The time of the annual meeting draws near, and the blood for the opening toast must be gathered. Soon, the 12 witches with their covens will arrive here at the witch’s gathering. This
year’s retreat promises to be the largest in centuries, requiring the lifeblood of a dozen women to fill the chalices for tonight’s opening toast.
Beth, an aspiring fetish video actress, thought she was playing the part of a human sacrifice in a satanic simulated snuff film about witchcraft. Like the eleven women before her, she
never realized until it was too late that this wasn’t a film production, and nothing here was simulated. The last thing she felt was the cold, razor-sharp blade of the knife slicing
effortlessly through her neck before she was forced to lean across the blood-splattered bucket as her lifeblood drained away.
As the retreat’s wine specialist, responsible for harvesting the blood for the witch’s opening toast, he knew it would be more efficient to hang his victims by their ankles over the
bucket before slitting their throats. However, the ancient witches refused, saying the old ways were still the best. At least he’d convinced them to switch from that old stone caldron
to a plastic bucket. As it was, he’d be lucky to harvest eight pints or about a gallon of blood from each of his victims.
He could feel Beth’s struggles weakening as she slowly finished bleeding out. Soon, her blood would be in one of the dozen airtight plastic containers in the refrigerator reserved for
the blood of his victims. Her body was already destined to join the other eleven hanging within the kitchen’s walk-in refrigerator, their flesh to be served at the witch’s evening feasts.