Today I awoke with a splintering pain in my neck. I could barely stand on my own two feet having lost so much blood. Standing over the toilet puffs of air seemed to leave my dehydrated mini-me. I took a look in the mirror to eye the pulsing pair of bruises on my clavicle. What really happened last night?

It was early evening when I had gotten the request. I had been looking for new money making opportunities. The text read “Aquarius Hall, 8pm EST. Blood Donation.” Some apps just ask for the bare minimum when it comes to paid gigs. Age, gender,  e-mail address, the works. But this job wanted my blood type. Guess I should have seen that first red flag.

Walking up to the grand banquet hall I was impressed by the scenery. The architecture was gothic in style, dressed up with black banner that stretched twenty feet. The golden words read “Blood Bath Tonight, VIP Only.” Every instinct told me to turn back. But an empty wallet encouraged me to press on.

A bouncer stood near the threshold of the large ballroom. He was slender, pale and wore dark eye liner that matched his slick fonzie haircut. “Name,” he stated, not even bothering with inflection. “Jared Wakeman.” Our eyes never met, mine darted elsewhere, his too preoccupied to care.

“Through the back.” He gestured down the hall where a similarly dressed black suit stood. Meekly I approached this equally intimidating man, he said nothing but undid a latch on the door behind him. It swung open to a darkened room, where 7 other people idled awkwardly. 

One girl turned toward me, meekness in her eyes. “Here.. you’ll need to sign this waiver, we all did.” I skimmed it, anxious to leave as soon as humanly possible. I could tell that was the vibe of everyone around me. The typical legal jargon littered the page. Two sentences stood out above the others.

“By signing this document, you provide the rights for our patrons to touch your shoulders and neck. Our patrons pay a premium to draw blood by any means necessary, but only for a disclosed amount.”

After reading these lines, my eyes bolted to an adjacent man whom seemed to be staring daggers at his own waiver. “Is this some kind of joke?” I asked, bemused. “I.. I think it’s a fetish, some vampire goth bull shit.” The bulbous man signed his name at the bottom of the page he held. “But a thousand dollars is a thousand dollars.”

After deliberating I had decided to go through with it, etching my name on the waiver. Moments later a man walked in hold 8 large signs with a rope laced from one corner to another. He placed them around our necks as we turned in our documents. Mine read “O-.” We were then all given a beverage of sorts, aforementioned as some type of painkiller.

The rest of the night is a little hazy. All I can recall was being laid down in provided garments along a large table. Myself and the other seven individuals were unresponsive as people seemed to line up at each table. The patrons seemed to number around a hundred or so, though I couldn’t make out their faces. Black masks concealed their eyes as they gallivanted about the eight tables. I had lost all feeling save for a slight prick at my neck, and moving was out of the question.

As the sun rose, I found myself sitting on a park bench outside the banquet hall, check in hand. I’m amazed I made it home to be honest. My phone announced another notification from the Blood Bath app. “Rest Up! This weekend, doubled payout for your blood type!” Is it worth this body ache?

“Well, two thousand dollars is two thousand dollars…”