Day 2,649

It hid out in the old orchard, whispering among the apples and begging passersby for just a drop of their blood. The locals were sensible enough to ignore it or avoid the orchard to begin with but there's no helping the curiosity of the ignorant.

Over the centuries it was them who'd kept it alive by accidentally cutting their hands on sharp branches to grab temptingly ripe apples, tripping over stray roots and grazing their knees, listening to the promises the voices made and impaling their palms on the thirsty thorns the orchard offered.

It kept its promises to them, for a price. They had wealth while their family grew sicker, they had joy while their friends mourned, they thrived by unknowingly draining everyone around them til they found themselves surrounded by graves.

Of course, they'd head back to the orchard to beg the whispering voices to take it all back, to bring them all back. They'd offer more and more and more until they offered their lives and the orchard always pretended to cave in and accept their noble sacrifice. 

Only in their final moments would they realise they never left the orchard to begin with.