The room was black black. Not a light, not a shine, not a glint of an eye.
'The witch is dead, and this is her head,' whispered the husband, and handed an item to the nearest person.
'Oh, I know how this game is played,' some child cried, happily, in the dark. 'He gets some old chicken innards from the icebox and hands them around and says, "These are her innards!" And he makes a clay head and passes it for her head, and passes a soup bone for her arm. And he takes a marble and says, "This is her eye!" And he takes some corn and says, "This is her teeth!" And he takes a sack of plum pudding and gives that and says, "This is her stomach!" I know how this is played!'
'Hush, you'll spoil everything,' some girl said.
'The witch came to harm, and this is her arm,' said Mich.
The items were passed and passed, like hot potatoes, around the circle. Some children screamed, wouldn't touch them. Some ran from their chairs to stand in the centre of the cellar until the grisly items had passed.
'Marion?' asked Louise. 'Are you afraid?'
Marion didn't speak.
'She's all right,' said the husband. 'She's not afraid.'
Excerpt from Ray Bradbury's 'The October Game'