I used to think a curse haunted my family. One after another, loved ones died in eerie ways: my cousin collapsed on his walk home, my uncle perished in a bizarre crash, and my grandma slipped away after a sudden, mysterious illness. Whispers of “bewitchment” swirled among us. But the real threat was closer than we imagined. My big brother, our rock, had secretly joined a shadowy cult chasing wealth. We’d grown up scraping by, sometimes starving, borrowing food from neighbours.
Then, out of nowhere, he transformed, cruising in a shiny Toyota Prado, building rentals, and tossing cash like confetti. At first, we cheered, thinking he’d lift us all up. But the deaths kept coming, and something felt off. One night, I overheard him on the phone, his voice chillingly unfamiliar: “I’ve given three already. Want another? I’ll offer my sibling. He won’t be missed.” My heart froze. That sibling was me. The brother I trusted was trading lives for riches. Continue Reading