I think I might have summoned a blood demon...

I steal blood.

I know what you’re thinking.

You’re picturing a guy breaking into a blood bank.

“Stick ‘em up! Gimme all that sweet, sweet O Negative!”

But that’s not what I mean when I say that I like to steal blood. I’m much sneakier about it.

See, I’m a phlebotomist. For those who don’t know, that means I go around the hospital poking people with needles, digging in their arms for veins while they squirm.

I’ll walk in at 4:30 in the morning usually, turning on the lights without a care, and will cheerfully say, “Good morning! The doctor wants us to take some of your blood. I hope you aren’t allergic to mosquitoes! BZZZZZZZZZZ!”

Or some other such nonsense. If they’re too scared it’s hard to find a vein, so it’s a real balancing act. Because I need them to be afraid.

The ritual described in the book is very specific about that.

I also have to chant, so I do that softly under my breath. Occasionally I get weird looks from people with excellent hearing. But half the old folks need hearing aids and they don’t even bother putting them in for me. The bloodsucker.

Often I’ll be told to take just one vial. The stuff is so precious after all, wouldn’t want any of it to go to waste!

Just one test tube of that red viscous liquid is all they ask for. But the patient doesn’t know that.

So I’ll take two or three! Sometimes four, five, or six vials of the stuff. People don’t know the difference. They don’t even miss it. Usually.

What do I do with it, you ask?

Well, that’s the fun part!

I take it home with me. And into my bathtub it goes.

See, the book says you need a certain quantity of blood to summon it. And I’ve almost got enough.

It took a bunch of research to figure out what all those medieval measurements translated to.

“Gather a basin of blood from an assortment of terrified victims,” I managed to figure out using some translation websites. But it took a while to figure out that a “klafter” is six feet and “Elle” is the distance from elbow to fingertip. Pretty much exactly the dimensions of my bathtub, give or take.

So I filled it up with blood, and started singing.

The song was easy enough to remember. Just five words repeated over and over.

I started to get sleepy by the end of it, as if being lulled to sleep.

The pain I felt was extraordinary when my forehead hit the tile floor in the bathroom, and I passed out a few seconds later.

Right after I saw the blood begin to overflow the tub.

It poured over the side and inched towards me where I lay.

The crimson liquid mixed with mine and the world went dark.

I’ve been losing track of time since then.

Today it was an hour and a half. Tomorrow, who knows?