Heyyy!
So I recently became interested in Creepypastas, and after reading about characters like Jeff the Killer and Eyeless Jack and Ben Drowned, I decided that I wanted to try and make my own Creepypasta OCs. This story is about one of them, a psychotic gunman who goes by the name of Bloody, and the story is told from the point of view of a detective who is trying to find out about Bloody's past, hence the title
Investigation Bloody. Hopefully, I can actually finish this story! xD
Anyway, please do take some time to read this and leave a review. It would mean a lot to me.
Thank you~!


Investigation Bloody: Prologue

"Officer DeLeon, we've received a report of an explosion occurring off the state highway near the bridge crossing the Pamlico River. Unit at the scene says that the object that exploded was a 2015 Chevrolet Cruze. Cause of explosion is still unknown. There is a request for assistance."

"Tell them we're on our way," I responded as I turned on the sirens. Cars immediately began to maneuver out of the way of the cruiser, and I step on the accelerator. The cruiser sped up along the road, bypassing all the cars stopped at the traffic light.

I flipped on the turn signal and turned the wheel slightly, directing my cruiser up the ramp to the highway. Sirens blaring and lights flashing, I began to weave around the other cars on the highway. The radio crackled again, and my partner, Linda, picked up the signal.

"Report. An explosion has just occurred in Crabtree Valley Mall in Raleigh. More units needed to calm the crowd and clear the way for paramedics. In addition, another explosion occurred at the Museum of Natural Sciences, also in Raleigh. Assistance is requested."

Linda sighed. "Lots of stuff going on today, huh. What's going on?"

"Who knows," I said, "At this rate, all the units are going to be out and about. There'll hardly be anyone left in the station."

"Except the ones in charge of Investigation Bloody. And they won't always be in the station either."

"I heard Detective Jones found something that might tell us who this Bloody is."

Linda's brows furrowed. "Dunno. I think it was a journal of some sort. They're not really telling us anything until they've managed to get enough information."

"A journal?" I repeated, "The serial killer Bloody had a journal?"

"It's possible." Linda rolled her eyes. "Every person can have a journal, and even serial killers used to be human. They could have easily had a diary to write in before they went insane and started murdering people."

I was about to answer when I noticed the wreck of a car lying on the side of the highway. The officers who were already there had blocked off the area, forcing others to find a different route. I pulled up next to the edge, turned off the engine, and stepped out of the car. Linda got out too and we approached the other officers.

"How's it looking?" Linda asked.

"Not good," one of the officers answered, "We've checked over a lot of things, but still can't find out what caused the car to explode."

"It wasn't the engine or the gas?" I questioned.

"There aren't any signs that the engine was majorly damaged, and the gas tank is empty. No sign that there had ever been a fire." The officer gestured to the damaged car. "All we have to work with are two halves of a car and the puddle of water around it."

"Water? But it hasn't rained at all lately."

"I know. Strange, isn't it? There were two more explosions in Raleigh a few minutes ago too. I hope they're having better luck over there."

The four of us combed through the damage, taking pictures of the places that seemed important. When the tow truck arrived an hour later, it dragged the pieces of torn and broken metal away. By then, we had heard that the units at the mall and the museum also had trouble identifying the causes of the explosions. Everyone agreed that we should go back to the station to wait for the others. Maybe then, we could come up with something.

It was dark and quiet at the station when we arrived. Linda made an impatient noise as she exited the cruiser. "Is there no one here?" she snapped, "They know there has to be at least one person in the station at all times!"

We made our way in and turned on the lights. Everything was still neat and tidy, but there were no people. All the units except us were still out, but the people involved with Investigation Bloody should still be here.

The four of us split up and began wandering around, peering into rooms and shuffling through a few files that were out on the table. I headed up the stairs to the lounge, looking forward to a nice and cold soda. Linda began organizing the pictures we had taken, examining them closely.

I grabbed a can of Pepsi out of the mini fridge we had in the lounge. As I was about to head back down, I noticed that Detective Jones' office was dark. That was where everything pertaining to Investigation Bloody was kept, and the journal Linda mentioned was probably there too. Detective Jones had been placed in charge of Investigation Bloody since the mysterious shootings had begun to occur. People would turn up dead with either a bullet through the head or the heart. Nobody ever heard any gunshots or any screams for help. Detective Jones was the best detective we had, so he was leading the investigation.

Wait, what was that? I blinked and squinted my eyes, leaning forward to peer at the door to the detective's office. Was it my imagination or is there a dark stain on the door window? I stepped forward, setting my drink down on the floor next to the wall and taking out my gun. I could definitely see something on the little window now. Quietly approaching the glass, I scrutinized it closely and my eyes widened. I'd seen this too many times to make a mistake.

The detective's door window was stained with blood.

I reached for the doorknob and twisted it gently, being careful to open the door quietly to avoid any squeaking sounds. Even without the door fully open, I could see the large puddle of blood splattered on the floor.

Now the door was completely open, and I was greeted with a horrifying sight. Papers and folders were scattered everywhere, some soaked with in red. Detective Jones was lying on his back with a bullet hole through the center of his forehead, eyes wide in shock and fear.

The window was wide open, bathing the scene with the pinkish glow of the sunset. The blood was still wet, showing that Detective Jones had been murdered not too long ago, most likely while everyone was out. But this scene wasn't complete without what was written in front of me.

Painted in blood, and obviously written there by someone smearing their hand across the wall, was a single, accusatory word.

SNOOP