Passive Bloodstains Novels & Stories

Bliss watched her disappear around the bend of the hedge. She wandered deeper into the garden. The path curved toward a stone bench set beneath a yew tree. The bench had dark stains along its edge, old and weathered, but her eyes caught a newer mark near the base. She crouched and brushed away loose soil. A faint brown smear showed on the stone. Blood. The same shade she had seen on the staircase. Her breath slowed as she pressed her palm flat against the cold surface.

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?

Everything about him is precise, controlled, perfect. Something’s wrong. I crouch down, my fingers brushing the fabric, finding it stiff in places. When I lift it, straightening on my feet, sunlight catches on a clean slice through the shoulder. But it’s the blood that makes my breath catch—dark brown stains spread across the white cotton like a Rorschach test of violence. I’ve never seen him bleed before…

He stopped in the corner a little longer to examine the empty chair, but again found nothing. When he turned to leave, he spotted a dark patch on the floor, just a feet away from the door. Kneeling, he set the candelabra on the floor and rubbed his fingers across the surface and lifted his hand to better see it. It didn't take long to recognize what the stain was, and he was suddenly gripped by a sickening feeling. Bloodstain.

Maria was waiting near the whiteboard, where photos of Claire and pieces of evidence were pinned. "Look at this," she said, pointing to a photo of a room in Claire’s house, where a barely visible bloodstain marked the floor. "There’s a blood trace that wasn’t reported. She didn’t mention it in her statement." I stared at the photo, my eyes locking onto that faint stain—innocuous at first glance, yet damning in this context. "This is serious," I murmured. "Claire always claimed she wasn’t there when the murder happened. How did this bloodstain get there if she wasn’t involved?"

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.

And there was something about the stain, too, something . Glittery? She scowled. No, that wasn’t right. It wasn’t like craft glitter or costume glitter or anything like that. But there was something that sparkled inside the bloodstain, or around it. A few small shining particles catching the sunlight. What could that be? Lauren had definitely paid attention in science class, and Mr. Higgins had never mentioned any quality in blood that would make it sparkle. “Well, okay, you found some blood so don’t worry about the sparkling. Just work backward,” she murmured.

Patchy blood stains, appearing unevenly, stretched from the pillow to the bed sheet. Located between the two beds on the right there was an iron door, which seemed to be the only exit in the room. In the middle of the room lay a small table, on which glass jars were presented of all sizes. In each jar it contained a thick red liquid, uneven in size. There were spilled jars lying on the countertop, liquid dripping from the inside onto the table, dripping drop by drop onto the floor. Just looking at it, can guess that the liquid is blood.

In terms of time, when they found the blood at that time, even if the blood did not dry up, at least it began to condense. But when they saw it at that time, the blood was as fresh as if it had just flowed out of the human body. Moreover, if one were to carefully recall what had happened, those traces of blood would appear like plum blossom patterns. They were arranged in an orderly manner. At a glance, they would appear like small balls that were originally formed from fresh blood. After which, they would take the initiative to flood apart the moment before they were discovered. "He left those blood stains there on purpose. What did he do with the blood...?"

POV Aiden Moving the flashlight from one side to the other and back again. I tired retracing my steps. Had I went to the right or more straight, maybe a little of both. Cherry black dots became visible on the ground increasing in number and size as I moved forward. Leaning down I ran a finger across one. “Blood.” Juxes confirmed. This was not like the small pools of dried blood in the first chamber, this was older. Following the increasing drops and streaks of blood my flashlight found the object my foot had earlier. At first I couldn’t make out what it was, moving closer I bent down. It resembled a wet brown paper bag that had been sprayed with dark red dye.