My husband is not a pastor but a riitualiist – Episode 25
I couldn’t believe what I had just heard. That was when I realized that my husband had never considered me to be his wife, but rather a pawn. He was ready to silence me at any time if I became stubborn and tried to get in his way.
I wish I had known that I could risk losïng my life if I forced him to open up to me that night about why we couldn’t have a child. I would’ve let it slide and lived with the shāmê, rather than bringing such great ca|amity upon myself. My life was now in his hands, my freedom taken, and I lost my right to life and place as his wife—becoming a walking c0rpse.
If someone had told me that my husband, a renowned resident pàstór of a popular chúrçh, was this crūe|, ev!l, and devi|!sh, I would’ve bet my life that he wasn’t. Even now that I’ve seen it with my own eyes, it’s so scary to believe, and I’m praying strongly within me that all this should be nothing but a nightmare.
How unlucky I was to end up with a wo|f in sheep’s clothing. How blindfolded I was to have fallen in love with Bee|zebub 15 years ago.
After he placed the first aid box in his wardrobe, he walked up to me and said:
“It’s 1 am already. I am tired and would like to go to bed. You didn’t even allow me to take my bath. Right from yesterday, on Sunday evening, we came back from the end of the month praise and worship service, you pinned me down with questions until now.”
“It’s Monday already, and I need to rest because I have a meeting with the pàstórs today. Since you’ve taken an oath, I will continue tonight and tell you everything you want to know. Goodnight.”
I couldn’t stay in the same room with him again. I was scared, and as he approached the bed, I quickly stood up, faced the bedroom door, and went straight to the guest bedroom.
We were living in a four-bedroom flat: the master bedroom, where I had just run out from, leaving my husband behind; the guest room, where I was headed; our maid’s room, Precious; and an empty room close to our maid’s room—my husband’s secret chamber.
Despite being his wife, I had never gained access to that room. He kept the key from me, and it wasn’t among our bunch of keys. Only he had access to that room for the past 10 years since we moved in.
Every night, he would wake up at 2 am and go to that room. I had asked him several times, and he told me he always went there to prày and study the Bible. Since he was a resident pàstór, I believed him all these years and thought that the secret behind his ability to perform all kinds of miracles was tied to his consistent night prāyēr in that room.
Hence, I no longer suspected that he might be doing otherwise in that room, and I never bothered him about the room or found it suspicious for the past ten years.
But considering everything he had told me from Sunday evening all through to that Monday morning, I couldn’t stop thinking whether he really went to that secret room to prày all these years or if he lied to me and was actually harboring or hiding something from me.
I decided I would keep my eyes peeled until 2 am when he would leave the master bedroom and go inside his secret chamber, so that I would know if he truly went there to prày or if he lied to me all these years and did something fishy in there.
I sat on the bed inside the guest room, staring at the clock. My eyes were wide open, my heart raced faster than ever, and my body kept shivering as if I was catching a cold.
I became so scared that I thought of joining our maid, Precious, in her room. But she must’ve gone into a deep sleep, and besides, I never knew what my husband was capable of. I feared he might suspect that I wanted to disclose his secret to Precious and could hærm her as well.
I kept staring at the clock until 2 am, the time my husband usually left the master bedroom to go to his secret chamber. I strained my ears, hoping to hear any sign of movement. And then, I heard it—the faint shuffle of footsteps. He was on the move.
With bated breath, I tiptoed out of the guest room, my heart racing. It was the moment I had been waiting for—the chance to finally discover the truth behind his mysterious nightly visits. I made my way to the secret chamber, my heart pounding like a drum.
To my astonishment, the door stood slightly open—a sliver of opportunity I couldn’t ignore. It was a sight I had never seen before. My husband had always kept this room locked away from my prying eyes. My palms were sweaty as I pushed the door open, my curiosity overpowering my fear.
Inside, an odd sight greeted me. The air seemed to shimmer with a strange, white mist, hanging in the room like a heavy cloud. It made it hard to see clearly, adding a ghostly touch to the surroundings. I hesitated at the entrance, overwhelmed by a mix of curiosity and apprehension.
As I walked deeper into the room, the cloud started to thin out on one side, revealing a white coff!n. My breath caught in my throat, and I approached it cautiously. Inside the coff!n lay my husband, his body covered in crawling mãgg0ts. The stench was overpowering, and I instinctively covered my nose to block out the pūtrïd smēll.
My heart raced, and I took a step back, a rush of emotions flooding over me. Just as I was grappling with this horr!fying sight, the cloud cleared from another corner of the room. My eyes widened in shock as I saw another white coff!n. Inside, I recognized the face of Daniel—the young man from our çhúrçh who had d!ed under mysterious circumstances.
Daniel had spoken out against my husband’s mïracles, claiming they were not from Gód but from dærk forces. The chúrçh had thought his dēēãth was a divine pun!shment, but now I realized my husband had a hand in it. The realization hit me like a ton of bricks, and I stumbled back, my mind reeling.
Suddenly, a piercing scream shattered the air. It was Precious, our maid. My heart raced, and I rushed toward her room to find out what was happening. Through her partially open door, I heard moans and sounds I couldn’t believe. It was like a scene from a forb!dden movie, and I struggled to comprehend what I was hearing.
My fingers trembled as I pushed the door open slightly, astonished to find it wasn’t locked. I peered inside, and what I saw left me in shock—a sēgxūã| scene between my husband and Precious, a sight that felt like a knife through my heart. I screamed, unable to contain my emotions any longer.
My husband leaped out of bed, his face twisted in ænger. In his rãge, he strūçk me across the face. The pain was real, and yet, in that very instant, the world around me blurred and shifted.
To be continued ✍️