Today is my day. My coming of age. My hand shakes. It sweats like crazy.

“Aren’t you excited?” I remember those words from Dad’s mouth. “Tomorrow’s the Big Day.”

I force myself to do my tie. I hear the muffled excitement downstairs. And among that, a squeal. The piglet. I remember the piglet being brought into the house a few days ago, in a closed crate. It was stored in the basement. My brother did that. He’s the strong one in the family.

I stare at the mirror with a long face. Do I have to? I know it’s been an old tradition that’s dates back to the old country. Centuries, in fact.

A knock interrupts me.

“What are you doing?” It’s my sister. “Everyone’s waiting…”

“I’m coming,” I reply, forcing myself to the door. “I’m coming.”

The doorknob is cold to the touch. A twist. And I follow my sister down the stairs. It creaks.

A tradition, the thought comes to my mind, a tradition no one can escape…

Every step, the urge grows stronger. It’s in my blood. To satisfy it, I must do it, I’m told at a very young age. Every member of the family did it, and it’s now my turn.

We went down, and we saw our relatives. I force a smile as I greet an aunt, an uncle. Cousins and other extended family. They are laughing, smiling.

Every step, I get closer to the dining room. It has been cleared out except there’s plastic sheets covering everywhere. The closed crate is in the center. The lights are bright.

Mom and Dad stands there, my brother, too. Smiling around the closed crate. Watching me expectingly.

“Here’s the knife,” mom says in a whisper to my ear. “Make it quick…

My hand trembles holding the knife.

All of a sudden, I can’t move.

“It’s okay,” my mom says, guiding me toward the covered crate. Mom looks at Dad, who then nods at my brother. With his hands, he pry the crate open.

The piglet’s squeal becomes more clearer.

My heart beats against my chest. My mind race. I suddenly realize I was never told the true “why” of this tradition, besides a ritual to maturity. It never occurred to me until now. I get this urge every now and then. As I look around, glancing, I notice something weird. And when I finally look down at what’s in the crate, I gasp.

It’s not a piglet.

It’s a little girl. She has been hogtied and mouth taped. Helpless and eyes wide.

“Come on, sweetie,” my mom says, her face no longer human, but a monster with green eyes. “This is your coming of age. Do it.

Shaking, I look at everyone again. We are monsters. Monsters in disguise.

The taste for Human blood grows, and I raise my knife high in the air.

I can’t help it. I must satisfy it. My coming of age.