You will never go to church again after watching this video!! #africanfolktalesstory – Ty

Tunday had the kind of face that looked older than his age. He was only 33, but his eyes always looked tired, like someone who had seen too much. His cheeks were sharp, his skin dark and rough, and his shoulders carried an invisible weight. People in his area called him Pastor Tunday, even though he didn’t have a church yet, he used to preach in the streets with a small speaker and a cracked Bible that he carried everywhere like it was glued to his hand.

But before all that, he was just a poor boy on the streets of Lagos. No father, a sick mother, and no home. Back then, he lived under the bridge with his mom, Mama Tunday. She coughed all the time. Her voice always sounded like someone grinding pepper. Still, she would hold his hand every morning and say, “Tunday, one day, God will remember us.

” They begged together in front of traffic lights holding empty tins. Some people gave them coins. Some gave insults. Most people didn’t even look at them. One hot afternoon when Tounday was about 13, his mother collapsed by the roadside. Her body shook and her mouth started foaming. Mama, mama, wake up. Tundai shouted, shaking her body, but she didn’t move.

He ran to a church nearby. It was a big white building with a golden gate and armed guards standing outside. People were singing inside. He could hear drums and people shouting hallelujah. Tounday pushed past the guards and ran to the front of the church. Please, my mommy is dying outside. Somebody help me, he cried. A man in a long robe, probably one of the church workers, looked at him with disgust.

Who allowed this dirty boy inside here? The man barked. She’s outside. Please help me. She’s coughing blood. Tunday shouted, falling to his knees. Go and die with her. The man said without blinking. The guards dragged Tundday out like trash and threw him back on the road. By the time he returned to the spot where he left her, Mama Tounday had stopped breathing.

Her eyes were open but empty. Her lips had turned dark. Tunday sat beside her body for hours. He didn’t cry. He didn’t talk. Something inside him had broken and it never healed. That night, Tunday swore under the stars that he would never be poor again. Never. Years passed. Tunday didn’t go to school. He didn’t have money for that.

But he read the Bible every day. He read it like a man searching for something. Sometimes he would borrow people’s phones just to watch YouTube videos of popular pastors. He studied how they dressed, how they shouted, how they prayed. He mimicked them in front of broken mirrors and in empty lots.

People in the area started calling him small pastor. He would gather kids and adults and preach to them on the streets. He shouted so hard that veins popped from his neck, but still no one gave him a proper chance. One day, Tounday went to a big program hosted by a popular preacher. It was at a stadium. Thousands of people came. Tunday squeezed through the crowd and made it to the front.

After the program, he waited near the pastor’s car, hoping to greet him or maybe serve as a volunteer. The pastor looked at him from the window and smiled. “Young man, do you want power?” the pastor asked. Tunday nodded quickly, eyes shining. “Yes, sir. I want to do what you’re doing. The pastor lowered his voice and whispered, “Then don’t pray like others.

Go to the forest. Let power find you.” Before Tounday could ask what he meant, the car drove off. That night, Tunday couldn’t sleep. His head was spinning. Go to the forest. What kind of advice was that? Still, something inside him burned. The next evening, he packed his old Bible, a bottle of water, and a mat, and headed to a small bush path behind the slum area where he stayed.

Nobody went there. People said strange things happened in that bush, especially at night. Some said they heard drums. Others claimed they saw shadows dancing among the trees. But Tounday didn’t care. He was desperate. He reached a wide clearing just before midnight. The moon was out full and bright like a giant eye watching him.

He spread his mat and knelt down. “God, I have served you with my whole life,” he said. “I don’t drink. I don’t steal. I preach your word, but what have I gotten? I lost my mother. I eat once a day. I sleep on the floor. I wear the same shoes for 2 years. Look at others. They drive cars, wear suits, and they don’t even preach half as much as I do.

The wind suddenly picked up cold and sharp. Tounday continued, voice rising. Where are you, Lord? I want to be rich. I want to be known. Give me power. Give me miracles. If you don’t answer me tonight, then forget it. I’m tired. Silence. Then thump. He turned. There was a sound coming from the ground. Thump, thump, thump. Like a heartbeat.

