Screaming Bloody Murders Novels & Stories

The first man tried to crawl away, his nose already bent sideways but she grabbed him by the hair and slammed his skull into the dumpster with a hollow clang. Once. Twice. Again. Until he went slack in her grip. I couldn’t breathe. Blood smeared her hands, splattered her face. She looked alive in a way that chilled me. Like this — this carnage — was her real element. She straightened slowly, chest rising and falling, eyes blazing under the streetlight. For a second, she just looked like something straight out of a horror movie. And that’s when the dam broke inside me. “You’re…a murderer.” My voice cracked, louder than I meant. I crawled back on the dirty pavement, my palms scraping against t

“Light or dark doesn’t matter. It’s just levels of nasty when we wash the laundry and take out the trash.” That was something odd to say in Ian’s estimation. He knew they’d be euphemisms, but for what he wasn’t sure. Looking at the now open book. There're scribbled notes covering the pages' empty spaces as they fought for room with the diagrams and symbols. The splotches must be ink or blood. The paper was yellowed, and the ink faded. Ian knew nothing about books. To him, it looked old and ready to fall apart. “But do we have what we need to kill them? Or can we kill them?”

I can feel it from miles away. He comes to a halt, and I catch up. However, as I go closer, I smell blood. There's a lot of blood. I nearly trip over a little dry branch on the ground since I'm no longer paying attention to my surroundings. As my hopes fade away, my teeth gnash beneath the weight of my jaw. There is no heartbeat except for the wolf and a few squirrels in the trees. Those girls are no longer alive. I go past Paul and stop in front of the crooked door that barely remains on its hinges. The strigoi is inside. His mind is cluttered – his thoughts all over the place – but all he can think about is more blood.

Two against one, three, four, five—no one can bring him down and no one can get past him. Wet crunches and sharp cracks mingle with screams. The females and pups flee and form a loose circle several yards away to watch in horror as male after male crumples at my mate’s feet. Behind me, in front of the big furnace’s hearth, Leith Munroe whales on Bram Blackburn’s limp body. At some point, when the attackers have been winnowed down to a handful, Tandie ventures over from the gravel lot and picks her way through the carnage to crouch beside me and stare as Leith pounds Bram’s face into pulp. There’s an odd expression on her face. I wouldn’t quite call it pleased, but I can’t think of another wa

Very bloody. The dagger in Silvan’s grip gleams sharply as he lunges forward without hesitation. He moves with dangerous swiftness, thrusting the weapon into Dorothy’s chest, back and throat before she can put up a word of protest. My hand flies to my mouth, a useless barrier against the scream that bubbles up my throat. The camera jostles but holds its focus. Dorothy’s horrifying screams echo in the room as she crumpled to the floor in a sea of crimson. Blood, so thick it’s almost black, gushes from her throat and mouth as she jerks helplessly on the marble tiles.

She kept moving backward while saying incoherently, "It wasn't me, it wasn't me, I didn't kill you!" Bruce laughed in desolation before purposely speaking in a cold voice. "The three people who killed me told me everything. My death was so unjust." Sahara was scared to death. She kept moving backward with her arms flailing around, as though there was a spider web before her. She cried and screamed at the top of her lungs, "Help! Help.." As she screamed, she knocked over Bruce's memorial tablet, scattering the offerings all over the floor. She picked up the offerings and hurled them at Bruce hysterically, screaming, "Help! There's a ghost here!"

The last thing she heard was a smooth familiar voice yell; “Enough! She’s staying." data-p-id=7e9013ab2d2276816a3fc59976f040a9,Blood. More blood. Screaming. Blood. Screaming. Pain. Ghoul. Blood. Mum. Dad. Flesh. Human flesh. Blood. Ghoul. Pain. Dead. Both dead. Blood. Ghoul . . . Blaise.

Esther stared at the photo as if her soul had been ripped out. The phone slipped from her hand and hit the ground with a crack. Slowly, she turned to look at the body on the ground. She saw the blue hoodie. The necklace glinted faintly around his neck. "Liam, Liam!" She ran over and yanked off the white cloth. The bloodied, mangled face was unrecognizable, but she recognized that necklace. "Ahh!" Esther collapsed over her son's body and wailed uncontrollably. After crying her heart out, she suddenly lifted her head and stared at me. Her eyes were bloodshot.

I grabbed the hem of Felix's shirt, fixed a pitiful expression on my face, and mumbled, "I believe you, Felix." Felix's expression softened as he helped me back to my feet. Taking advantage of the fact that the other wolves' attention was still on us, I retrieved a document from my bag and handed it to Felix. "I accidentally recorded your pup's blood type as AB when I registered his information last time. The truth is, his blood type is O." Felix's face twisted as he snatched the document from me. An eerie silence descended upon the hall. Everyone knew that all the wolves of the Blackrock pack had type-AB blood, making it impossible for a pup with type-O blood to exist in the pack.

The last thing Callum saw in his consciousness was an angry Stephen leaping on him, he wrapped him inside his arms and his canines punctured the pulsating vein in his neck. And everything black out. *********** Tabby