Scratch Marks Novels & Stories

That's when I saw it. The mark on his shoulder blade. Four parallel lines. Deep. Fresh. "What's that?" I asked. "What?" I grabbed his arm. Turned him. "This. On your back." "It's nothing." "That's not nothing." I traced the scars. "Those are claw marks." "Training accident." "Those aren't normal wolf scratches." I pulled him back to the bed. Made him sit. "I know what wolf claws look like. Those are different. Bigger."

“Look here.” Arianne went forward and saw some scratch marks beneath the rock, which seemed to have been forcefully carved with something hard. There were also traces of blood on it, and the markings weren’t clear or regular. Coupled with the fact that Arianne was not a forensics personnel, she did not find the markings strange. “What about it?” Geralt extended his fingers and seemed to connect the markings with his finger. “Take a closer look. Wouldn’t these scratch marks become a certain word? After our investigation ended, I kept thinking that there was something weird with the crime scene, so I came back alone and found this

Good morning, Ana - Marcos as always emanated good humor. "Good morning, Mr. Marcos. Ana couldn't deny that seeing Marcos was like a drop in the ocean for her eyes since he was very handsome. " Do me a favor, don't call me Mr. Mark, it makes me feel old," he laughed. " Force of habit. Marcos had what every woman would like to find in a man. Beauty, charisma, he was successful, but since not everything is perfect Marcos had a defect, and this defect was his love for women. In other words, a true womanizer.

The man was covered in blood that oozed out of his neck that he has slit. We all looked silently at his dead body. While I was staring at him I saw a tattoo. This one stood out from all the black ink tattoos this one looked like a scorpion on his right hand, I looked closely at it. I even went forward and wiped the blood from the area to look at it closely. Adam came to see what I was staring at. I looked at him. "Are you thinking what I am thinking?" I asked him

Because there on the wide expanse of his back, multiple angry red scratches were drawn long and harsh. A part of me felt guilty, knowing how they must be stinging. But then there was also a sizable part of me that just couldn’t help but preen in satisfaction at the mere image of Gallahan being thoroughly marked as mine. Because not only did I leave nail marks on him, there were also other pieces of evidence on how we were so lost to each other for hours. From the teeth marks on his shoulder, up until the multiple hickies, which ranged from light pink to dark purple, scattered all over the patches of skin my mouth could reach while he was driving into me and leading me to the highest of heave

'It looks like regualar claw marks. The gang has stepped closer to the windows to also catch a glimpse of what she is talking about, River hits the speaker box button so they can all hear us. "Look see here," She points to the marks. "These marks were done in threes. Have you ever attacked someone with your claws, and it only be done in threes?" She asks me. I shake my head no, to give her an anwser. "Also, look at how neat they are? And they are approximately three inches apart!" She states. We hear Lauren's voice through the intercome system.

or something like that. Then there's The Marking. Not like biting or stuff like that. This one is for the entire pack. Special paint made by witches, from moon dust, sun dust, first snow water, dew drops and white roses. Weird, right? Anyway, this one is mostly like drawing tattoos, but with the feather from a white owl.

When he finds what he’s looking for, he holds the letter up, putting it close to the bones, then pulling it away again. “Take a look at this,” he says. I squat down beside him. “See those marks in the rib bones.” “Yes,” I say. He takes the paper and turns it until I can see what he’s showing me. The marks are the same width apart, and there are scratches on the several ribs where Althea’s claws scraped across Derrick’s ribs when she stabbed him.

Only me and the thrum. I strolled down the hall, past posters of the previous month's football game, a torn-up promo for the talent show, and a "Be Kind" banner curled at the edges. My locker was directly ahead of me, the paint scraped close to the handle where I'd slammed it too hard once. At first glance, nothing was out of place. But I hadn't gotten close yet. It wasn't until I was actually standing right in front of it that I saw. The metal was scored deep, the scratches wide enough to catch the light. Letters carved in hard, sloppy lines, like whoever did it didn't care if they woke up the whole school.

At first there was nothing unusual, only the rough grooves carved naturally into the wood by years of growth and weather. Then she noticed the marks. “Oscar,” she called softly. He stepped closer, following the direction of her gaze. For a moment he saw nothing more than shadow and texture, but as he leaned closer the lines became clearer. Someone had scratched a symbol into the bark. The carving was shallow, barely deep enough to leave a permanent mark, yet the lines were deliberate. Four short strokes crossed by a longer one formed a shape that meant nothing obvious to him, but the precision behind it made one thing certain.