The earth beneath him started shaking gently. Then, right before him, the soil cracked open. Slowly, a dark mist rose from the crack. It wasn’t smoke. It was thick, like it was alive. Tunday jumped back, eyes wide. A voice came from the mist. Deep, calm, but chilling. So, you’re tired of waiting for heaven? Tunday couldn’t move.

His lips were shaking. WW, who are you? He whispered. I am the answer you came looking for, the voice replied. Tunday stepped back. I came to pray to God. The voice laughed. It wasn’t loud, but it shook the trees. And what has God given you? Pain, hunger, shame? It asked. But I can give you what you want. Wealth, fame, power, crowds, miracles, all in your hands, all in your voice.

Tounday’s breathing was heavy. What’s the price? He asked almost in a whisper. One soul, the voice said. Every year, just one, and they don’t even have to know. Tunday looked at the mist. He looked at his dirty clothes. He remembered his mother dying on the street. He remembered being dragged out of that big church.

I will never be poor again, he asked. Never, the voice answered. I will be famous across the world. I will do miracles. They will fall at your feet. Tunday was quiet. Then slowly he nodded. I agree. As soon as he said the words, the ground closed back. The mist rushed into his chest like a sharp wind.

He fell to the ground, coughing, gasping. When he opened his eyes, everything looked different, brighter, louder. The moon was gone, but the bush was glowing with a strange light. He felt something burning on his chest. He pulled his shirt aside. There was a small mark there, glowing red like fire, a strange symbol.

Tunday stood up slowly, his legs felt strong, his eyes sharper, his voice deeper. He picked up his Bible. “Now they will listen,” he said quietly. He walked out of the bush, the mark still glowing under his shirt. And in the trees behind him, something laughed again, low and slow. When Tounday walked out of that forest, it felt like the world had changed.

But the truth was, it was Tounday who had changed. The street lights looked brighter, the air felt lighter, and the ground under his feet no longer felt like sand. It felt like stone, solid and sure. He wasn’t shaking from hunger anymore. His back was straight. His chest was full of air. And his eyes, they didn’t just look around.

They saw everything. Like he could read people’s thoughts just by watching their faces. He didn’t go home. He went straight to the small corner where he used to preach with his broken speaker and Bible. It was just after 5:00 a.m. The sky was gray. People were walking to work, school or market.

He stood on his old stool and raised his voice. My name is Pastor Tunday, he said, and I was in the bush all night. But this morning, the Lord has sent me. As he said it, a sudden breeze blew through the street. Plastic bags flew, children screamed, and grown men stopped in their tracks like they heard something strange.

One man stepped forward, frowning. you again?” he said. “You’ve been shouting for months and nothing ever happens.” Tunday stared at him. What’s your name? The man blinked. Emma. Tunday closed his eyes. You have back pain, Emma. Sharp pain on your right side. You can’t bend well. You hide it from your wife.

Emma’s eyes flew open. How did you know that? Come here, Tundai said. He placed his hand on Emma’s back. People were already gathering. He prayed just five words. Power of God, heal him now. There was no shaking, no falling, but Emma stood still for a moment, then bent forward, then sideways, then twisted like he was dancing. “I’m healed,” he shouted.

“Hey, I’m healed.” A woman in the crowd screamed and fell down. Another person dropped to his knees, crying, “Tunday smiled, but inside his mind, he heard a cold voice whisper. That one counts as your first.” He didn’t reply. He just kept smiling. Within 2 weeks, the whole street knew about the small pastor with big power.

Videos of him healing people and prophesying names started spreading on WhatsApp. A woman who had been deaf for years suddenly shouted, “Praise God!” In the middle of a gathering, another woman brought her son who couldn’t walk. Tounday touched him and the boy stood up. A man from a local TV station saw one of the clips online.

He came to watch for himself. After Tounday told him his phone password without looking, the man offered him a Sunday morning TV slot. This is just the beginning, Tunday said to himself one evening as he looked into the mirror. Very soon the whole world will know me and the world began to take notice.

