"When I was a child," Theodora said lazily, "' — many years ago,' Doctor, as you put it so tactfully — I was whipped for throwing a brick through a g… - Shirley Jackson

...remember the metallic sound and taste of all of it. And the outrage.

Mr. Summers spoke frequently to the villagers about making a new box, but no one liked to upset even as much tradition as was represented by the black box. There was a story that the present box had been made with some pieces of the box that had preceded it, the one that had been constructed when the first people settled down to make a village here. Every year, after the lottery, Mr. Summers began talking again about a new box, but every year the subject was allowed to fade off without anything's being done. The black box grew shabbier each year: by now it was no longer completely black but splintered badly along one side to show the original wood color, and in some places faded or stained.

Our house was a castle, turreted and open to the sky.