They gathered in the woods. On Summerisle. The pagan community anticipating a good harvest. Burning the trapped victim in The Wicker Man twisted and crafted into shape by the hands of the children and teachers at school.

I watched from a distance, secretly recording. Traitor in the midst. They were my family, friends, neighbours. I was one of them yet I was not. I was a Christian. Would-be outcast in this community, not that anyone knew. This was going to be my parting gift to them.

Freedom from sin. End of a barbaric ritual. Once exposed to the rest of the world, they would stop luring unsuspecting victims, virgins male and female. Stop the murder.

As the camera captured their excitement, I turned at the sound of footsteps......................