Fire Mantle Ministries started inside a small rented shop. The walls were peeling. The fans didn’t work and there was only one speaker that made a loud buzzing sound every 5 minutes. But people came. Lots of them. Every seat was full. People stood outside the window and peeped through. They didn’t care that the place smelled of sweat and dust. All they wanted was power.

And power was what day gave them. Miracles happened every Sunday. Crutches were left at the altar. People rolled on the ground shouting that demons had left them. A woman who couldn’t have a child for 10 years got pregnant. That one brought her whole family, including her in-laws, to join the church.

Tunday now wore white suits and shining black shoes. He used to wash his clothes by hand. Now he had three assistants who handled everything from ironing his clothes to preparing his handkerchief. Still, he never forgot the voice. It came once every few days, usually late at night when everyone had gone home. “You’re doing well,” it would whisper.

“But the year is not over.” Tunday would just nod and go to sleep. He wasn’t afraid. Not yet. Then one day, something strange happened. It was a Sunday like any other. The church was packed. People were sweating and singing. The worship team was loud. Tunday stood on the altar wiping his face with his special handkerchief.

He was about to start preaching when he saw her. She was standing at the back, quiet, calm. Her face was peaceful. But something about her spirit pulled him in. He didn’t recognize her. As he opened his mouth to speak, he froze. The voice came again, but this time it was louder. That one? That’s the first. His chest went cold. She stepped forward slowly, tears in her eyes. Man of God, I’m ready, she said.

I’ve been praying for healing for years. Please pray for me. Tunday’s hand shook as he raised it. His voice came out small. What’s your name? Joy, she said. I’m one of the ushers. Tundday swallowed hard. He didn’t know what to do. He wanted to pray. He wanted to heal her. But the voice was louder now right inside his ears. She belongs to me.

Shut up, Tundai whispered under his breath. What? Joy asked. Nothing. Tundai said quickly. He stretched out his hand and prayed. The crowd shouted. Joy screamed and fell. When she stood up, she said she felt free, light, healed. Everyone clapped and cheered. But deep in Tunday’s heart, something had changed. That night, Joy didn’t go home.

Her roommate called everyone. They searched for her. The next morning, her body was found in her room. Peaceful, no wound, no sickness, just dead. The doctors couldn’t explain it. They said maybe it was her heart. But Tunday knew. He sat alone in his office staring at the floor. The voice came again. You did well.

One every year or I collect them all. Tunday didn’t cry. He didn’t shout. He just closed his eyes and said softly, “Amen.” After Joyy’s death, things moved faster. More people joined the church. Rich people started coming. Some dropped big offerings, others gave him cars and land. One man offered to build a proper church for him.

“Pastor, God has used you to change my life,” the man said. “No,” Tundday replied, smiling. “You haven’t seen anything yet.” Within 6 months, Fire Mantle Ministries moved to a massive hall with glass doors, full air conditioning, giant speakers, and a parking lot that could take over 50 cars. Billboards were placed around town. Come and experience real fire.

Your miracle is waiting at fire mantle. Tunday started traveling to other states. He was invited to preach at crusades. People begged to touch his clothes. They fell when he walked past. Everyone said he was the next big thing. He now had a media team, a choir of 50 people, and security guards in black suits.

But even with all the noise and excitement, Tunday couldn’t shake off the growing weight in his chest. Every time he climbed the altar, he heard the same voice. Don’t forget the deal. One day, his assistant, Sister Gozi, came into his office. She was quiet and serious, always neat, and had been with him since the beginning. “Sir,” she said, “I know this might sound strange, but something is not right.

” Tounday looked up from his desk. What do you mean? I’ve been checking old records, she said, placing a folder on the table. In the last 3 years, one person dies every December. Always someone close to the altar. An usher, a prayer warrior, a choir member. Tunday’s heart jumped, but he kept a calm face.

Coincidence? He said flatly. No, sir, she replied. Their deaths don’t make sense. The doctors never find the cause. And and last Sunday, I saw something. What did you see? He asked. I saw a red light under the altar, she said, whispering now. When you prayed for that woman with cancer, the ground shook just a little, but I felt it. Tunday stood up.

