They’d told him not to, but he’d show the villagers their ignorance by sitting on the stone at night.
“Get off!”
“Who’s there?” he demanded. No response. He stood and began walking home.
“Get off,” the voice commanded. He started running. The chant grew louder and faster. His foot caught a branch and he tripped. The voices roared in his ears. He writhed on the ground, unable to escape them. A sharp stick jabbed against his side.
“Get. Off.”
No more. He jabbed the stick into both of his ears. In the morning, they found his smiling and bloody body.
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alt="Sitting on Aine's Cursed Stone by Crystal N. Ramos"
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height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Harbinger of Death by Jonathan L. Tolstedt"
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height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Famine Man by Deborah Tapper"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="The Price of Belief by Andreas Flögel"
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>