Dried Blood Under Skin Novels & Stories

Veronica had a plan. "I know how to tell them apart," she said. "The hosts develop a dark, web-like pattern of filaments under their skin. It's usually most visible on the neck and chest." "The problem," she continued, "is that the marks are always hidden by their uniforms. We need a way to make them show some skin." An idea sparked in my mind. I quickly wrote it down on my notepad and handed it to her. She read it and a grim, satisfied smile spread across her face. "Good idea."

He halted on his steps as he drew closer and the extent of damage became much more visible. Deep inflamed gash oozing both blood and pus from his exposed peeled skin. The skin on the right side of his upper body had been peeled upward, some of which were covered with bandages. The putrid stench of exposed meat had already summoned a horde of buzzing flies, burrowing under his skin every time it rose and fell with his uneven breathing.

The detective stated. “There is zero needle marks or punctured skin on this woman. She did not have blood drawn, I would say, as far back as a week.” Kit replied. “If you want to, you can look for yourself. As a pathologist, I often have to look for some puncture wound and have to be able to estimate when it was given or done. The bruising on some patients is more evident. A patient like June who is anemic because of her condition, she would have marks from a fresh draw.”

She saw her reflection in the mirror in front, the bags under her eyes, her cheeks sucked in, her color paler than before, her cheeks red and dry. She turned a little bit just to see blood stains on the back of her shirt, she gasped, the wounds did pain alot but she didn't know they would be this bad, she realized the wet feeling she was feeling earlier on her back wasn't sweat, it was blood from the wounds Zared made with his belt.

I stepped over a fallen archway and entered. My foot crunched onto broken tiles, and immediately I saw it—dark stains pooled at the center of the cracked floor, almost too old to be noticed unless you looked closely. I knelt down. The stains weren’t just dark; they were deep. Almost etched into the floor itself. Blood. Old blood. Dried and yet… still holding its shape. My breath caught as I brushed my fingers over it. The texture was grainy, sticky with age. Not paint. Not rust. It was blood. And it had formed into something.

I placed the jacket on the ground where the golden rays of sunlight touched the floor boards and I saw the dried blood start to liquefy before it evaporated into thin air. I adjusted the jacket in the sunlight, careful not to get my skin under it wincing on accidental sun burns which was happening very often because of my haste. Once I had disintegrated all the blood off my jacket, I took of the black jeans I wore and did the same. Most of the blood on the jeans was on the back of it so that was the parts I concentrated on.

Mable smiled and turned around to reward him with a kiss. ... After finishing breakfast, Blair accompanied Mable to the hospital. After waiting for half an hour, it was Mable’s turn. She explained her situation to the doctor and showed him the red pattern on her back. The dermatologist was an elderly professor nearing his sixties. He examined it with glasses for a while and frowned. “Miss, I’ve been a doctor for decades, and this is the first time I’ve seen a case like yours. It seems to be capillary dilation, but it’s different from ordinary capillary dilation. Let’s do a CT scan first to check for any subcutaneous bleeding or inflammation.”