N Goi, you’ve been working too hard. Maybe you need a break. She looked at him for a long time. Sir, is there something you’re not telling us? Tunday walked to the window. His voice was low. Some things are too deep to speak about. Goi nodded slowly. I understand, sir, but secrets don’t stay buried forever. She walked out, leaving the folder behind.

Tunday didn’t open it. He didn’t have to. He already knew what was inside. That night he sat alone in the new church building. The lights were off. The hall was quiet. He walked to the altar and knelt down. The air turned cold. I’m doing what you asked, he whispered. I’ve given you one soul every year. The voice came.

Yes, and you’ve grown. But it’s getting harder. Tunday said. These people trust me. They trust your mask. The voice replied. They don’t know you. They love the show. Tunday sighed. How many more? The voice didn’t answer. Instead, the ground under the altar glowed red for a moment. Just a flash and then faded. Tunday stood up.

He looked at the empty chairs. The shining altar, the big screen above the stage. He smiled. They want power, he said. Then power they shall see. And just like that, the fear in his heart faded. The fame had become louder than the guilt. The crowds were bigger than the whisper of death. Tunday was now a man with thousands of followers, healing power in his hands, and blood under his feet.

And the voice in the shadows, it was just getting started. By the time Fire Mantle Ministries clocked 4 years, the church had grown bigger than anyone expected. Every Sunday, cars lined up on both sides of the road. Ushers wore black suits with earpieces. The security team carried walkie-talkies. People ran into the church like it was a concert.

Nobody wanted to miss a seat. Inside the church, giant speakers blasted worship songs. Cameras moved around, capturing every tear, every shout, every fall. Lights flashed across the stage. The new pullpit was made of glass. Behind it, a large screen played videos of old miracles. People standing from wheelchairs, others crying with joy.

At the center of it, all stood past a tonday. He now wore designer suits and golden watches. His shoes sparkled. His beard was trimmed perfectly. When he walked into the hall, people stood and clapped like the president had entered. Some even knelt as he passed. But the power, it was still there, stronger than before. He didn’t pray for long anymore.

Just one wave of his hand and the crowd would fall. People rolled on the floor. Some screamed, some laughed, some danced with joy. They called it the move of the spirit. But behind that fire and light, the dark voice still followed him. One Sunday during worship, a man in the front row began shaking.

Tunday paused his sermon. He looked at the man and pointed. “You!” he shouted. The music stopped. “Your name is Kenneth,” Tundday said. The man nodded quickly, his hands shaking. “You own a hotel in Festic. You have five rooms, but one is not working because a generator caught fire 2 months ago.” The man gasped.

“Yes, yes, man of God, that’s true.” Tunday walked closer. Your wife is pregnant, but you’ve been afraid because of the last miscarriage. The man fell to the ground and began to cry. Tunday turned to the crowd. Somebody shout power. Poui, they screamed. Tunday smiled, but deep inside. Something twisted in his chest. The voice whispered.

All this for a price. He tried to ignore it. He tried to keep preaching, but his heart was not calm. After the service, while his team cleared the stage, he sat in his office alone. The door was locked. His hands were shaking though the AC was blowing hard. He picked up his phone and checked the date.

December was 3 weeks away, the fifth year. He looked at a photo on his desk, one of joy, the first sacrifice. Her smile was wide. Her eyes were bright. But now she was gone, buried quietly, and most people had forgotten. Except him. That night his phone rang. It was brother Samuel, one of the prayer warriors.

Sir, sorry to call you late, Samuel said. But I had a dream. What dream? Tunday asked, his voice flat. I saw blood, sir. On the altar. It was leaking from under. I tried to clean it, but it kept coming. Tunday sat up. Did you tell anyone else? No, sir. Good. Don’t. It’s just a dream. Samuel was quiet for a moment, then said, “But sir, what if God is trying to say something?” Tunday’s voice turned cold.

Samuel, sometimes dreams are just dreams. Go and sleep. He ended the call and threw the phone aside. In the following days, things began to feel strange. The air in the church became heavier. At night, the lights flickered. The sound system made weird noises during rehearsals. Twice, the projector screen started showing red smoke for no reason.

