It started as a childish prank. Go to the old Miller house and enter through the sunroom. The wooden desk stood in the corner. Nick your finger with a knife, just enough for a few drops of blood, and trace your initials on the desktop. The blood pack guaranteed a carefree adolescence, or minimally, a date to the prom.
What they don’t tell you, however, is the pact binds you forever to an insatiable spirit. With each passing year, the demands grow greater. Breaking the pact was not an option.
He thought of this as he stalked his next victim.
This story was inspired by a photo prompt posted on Friday Fictioneers, a weekly challenge to write a complete story in 100 words or less. Check out other great stories or submit your own at Friday Fictioneer’s June 9 2017