A Stranger and a Drop of Blood

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 For the Writers to Writers Challenge at the beginning of May, I wrote a flash fiction piece with the given prompt: must include a stranger and a drop of blood. You can read the text below or check it out at @selinawriting on Instagram. 

Photo by Joshua Harris on Unsplash


Grace stood trembling in the foyer, eyeing the cabinets with her own pale face in the glass panes, the cascading chandeliers, and paintings which seemed to change when she looked away. 

"Hello?" she quavered. 

You should not be here. 

Grace started. Had she imagined that voice in her head, or had someone spoken to her?

"I am looking for my father.”

He is not here. Leave before it's too late. The Master does not welcome strangers.

Grace crept cautiously down the hallway, curiosity surpassing fear.

"Who lives here?" she asked. The shadows laced her skin with ice. 

A monster; and if he finds you, he will devour you.

She came upon a dining hall, a feast-for-one set at the end of a sprawling table.

She waited, but no one came for their dinner. The clock’s ticking grew louder and louder until it reverberated in her head and down the halls. Go, go, go, go…

A winding staircase led her to a conservatory. The scent of roses engulfed her. 

So many roses. White, deep sunset, fuchsia, and foremostly red - deep, seductive red. Grace reached to touch the soft petals.

“Ouch!” 

How had the thorn pricked her? It was as though the rose itself had lashed out. A bead of blood bubbled up.

“What is this place?” she wondered. 

The roses encompassed an object. As she approached, she found an empty glass vial upon a stand.

Touch it, a voice within her said, but do not touch it came the voice from the shadows.

She touched it hesitantly. A sensation on her finger changed, and a drop of blood appeared, suspended within the vial. Her finger was now smooth and untouched. 

A drop of blood to seal your fate;
A drop of blood to hold you in.
It drips, it falls; time will not wait;
A Monster lies within.

The drop lowered almost imperceptibly. Grace thought it resembled an hourglass. 

“Time will not wait”. 

The lamps in the stairwell glowered at her as she raced back down. The voices seemed to come from the very walls and floor.

“I wish to see the Master of the house!” she cried.

He will devour you.

“Who is he?”

A terrible beast.

Grace stood at the threshold of the entranceway and drew herself up against the voices.

“Who speaks?” she demanded.

The clocks, the lamps, the tablespread; the furnishings; the rugs, the bed; we speak for him inside your head. 
...And if you stay, you will be —

She saw it then: a great, hulking silhouette. Bristling hair, brandishing claws. Not in view yet - a shadow on the wall, looming ever closer. 

Grace glanced back at the door, towards the approaching shadow, back to the door again. 

"I am the Master of this house," boomed a growling voice. "What stranger demands to see me?"

Her heart pounded. The clock ticked. The drop of blood dripped ever so slowly lower. 

See who this monster was, or flee. She had to choose.

...Or was it already too late? 




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