People thought it was a technical fault, but Sister Goi wasn’t so sure. She watched everything from the media room. She took notes. She collected reports. Something didn’t feel right to her. One morning, she knocked on Tundday’s office. He didn’t answer. She knocked again. “Come in,” he said at last. She stepped in.

“Sir, I just want to ask, have you noticed anything strange lately?” Tunday didn’t look up. What kind of strange? The power, the lights, the dreams people are having. It’s like something is shaking this church. Tunday finally looked at her. His eyes were tired. Gozi, if something was wrong, don’t you think God would tell me first? She hesitated.

Maybe he’s telling you, but you’re not listening. Tunday stood up sharply. What are you trying to say? She took a deep breath. Sir, I’ve served you for 4 years. I’ve never doubted you, but now I’m starting to wonder if the fire on this altar is from heaven or somewhere else. He stared at her for a long time.

Then he said softly, “Do you know why the devil was cast out of heaven?” She shook her head because he questioned authority. She swallowed hard and turned to leave. Before she opened the door, she said, “Sir, truth doesn’t die. It waits.” And she walked out. Tundday sat back down breathing hard. The voice came again. She’s becoming a problem.

2 days later, a woman came to his office after midweek service. She looked tired and thin. Her rapper was old. Her eyes were red. I need help. She said, “What is it?” Tunday asked. My son, his name is Chisum. He was one of your ushers. He died last December. Tunday tensed. They said it was a heart attack, she continued.

But he was only 20, healthy, never sick. And before he died, he told me something strange. What did he say? He said the church is not what it seems. He said he saw red smoke under the pulpit. He said, “You smiled when he told you.” Tunday kept quiet. The woman stepped forward. Her voice rose. I want to know the truth.

Did you kill my son? Tunday stood up slowly. Madam, you are in my office. Show some respect. Respect? She shouted. For what? For lies. For blood. His eyes narrowed. I can call security. She pointed at him, her hands shaking. You turned my son to ashes under your pulpit. Then she collapsed on the floor. Tunday pressed the intercom. Call the medical team now.

Two workers rushed in. They lifted the woman gently and took her away. Tunday sat down, heart pounding. That night, he didn’t sleep. He kept seeing Chisum’s face. He kept hearing the mother’s voice. He walked to the pulpit alone past midnight. He knelt. “I kept my part,” he whispered. “Why are things falling apart?” The voice answered, “Low and cold. Your hands are dirty.

Clean them.” Tunday looked down. His palms were glowing faintly red. He rushed to the church restroom and washed his hands again and again, but the red glow wouldn’t go. He screamed into the sink. The next Sunday, people gathered as usual. The service was loud. The choir sang with power, but didn’t come out for a long time.

People whispered, “Is he sick? Maybe his praying in the spirit.” When he finally appeared, he looked different. His eyes were sunken. His smile was weak. He climbed the altar slowly. But the moment he opened his mouth to speak, the screen behind him flashed. For one second, just one, the screen showed something else. A black room, a red fire, and bodies lying around a glowing altar.

Then it switched back to the church logo. The congregation gasped. The choir paused. The media team looked confused. One of the technicians leaned toward the screen and whispered to the others, “That was not our file.” Tunday froze. He looked around. Then he forced a smile. The devil is a liar. People clapped. He tried to preach, but his voice kept cracking. The mic died twice.

The projector stopped working. Finally, he dropped the mic and walked off stage. The elders followed him. “Sir, what’s going on?” “Technical fault,” he muttered, but they weren’t convinced. After that Sunday, church members started asking questions. Whispers began. People started saying strange things.

I saw something in the mirror after the last service. My child wakes up screaming fire, fire every night. I saw Pastor Tunday in my dream. He was wearing red. Tunday heard it all. He called his team. I want prayer and fasting. 7 days round the clock. They obeyed. But even then things got worse. One of the intercessors fainted during night vigil.

