Screaming Bloody Murders Novels & Stories

Eyes… deep crimson, the color of wine freshly spilled across marble. I didn’t just wake up in a different body. I woke up in a different world. And not just any world. One I knew far too well. I had read about this place before—in a book called Blood and Moonlight. A gothic fantasy where ancient vampire courts ruled the night from silvered palaces, where ruthless werewolf packs prowled the wild forests, and where an uneasy truce held between fangs and claws… until it inevitably shattered. It was a story of war. A story of betrayal. A story where love was as fatal as any blade.

But I just could not help it any longer, being face to face with a wolf had everything flooding into my brain, and I wanted to scream my lungs out. Blood. It was blood that I saw. My parents' blood, spilled on the wooden floor around their heads. I saw their lifeless eyes and still bodies, and wounded faces. I saw my eleven year old self crying and screaming for them to wake up and look at me again, to call me their baby again. But that did not happen, it never happened. And I saw the people that had done that to them, their smug faces and crooked smirks, their hands stained with the blood of my parents, and the set of tattoos on one of their forearms.

I scream, ripping right from the depths of my chest, of my bleeding heart, of my sanity. Maurice hits the floor. The thud of his body reaching the concrete is a sound I will hear for the rest of my life. Harrison, bleeding from the knife wound in his arm, turns back to Gale. Gale is screaming, pulling at his chains with a frenzy that tears skin from his wrists, and the animal panic in his voice is the sound of a man watching his last seconds pass and knowing there is nothing he can do to slow them down. Harrison fires twice. The screaming stops.

“I’m just saying, if I do become immortal, I'll never work a night shift again. Ever. I will haunt the rich exclusively.” I snorted. “You already do that.” She grinned. “Practice makes perfect.” Then it happened. A scream tore through the night. Not a drunk’s yell. Not laughter. Not a lover’s argument spilling into the street. This was pain—pure, ripping, animal. Mae froze. So did I. Another scream followed. Closer. Then another, layered over it, deeper and broken short like someone choking on their own blood. My stomach dropped. “That’s not—” Mae started.

A loud snarl left Damon and then the world moved too fast. He sprang forward with the three other guys and everybody was suddenly set in motion. Shouts, screams and cries were heard all around the room. The doors were still locked shut, denying an escape for anybody that wanted to leave. Vampires sprang forward to attack each other suddenly, the lust for blood and murder taking over. Some people jumped towards Damon and Keddrick, their teeth bared.

Each scream carried the weight of my powerlessness, a plea for salvation drowned in the surreal nightmare that held me captive. As the rain of blood intensified, so did my screams. The crimson drops seemed to absorb the resonance of my cries, creating a dissonant harmony that mirrored the disintegrating fabric of my own psyche. The nocturnal landscape bore witness to my agony, each scream etching a mark on the desolate canvas of my tormented dreams. Relentless torment persisted, an unyielding barrage of pleas and cries punctuating the breakdown of reality around me. In the throes of the nightmare, my screams became a haunting melody of despair, a soulful lament that seemed to merge with the

Please no. A huge desire to vomit again settles in me when I see so much blood, but without caring to step on it, I run until I am in front of him and surround his stubbled jaw with my hands. I start to shake him as I scream his name ... and I scream it again ... But there is no answer. Nobody answers. I only find myself next to my trembling body and my treacherous mind that keeps repeating the same murderous words that are turning my thoughts into a storm:

His scream caught the attention of passersby that led them to call the local police. As of the moment, the SPD released some details regarding the case. It was found that Helena had her belongings with her—cellphone, wallet, bag, notebooks, and books—so a robbery gone wrong was already ruled out. There were no struggle marks on her body aside from a soft bruise in her arms. The head police detective of Helena’s case stated in an interview that they are looking at Helena’s case from a different angle. Was this ‘different angle’ pertaining to ‘homicide’? Was this not a simple ‘missing person’ case? Tune in next week at SCA Journalist Club for more updates.

Drake screamed so loud with the hope to wake up Anna with his voice. "Stop. Screaming" the stalker ordered in a deep scary voice. Drake ignored him and screamed louder while he lay face flat on the floor. The stalker growled and stabbed Drake on his back. While in the room, with all the screams, Anna didn't hear any of it. She only stirs up at her own will and glanced by her side where Drake had slept off. "Drake?" she mumbles his name after seeing the empty space that was staring at her in the dark. She turned on the light and glanced around the room. "Drake?" she whisper-yelled.

On the other hand, outside of the glass room, many guards could only stand frozen after being flabbergasted and shocked to see the murder scene clearly displayed in front of their eyes. Especially Ellen, who was screaming hysterically because her lover was being killed right in front of her, she screamed until her body trembled when Dr. Drake's body, slowly fell to the floor with a gaping wound on his chest and a corpse covered in blood, while Arabella looked at him with a cynical smile filled with satisfaction. In the midst of the chaos, no one realized that something was actually happening to Steve. The man felt numbness all over his body and slowly his vision blackened out, replaced by th