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.
I will have to go back to the drawing board. All those years of faultless seasons, and now we must start anew. My mother is too old for this task, and no one else is up to it. It is mine now.
JULY 1, 1981
Before, when we could send in dozens of our undesirables to the Amazement Park and let the beast take its pick, we felt safe leaving the gate open, knowing on any given day of the season, more than two of our blood stood between us and the beast.
But now we are limited once more, and faced with the dilemma of sending fourteen in at once, or sending them in two by two.
I do not like having the gate open any longer than absolutely necessary. We have something special, something precious, both inside and outside the gate. We must guard it with everything we can.
I have hired fourteen people—none are aware of their connection to our families—to “clean up the park for potential reopening.” They are under strict instructions to work in pairs, but never in a group larger than two. They will sleep in the park. My hope is that, with our labyrinth of walls and trees and paths, they will not realize what is going on until it is too late. We have also reinforced the fence along the borders of the park, and set up fourteen watch towers. One for each of the original sacrifices. Their spirit, still watching over us, keeping us safe. Sometimes I climb into the tower named for my grandmother and gaze over the park, feeling connected to her as I will the trees and bushes to grow faster, higher, thicker, so I cannot see the temple and can simply enjoy the view.
JULY 22, 1981
It went as well as can be expected. At least Ray is good at shooting to wound, not to kill, so there were no escapes and no wastes.
I am getting married this fall. I do not know what, if anything, I will tell Dick about my family or why we must always live in Asterion. How much does he really need to know? After all, I’m giving him and our future children the blessings of my grandparents. We are moving into my mother’s house. He asked where I am getting the money to redecorate it, and I laughed. It’s mine.
I’ve earned it.
JULY 22, 1988
This year the biggest challenge was finding fourteen people who accepted the job. We know they are all worthless, scrounging, contributing nothing. Drains on the society we help build and bolster. They are too good for a week of honest labor?
It makes me so angry, the entitlement, the laziness. Perhaps we will have to think of a different tactic moving forward, if these young generations are so opposed to good hard work.