Another one screamed and said she saw Joy standing in the crowd. “Joy is dead,” someone said. But I saw her,” the intercessor shouted. She was crying blood. Sister Goi started investigating more. She checked old CCTV clips. She noticed something strange. Every year around December, one camera would go dark for 5 minutes. Just one, always the one facing the altar.

She showed it to the church technician. He frowned. That’s not possible. Those cameras are brand new. Exactly. M Gozi said, “So why does this keep happening?” They watched the last December clip again. 5 minutes of darkness. Then the camera came back on. And in the corner, something moved.

A shadow crawling away from the altar. Goi closed the laptop and whispered, “Something is inside this church.” That same week, the mother who collapsed returned. She walked into the church barefoot during Bible study. People screamed, some ran out. Tounday wasn’t there. The woman stood in front of the altar and raised her voice.

You cannot hide forever. The blood of my son is crying out. The lights flickered. Then the church’s power went out completely. Blackout. People shouted. Children cried. The woman dropped to her knees and began to pray loudly. Every secret on this altar, come to light. When the lights came back on, she was gone. Nobody saw her leave.

Tunday arrived late and heard what happened. He sat in his office, breathing hard. The voice came again. You were warned, but you relaxed. Tunday slammed his fist on the table. “What do you want from me?” “You know,” the voice replied. He stood up, sweating. He looked around. The shadows in the room seemed to stretch.

He whispered to himself, “I’m losing control.” But deep down, he knew the truth. He had already lost it. The church was no longer silent at night. Something had changed. Something had shifted. Before, when Tunday walked through the church alone, it used to feel peaceful, holy, safe. Now, it felt like something was watching him, like someone was breathing behind his back.

The walls seemed to move. The floor creaked even when no one was walking. And every time he stepped close to the pull pit, the air became cold even though the ACs were turned off. It wasn’t fear he felt. It was something worse, something darker. That night, Tounday couldn’t sleep. He lay in bed with his eyes open, staring at the ceiling. The clock ticked slowly.

His heart was beating fast. He had never felt this way before. Suddenly, his phone vibrated. It was a message from Sister Gozi. Sir, I found something. We need to talk. He didn’t reply. Instead, he got out of bed, pulled on his robe, and walked quietly down the hallway of the church house.

Outside, the wind blew hard, rustling the leaves. The moon was hidden behind the clouds. As he stepped into the church hall, he stopped at the door. The lights were off, but something was glowing. Right under the altar. A soft red light, faint, but steady. He didn’t move. He just stood there watching, listening. Then he heard it.

A voice, not loud, not sharp, but slow and deep. It was speaking in a language he didn’t understand, but he knew it was calling him. He stepped forward. Each step felt heavier than the last. As he reached the pulpit, the light disappeared. Gone, he waited. Then he knelt down and whispered, “I’m here.” The floor trembled slightly.

Then the voice came like a whisper inside his skull. You have done well, but your next test is near. Tundday swallowed hard. What test? Someone is close to the truth. He already knew who. Gozi. Yes. What do I do? Remove her or she will remove you. Tunday closed his eyes. She has been loyal. No one is loyal forever. The voice faded. The air warmed again.

Tunday stood up slowly and for the first time in years his hands were shaking. The next morning he called sister Goi into his office. She entered holding a file, her face calm but her eyes sharp. Sir, she said, sitting. I went back to the CCTV files. Not just the church ones, but the street camera outside. Tounday leaned back.

And I saw what happened the night that woman came. The power didn’t just go off. It was pulled from inside. Toune Day stayed silent. I also checked something else, she continued. All the people who died, all the staff and workers, they were all around the altar just days before they died. You think the altar is killing them? He asked quietly.

I don’t think, sir. I know. Tunday looked away. Goi leaned forward. What is under that altar, sir? He didn’t answer. Her voice softened. Pastor, I’ve known you since the beginning. I followed you when you had nothing. Please tell me the truth. What is going on? Tunday sighed and stood up. He walked to the window and stared outside.

Then he said slowly, “There are some truths that once spoken, you can’t take back.” “I’m ready,” she said. He turned to her, his eyes cold. “No, you’re not.” She stood up. “Sir, if you won’t talk to me, I will go public with everything I found.” You won’t, he said. She held his gaze. Try me. She left the office without looking back.

