up halfway through. Blood. Old now, turned brown because nobody bothered to touch it until my shift started.

But it was in the kitchen that I noticed it. There was a dark spot on the floor near the back door, barely visible in the moonlight streaming through the window. I crouched down, squinting at it in the darkness. I brushed my fingers across it; it was dry and flaky, but when I sniffed my fingertip, it smelled metallic. Blood. “Mom,” I said quietly. “Look at this.” She knelt beside me and inhaled sharply. I looked up, stomach churning, and scanned the floor around us. A few feet off, in the direction of the exit, I saw another droplet. I moved over to it and scanned again. Another, closer to the back door.

A strange uneasiness settled in my chest. Something was not right about the place. There was a different vibe in that area. I knew I was at the right place. Something dark was around me. My feet stopped at one particular spot and my gaze dropped to the ground. Dark patches scattered unevenly across the forest floor. At first, I thought it was dirt, but I couldn't be more wrong. But as I took a step closer, my stomach twisted. It wasn’t dirt. It was dried blood. A sharp breath left my lips as I stumbled back slightly, my eyes tracing the uneven stains. They weren’t random, they dragged across the ground, like something had been pulled.

But Strauss’ assistant still let out a gasp. ‘What is that?’ the doctor asked no-one in particular. It was a good job, because none of them had a clue. ‘As far as we’ve been able to ascertain,’ piped up Dutton, ‘it’s some kind of residue secreted from their bodies.’ It was fine and grey-white, covering individuals like blankets, but also spreading out to touch objects they were near, like pillar boxes, railings or vehicles. One car that had crashed into the side of a building looked to be full of it inside, so much that you couldn’t even see the driver or passengers.