My Family Has a Strange Tradition

For as long as I can remember, every year, on January 20th, my mother would leave the house in the early morning and not come back until at least 7PM.
She always told me that I'd get to join her when I was older.
I didn't really mind it. After all, I did get the house to myself for a few hours.
Last year, as I was sleeping, I felt my mother gently tap me on the shoulder.
"Ugh... what?" I groaned. I looked at the clock on my nightstand. 6AM. "Mooooom..." What the hell was she doing? Why was she waking me up so early?
"Sara, it's time for you to join us."
I blinked at her groggily. "What...?" I asked, pulling the covers over my head. Nothing seemed to make sense.
"It's January 20."
"Mm...so?"
It suddenly dawned on me. That odd tradition... I guess I was finally old enough to go with them? I groaned incoherently.
"Come on..." my mother urged.
I got up, still half-asleep.
"There you go. Now get dressed."
"Breakfast...?"
"We'll eat there."
Where? I wanted to ask, but was still too tired.
As soon as I sat down in the passenger seat, my eyes immediately closed. After a couple of hours, I felt my mom gently shake me.
"We're here."
I slowly opened my eyes, only to see my grandparents' house. So I guess this was some kind of family dinner...
We went inside. My entire extended family, even people I hadn't seen in years, were there, chatting with each other.
"Let's go inside," said my grandmother after some small talk.
At that, everyone walked to a room. My mother urged me to follow them, so I reluctantly shuffled into the room.
It had no windows and no furniture, except for one single table in the center. It kind of creeped me out, to be honest.
"I'll prepare this year's harvest" an uncle chimed in.
I opened my mouth to speak, but my mother gently shushed me. You'll see, she mouthed.
My uncle returned, struggling to restrain a young man who was pleading and begging for his life. He quickly knocked out the man, who fell to the ground limply.
I wanted to scream and run away. My mother, as if reading my thoughts, firmly put a hand on my shoulder.
"It's OK," she whispered.
My uncle placed the man on the table. Everyone arranged themselves into a circle around it.
They all looked at me, urging me to join them. I walked to the circle, my legs trembling, and joined hands with 2 of my cousins. I hoped they wouldn't notice my palms sweating.
My grandmother began to chant in an oddly soothing voice. When she finished, my vision began blurring. I couldn't keep my eyes open. I blacked out.
I slowly opened my eyes. What I saw was horrifying.
The room was covered in blood and pink, soft bits of flesh. A single eyeball was on the table. I gagged. I tasted warm blood on my mouth.
"Come on, Sara. Let's go." my mom said, practically dragging me out the door.
That night, I got no sleep at all. The images kept flashing through my mind.
I am writing to you all because the day I have to go back is approaching. The man's pleads for mercy keep echoing in my mind. I don't want to go.
But our kind needs to feed.


Source.