Later that day, Tunday received a letter from the board. Concerned members have reported strange experiences. We demand answers. He tore the letter in half and tossed it in the bin. His phone rang. It was his wife. Babe, Daniel is not feeling fine. He frowned. What’s wrong with him? He says he’s seeing things in his room.

He said someone was standing by his bed last night whispering. Tunday froze. Did he say what the person looked like? He said it looked like a man, but with no face. Tunday’s heart dropped. He rushed home that evening. Daniel, his 9-year-old son, was sitting quietly on the bed, hugging a pillow. Tunday sat beside him.

Son, what did you see? Daniel looked at him with scared eyes. I heard someone calling me, I thought it was you, Daddy. But when I looked, it was a man with a long coat. No face, just smoke where his head should be. Tunday held his hand. What did he say to you? Daniel whispered. He said, “Your blood is fire.” Tunday’s body went stiff.

He stood up quickly and called his wife outside. I’m sending him away. He needs rest. Send him where? She asked. Anywhere. Abroad with my brother. But it’s so sudden. He has school. I said, “Pack his things.” She didn’t argue. She had never seen him this scared. The next morning, they drove to the airport. But just as they were checking in, the power in the entire airport went off. Panic spread quickly.

People started shouting. Some dropped to the floor, others ran out. Tunday grabbed his son and rushed back to the car. As they were driving home, a trailer suddenly swerved in front of them. The driver hit the brakes hard. The car spun, hit the gutter, and stopped. Nobody was hurt, but the message was clear.

Daniel was not going anywhere. That night, Tunday knelt at the altar again. “I want to end the deal,” he said. I’ve paid the price for years. Why are you after my son? The voice returned cold and steady. This is your 10th year. A special offering is required. No, Tundai said. Yes, the voice insisted. You asked for the world. Now give the cost. I gave you joy.

I gave you chism. I gave you seven others. That should be enough. The voice growled. They were seeds. But this one is the fruit. Tunday shouted, “I won’t do it.” Silence. Then you already did. Tunday screamed and threw the microphone across the hall. His voice echoed through the empty church. The next day, he canled all appointments.

He didn’t go out. He locked himself in his prayer room. He didn’t eat. He didn’t sleep. He just sat there rocking back and forth, whispering prayers, but no voice from heaven answered. Not one, only silence. Later that evening, he got another message from [ __ ] I warned you. If anything happens to your son, it’s on your head.” He didn’t reply.

He looked at a photo on his wall. His family smiling during Christmas last year. He touched Daniel’s face on the picture. Then he heard something move in the corner of the room. He turned quickly. Nothing was there. But when he looked back at the photo, Daniel’s face had disappeared. Just a white blur. Tunday dropped the frame. It shattered.

That Sunday, he came to church dressed in all white. People said he looked like an angel, but his eyes were red, tired, distant. The choir sang louder than ever. The congregation danced and shouted. Tunday took the mic. As he opened his mouth, a young girl in the front row began to scream. Everyone looked at her.

She shook and pointed at him. “Leave him alone,” she shouted. People were confused. “Who is she talking to?” Someone whispered. The girl screamed again. I said, “Leave him alone. You demons. You devils. You snakes.” Tunday froze. The girl dropped to the ground, still shaking for ushers rushed to her. One of them asked, “What’s your name?” She looked up, eyes wide. “My name is Sarah.

” “But that’s not me talking.” “Who is talking?” another usher asked. The girl’s voice changed. It became deep, almost like two voices speaking together. “He belongs to us.” People screamed and began running. The girl stood up slowly, smiling strangely. Then she pointed at Tounday. You made a deal. Tunday dropped the mic.

The girl fell. Silence. Total silence. The church was quiet. Even the choir didn’t move. Tunday turned and walked off stage. In his office, he collapsed into his chair. His heart was beating fast. He looked at his phone. Another message from [ __ ] Now do you see? That night Tunday went back to the church alone.

