“Stones of Tradition

The sun rose over Cedar Hollow like any other spring morning, bathing the village green in gentle light. People emerged from their clapboard houses with polite smiles and quiet anticipation. Today was the Choosing—the day they’d practiced for generations.

No one would admit aloud that they were afraid.

Old Martha Perkins set out the black box on the council hall steps, just as she had for forty years. She wiped it with a rag, her fingers trembling slightly. The box was scarred with age, its corners splintering. She always told the younger ones it didn’t matter: “The box holds our safety. Don’t question it. Respect it.”

Children ran in circles on the grass. Teenagers whispered jokes, trying to look casual. Their parents scolded them with tight smiles.

Elias Garvey, the village headman, stood tall and solemn, a worn ledger in his hand. He called out the family names in alphabetical order for the sign-in. They lined up with lowered eyes. Each family was required to draw a slip of paper from the box. Only one slip had a black mark.

That family would decide who they “gave.”

It was always called giving. Never killing.

---

The draw was to begin at noon. By eleven, the whole town had gathered.

Martha’s voice cracked as she read the ancient invocation.

> “We honor the Choosing, for it guards our harvest and our health. We give so that we may keep.”

Elias added:

> “This is our bond. No one may leave before the Choosing is finished. No one may refuse.”

---

Lena Harlow held her daughter Annie’s hand. Annie was only ten. Her wide green eyes flicked between the box and her mother’s pale face.

“Don’t be scared,” Lena whispered, though she could barely speak. “It’s just tradition.”

Annie didn’t answer. She watched the box as if it might leap at her.

---

The drawing began.

Elias called names. One by one, heads of households stepped up, pulled a slip, showed it blank, and exhaled in relief. The crowd murmured each time. A laugh or two broke the tension.

Finally, it was the Harlows’ turn.

Lena felt Annie’s fingers go cold in hers. She stepped forward, took a paper, opened it slowly.

Her breath caught.

A thick black X stared up at her.

Gasps rippled. Silence fell.

---

Elias lowered his head.

“Lena Harlow’s family is Chosen.”

A low wail began at the back of the crowd—someone’s mother crying for the child she saw in Lena’s arms.

“It must be done,” Martha said firmly.

Elias cleared his throat. “The Harlows will decide who gives.”

---

They took her aside, to “talk.”

Annie clung to Lena’s skirt, sobbing.

Lena’s husband, Jacob, was white as paper.

“Please,” he whispered. “Not her. Not our Annie.”

Lena shook so hard she thought she’d collapse.

But everyone watched them. Waiting. Expecting.

“You know the rules,” Martha said softly. “One must be given. Or all suffer. That’s what they say.”

---

Years of fear and superstition roared in Lena’s head. She thought of the last time a family refused—the plague that followed. Or so they claimed. No one truly knew if it was real. But they all believed.

She looked at Jacob.

Then at Annie.

Her daughter’s face was wet with tears.

“Please, Mama. Don’t.”

---

The council grew impatient.

“You must decide,” Elias said quietly.

---

Lena turned to Jacob.

He swallowed.

Finally, he nodded.

Lena fell to her knees and hugged Annie so tightly she could barely breathe.

> “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

---

They called the townsfolk forward.

No one spoke.

They formed a circle.

Martha handed out the stones.

Elias instructed them gently.

“Do it quickly.”

---

Lena held Annie’s hand until the first stone struck.

Annie shrieked once, high and piercing, before the sound broke in her throat.

They all threw.

They always did.

---

When it was over, the green was quiet.

The blood soaked into the earth.

Martha packed the stones away in the old crate.

The box was shut and locked.

Elias marked the ledger.

> “Cedar Hollow is safe for another year.”

---

By dusk, the square was empty.

Families ate dinner in silence.

No one mentioned Annie’s name again.

But they all slept a little easier, convinced they’d done what was necessary.

---

The next morning, children played in the grass again, though no one spoke of the dark stain that wouldn’t wash out.

The Choosing was over.

Until next year.

---

They called it tradition. They called it safety. They called it giving.

But it was murder.

And they all knew it.