My husband is not a pastor but a riitualiist – Episode 27
“Hello? Is everything okay?” my husband inquired, as if he already knew something wasn’t right. I struggled to calm myself, my heart pounding like a fast car racing down a track.
“Yes, everything’s fine,” I replied, trying to sound relaxed. “I was just tidying up the house.”
“I see,” he responded, his tone tinged with suspicion, as if he sensed something wrong. “Alright, just checking on you.”
After ending the call, my hands shook involuntarily. My husband’s strangely composed behavior during our conversation had left me feeling unsettled.
His inquiry about everything being “good” seemed to carry an unspoken question, as though he was already aware that things might not be as they seemed. He merely responded with an oddly reassuring, “Just checking on you.”
My curiosity grew stronger. The secret room that had always intrigued me beckoned once more. I turned the knob and entered, the air inside carrying a sense of urgency, as if it held secrets on the edge of revelation.
With careful steps, I ventured further into the room, scanning its contents with a mix of anxiety and curiosity. And then, my eyes fell upon a small piece of paper lying unnoticeably on the floor, almost as if it had been deliberately positioned for me to discover. I picked it up gently, my heart quickening as I read the name “Judith” written on it.
Judith was the wife of one of our branch pastors, known for her unwavering faith and the miraculous power attributed to her husband, Mr. Alfred. Her husband was the only branch pastor closely linked to mine in performing miracles.
Numerous questions flooded my mind, each one more pressing than the last. Why was her name written here? What could this mysterious message possibly signify?
Just as I was lost in my thoughts, the screeching ring of my phone interrupted me, and when I glanced at my screen, it was Mr. Alfred, Judith’s husband. I answered the call, feeling nervous all the while.
Trembling, he began, “The dev!l has struck again,” his words laden with the weight of his distress. I listened intently, holding my breath in anticipation, as he recounted the tragic sequence of events.
“Two years ago, it was my first daughter,” he continued, his voice faltering. “And now, they’ve taken my wife as well.” The depth of his sorrow was palpable even through the phone, his grief resonating within me.
“I’m presently at the hospital, Mrs. Veronica,” he uttered, his voice barely steady. “Standing beside my dēcēãsed wife.” His words hung in the air, laden with grief, evoking a shiver that ran down my spine.
“While en route to the church for pastor’s meeting earlier, I received a call from an unfamiliar number,” he recounted, his voice trembling. “They conveyed that my wife had been involved in a fatàl accident and had been taken to Florence Hospital.”
“I rushed there with utmost haste,” he choked out, his sorrow palpable even through the phone. “Upon arrival, the doctor confirmed that she had succumbed to her injuries. She blèd from her eyes, ears, and mouth. The doctor indicated that the substantial blood loss had been beyond recovery.”
My heart ached for him, his immense loss proving nearly unbearable. “Alfred, I… I can hardly believe this,” I stuttered, my voice quivering. “Judith… your wife is no longer with us?” My mind struggled to grapple with the harsh reality. “Could this be some kind of cruel prank? It simply cannot be real.”
A profound silence hung in the air, both of us grappling with the tragic twist of fate that had snatched Judith away. “I am on my way to the hospital right now,” I managed to utter, my voice choked with emotion. As the call concluded, I clutched the piece of paper, its significance becoming usually frightening.
The room felt like a complex web of mysteries, each thread tightly connected to the next. My mind raced, attempting to unravel the mysterious connection between the name on the paper and the startling news I had just received. As I turned to exit, the door slammed shut with a force that sent shockwaves rippling through the room.
Taken aback, panic coursed through me as I realized I was now trapped within the confines of this room. The atmosphere grew denser, and the space that had once seemed filled with concealed knowledge now resembled a cage of impending doom. I found myself alone with my thoughts, clutching the piece of paper, and the gnawing awareness that a more sinister force was at play.
A sense of desperation washed over me as the door slammed shut. I spun around, hoping to attribute it to a sudden windblast. Yet, as I reached for the doorknob, a surge of despair overcame me – it refused to open. Panic gripped me as I recognized that I was confined within this stifling room, with the key to my freedom lying out of reach.
My fingers grappled with the doorknob, desperation driving me to exert futile effort. The metallic sound of my attempts reverberated in the room, serving only to increase my sense of captivity. My breathing took flight, and each pull on the door grew more tense than the last.
As realization dawned that my sole avenue of escape lay in calling for help, I reached for my phone, hoping to summon Precious to my aid. Yet, frustration surged as my touch on the screen yielded no response. My phone seemed unresponsive, its touchpad frozen. My heart raced, the urgency of the difficult situation expanding my growing anxiety.
Increasingly concerned, I tapped the screen repeatedly, my hope being that the next touch would ignite a reaction. However, it was as though my phone had taken on a will of its own, steadfastly refusing to respond. Alone and isolated, I found myself severed from any connection to the outside world.
As my phone continued to remain silent, I resolved to adopt an alternative approach. Summoning all my strength, I let out a piercing shout, my voice resonating through the room as I called for Precious with all the intensity I could muster. “Precious! Can you hear me?” My voice echoed, each syllable carrying a blend of urgency and hope.
Nevertheless, my calls seemed to vanish into the abyss, swallowed by the shadows that enveloped me. There was no reassuring echo, no sign that Precious was close just beyond the door. My heart sank as the awareness sank in – I was truly alone, severed from any prospect of assistance.
And then, a haunting sound penetrated the air – a chilling, mocking laughter that resembled the threatening chuckle of the dev!l himself. The voice resonated as if it were amplified through a microphone.
Frozen in place, I felt a cold shiver crawl down my spine, the haunting laughter persisting in its torment. It felt like the walls were enjoying how vulnerable I was, their echoes making me feel even more helpless. The voice sounded oddly familiar, like my husband’s. This made me realize something was wrong, and fear and confusion grew inside me.
Crouched on the floor, my heart thumped like a drum, and my forehead was covered in sweat from intense fear. Tears welled up in my eyes.
To be continued ✍️