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Sometimes, as he sleeps next to me, snoring gently, I want to smother him in his ignorance.
Sammy Frye whines that he is being run ragged, tracking down distant relatives and sleuthing far-flung cousins, as though his is the difficult task. Our men are virile. We have not discouraged them from sowing wild seeds with low women. It is a sacrifice easy for them to make on behalf of our community. Between them and the siblings of our parents, there are plenty of sacrifices to choose from, plenty who do not know what we keep in the forest outside Asterion. Plenty who do not know by what means their sons have been kept safe in the war, what miracle protected their money when the banks fell, what secret wind lifts them all to ever-greater heights. But the more diluted the blood, the more diluted the people, and there are enough who are disposable.
That is all distasteful to dwell on. I will have a better plan by next season.
MAY 23, 1948
My husband has returned from New York and a trip to Coney Island with the girls. I do not leave Asterion—I am its guardian, and I do not take that responsibility lightly—but hearing their breathless reports of roller coasters and games and rides, how easily they lost an entire day there, sparked a brilliant new plan. One that means we can send in the sacrifices happy, and let them be consumed with no one the wiser! A minimum of suffering. A garish, cheerful solution.
An amusement park! Low entertainment for the low classes, and perfect for our needs.
The plans are elaborate, yes. Tommy Jr. complained extensively, surprising no one. But the Pulsiphers, Youngs, Harrells, and Fryes are all on my side. Besides, I am not doing this on a whim. The labyrinthine structure of the park serves a purpose, turning the beast in circles and keeping him near the center, away from the gate. And with our sacrifices lured in ever deeper by the promise of delight and fun and excitement, they will escort themselves to the slaughter.
The downside, of course, is that all the sacrifices must pass through Tommy’s gate, so during the season we will have to leave it open. In normal times, we can let guests in and out through a meaningless side gate. But not when it matters. It makes us all nervous, but the ingenious design of the park and the flood of potential sacrifices means that the beast will never get far from the center. We will, of course, still guard the gate, but I am confident we need fear neither discovery nor escape. It is a perfect system. Everyone is fed, and we will also bring extra jobs and prosperity to the region, which will doubtless alleviate some of the resentment the surrounding towns always feel toward us.
Much to do to prepare. I am including my youngest daughter, Linda, in the plans, though she is barely old enough to read. It is never too early to prepare the next generation for their responsibilities. I fear I’ve already waited too long with her older sister.
JULY 22, 1953
The Amazement Park is a success! Not only did this year’s season pass without a single hiccup, the park itself is lovely and very popular all summer long. It’s nice that we can use the space more than once every seven years.
Of course, none of us go in. Just in case. But I’ve read such glowing reports in all the local newspapers.
We have already made a list of the people we will invite to the park during the next season. What we initially thought of as a curse—that only we could see the beast—has become an unexpected boon. It walks among them and none see it save those who need to be consumed.
And if anyone witnesses a sacrifice disappear—like magic!—well, it is an amusement park, and filled with wonders. One distant Harrell cousin saw his brother eaten and ran out, screaming, but of course he ran to the Harrell house. He was escorted back into the park under cover of night and left, unconscious, outside the temple. These dregs of our family lines are so often disappearing or running away, it is a small task to sweep up any bits of evidence in their wake.
I suspect we will be able to use this system for a very long time. I am so proud of how Linda has embraced our heritage, and I know my parents would be, as well.
JULY 22, 1974
I resent that my first entry in my mother’s book must be about disaster. I should have wrested control from her senile hands years ago. Perhaps then it would not have come to this. I am humiliated, though none of it is my fault. And still I am left with the mess!
If we had wanted Mister Jones’s family to come to the park, we would have invited them! Obviously his family was not the type of sacrifice we make. And of course the Strattons are beside themselves, because the little girl was from their line. Susan Stratton actually wept that a child was dead because of them.
No! She was consumed because we let so many be ignorant about what they owe their prosperity to. I have argued with my mother and the other families that we should bring everyone in on the truth, but they say it is too much, that others might not be comfortable. That they might want to stop it.
Would they, though? If they knew that, without what dwells in the center of the park, they would lose everything? I do not think they would! I think they would see the sense of it, the necessity, the honor of the responsibility. I think it is the secrecy that drives people away, like my father and older sister. Indeed, only those of us in the direct lines of the original seven families seem to stay in Asterion. Everyone else embarks for the world, leaving us behind, carried on the strength and support of what we do.
My park is closed. At least that fool lost his daughter on the last day of the season and we did not have to try and find another sacrifice. It is the only good thing that can be taken from that little girl’s death.