Story 1078: The Vein Thief

In the shrouded outskirts of Eldenridge Hollow, there lies a forgotten hospital wrapped in thorns and fog—Saint Marrow’s Asylum. It is never marked on maps, and its windows pulse faintly in the moonlight like heartbeats.

Once a sanctuary for plague victims, it now serves a darker purpose.

It is the feeding ground of The Vein Thief.

They say it walks like a doctor—buttoned coat, leather gloves, surgical mask made from stitched eyelids—but its gait is too fluid, too precise. It does not stumble like a zombie, nor rage like a revenant. The Vein Thief glides, scalpels whispering in its wake.

What it takes is not life.

Not entirely.

It takes connection.

Veins. Arteries. Nerve lines. The very network of humanity.

Silas Trenholm, a wandering scavenger with a mechanical heart, thought the asylum was empty. He was wrong. The moment he crossed the rusted threshold, the air shifted—warmer, thicker. Like blood.