Blood

   "I think these shelves are gonna look real good here, Mrs. Winters."
   "Oh, thank you so much Timothy.  Let me get you some lemonade."
   As she wandered off, Timothy reached for his hammer on the mantle.  In doing so, he bumped his arm into an urn, knocking it to the floor.  Rather than the sound of shattering ceramic he'd expected, he heard a dull metallic thud.
   Instead of spilled ashes, he noticed a dark liquid slowly oozing from the jar.  He bent down, dipped his fingers in the thick red fluid, and brought them to his lips.  The familiar warmth trickled across his tongue and down his throat.  He smiled.
   A noise from the kitchen grabbed his attention.  He rose, quickly licking his fingers clean, and calmly folding his arms behind his back.