My Town Exiles One Family Every Year To Stay “Perfect.” My Father Just Got A Promotion, And Now We Are Standing At The Border With Nothing. But Someone Is Waiting For Us In The Dark.

The Annual Exile

My town exiled one family a year to maintain our “perfect” reputation. I was 13 when my best friend’s family was chosen. Their name echoed through the town hall, and everyone stepped away from them like they were contaminated. His mother started sobbing.

“Please, we’ve lived here for three generations.”

The council leader shook his head.

“The vote has been cast. You have 24 hours to leave. Anyone caught helping you pack or say goodbye will join you.”

They weren’t allowed to take anything except clothes. Their house, cars, bank accounts, and everything became community property. The sheriff’s department surrounded their home to make sure no one approached.

I watched through my window as my best friend loaded garbage bags of clothes into their beat-up van the town allowed them to keep. He looked at my house and waved. I ducked below the window, too scared to wave back.

That night, I couldn’t stop shaking.

“What if we’re chosen next?” I asked my father.

“Then we leave with nothing,” he said. “Now stop talking about it.”

The Pattern of Fear

Every year when the exile vote approached, I’d have panic attacks. The whole town would gather in the hall where each family cast anonymous votes for who should leave. The family with the most votes was gone within 24 hours. They called it maintaining community standards.

When I was 15, they chose the Hendersons because their son was caught smoking weed. Mr. Henderson begged on his knees.

“It was just marijuana. He’s a good kid.”

“Drug use threatens our reputation,” the council leader said. “The vote stands.”

Mrs. Henderson had cancer and needed treatments only available at our local hospital. It didn’t matter; they were gone by morning. Two weeks later, we heard she died in some charity ward three states away.

My older sister fell in love with John, whose family ran the bakery. They were planning their future together when his family name got called. John’s father had been caught gambling online, a moral failure that could infect others.

“Please,” John begged my sister in front of everyone. “Come with me.”

Leaving voluntarily meant you could never return, never contact anyone, and never inherit anything. My sister just cried as they dragged John away. She stopped eating after that, stopped talking, and just stared at nothing until my parents sent her to a facility.