I managed to snag an invitation to the old bones annual ritual. A black robe and mask awaited me in the foyer with a note.
‘Wear only the robe and mask. Ascend the staircase. The chamber doors await.’
The room was dark, save a candelabra in the far corner casting shadows on the walls. Several robed figures knelt before the High Priest. He raised his head. Our eyes met.
‘Present your offering.’
I pulled the garlic from my robe. A collective ‘gasp’ filled the room.
The High Priest swooped in and whispered, ‘nicely played’ as he gorged on my neck.
Another flash fiction story written for the Friday Fictioneers. A big shout out to Rochelle @Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple for hosting Friday Fictioneers. The weekly challenge is to write a story of no more than 100 words based on the photo prompt. This story is exactly 100 words!