Time For a Drink

Once all was quiet throughout the house the vine’s tendrils slowly spread out. Within an hour it had crossed the kitchen floor, dividing and multiplying as it went.

As the clock in the hall struck twelve it was halfway up the stairs twisting and wrapping itself around the bannister as it went. Its bulkiness was beginning to slow it down but its thirst for blood spurred it on. The smell of the humans asleep in their bedrooms was intoxicating.

As the sun rose it rested outside the children’s bedroom, its thirst momentarily quenched, before continuing the search for more food.

Mike Jackson

A 100-word story for Friday Fictioneers.

Photo courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.