He took a torch light and walked slowly to the altar. He placed his hand on the pulpit. Then he knelt. Please, he whispered, “Spare my son. Take me instead.” No answer. The floor was still. Then suddenly it opened. A crack. From inside the crack, red light came out. And then voices. Many voices, screaming, crying, laughing. Tunday’s eyes filled with tears.

He covered his ears, but the voices got louder. He screamed, “Enough!” The crack closed. The light vanished. The voices stopped. He sat there shaking. His face wet with tears. Behind him, the projector screen turned on by itself. And on it, a message appeared. Your next sacrifice must be someone you truly love. Tunday stared at the screen and in that moment he broke.

Not just in his heart but in his mind he sat there for hours not moving. By morning the janitor found him sleeping at the altar with the screen still glowing. And from that day on nothing was ever the same. Tounday sat on the church altar like a lost man. The projector screen behind him still glowed, showing the words that shattered him.

Your next sacrifice must be someone you truly love. His hands were on his head. His white robe was stained with dust from the floor. He wasn’t crying. His tears had dried since the night before. He just sat there, eyes blank, staring at the pulpit in front of him. It was still dark outside. Only a few birds were chirping. The janitor who found him didn’t even say anything.

He just quietly cleaned around him and left the lights off like he knew something strange was happening. Tunday didn’t move for hours. Later in the morning, his wife Ron called him. Where are you? She asked her voice tired. I’m in church, he said softly. You didn’t come home. Daniel has been asking for you. Tunday didn’t reply.

Is everything okay? she asked. He cleared his throat. “No, but I’ll fix it.” Before she could say more, he ended the call. He stood up, looked around the empty church, and walked out like a ghost. He didn’t even bother to lock the doors. When he got home, Daniel ran to him. “Daddy,” the boy said, hugging his leg.

Tunday looked down at his son. He was wearing a red t-shirt and blue shorts. His hair was rough. His face was full of life. Daddy, are you okay? Daniel asked. Tunday forced a smile and rubbed his head. I’m fine. Wrong stood in the corner, arms folded. You’re not fine, she said. You didn’t sleep here. You didn’t call. What’s going on, Tunday? He walked past her. I need rest. She followed him.

Rest from what? You barely eat. You don’t talk. You stay in church till midnight. I’m your wife. Talk to me. He turned suddenly and held her shoulders. I need you to take Daniel far away. She frowned. What? Go and stay with your sister in Inugu or your uncle in a cure anywhere. Just go today. She pulled away from his hands.

Are you mad? Please, he said. I’m begging you. She crossed her arms. Why? Tell me why. He looked at Daniel, then back at her. I made a mistake. Wrongs voice dropped. What kind of mistake? He stepped closer. A mistake that wants my son. She blinked. Tunday. You’re scaring me. He whispered. I’m scared too. She shook her head. No.

No way. You’re hiding something. You’ve been acting strange for months talking in your sleep, locking doors. Daniel said he saw a man with no face and now this. Tunday whispered again. That man is not from here. Wrong grabbed Daniel and pulled him back. I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on, she said.

Tunday lowered his head and said nothing. That afternoon, Tundday called his brother in the UK. Can Daniel stay with you for a few weeks? What happened? His brother asked. I just need him away. All right, I’ll send the papers. Tunday smiled weakly. Thank you. But just like before, things didn’t go smoothly. The next day, when they went to the embassy, their documents were missing.

Wrong said, “I packed them myself.” Tunday said nothing. They searched everywhere. The files were gone. When they got back home, the documents were sitting on the kitchen table right there, clean, neat. Wrong froze. I swear this table was empty. Tunday sat down slowly, shaking. This thing doesn’t want him to leave, he whispered. Ron backed away.

What thing? Tunday stood up. I have to try again. He called the church driver. Take Ron and Daniel to the airport tomorrow morning, he said. Which airport? The driver asked. I don’t care. Any airport. Just make sure they fly out. Anywhere. The driver nodded. The next morning, they packed bags. Tundday hugged Daniel tightly. He didn’t want to let go.

His eyes burned, but he didn’t cry. Wrong looked at him. Will you tell me what this is all about? He nodded. when you’re safe. The car drove off. Tounday returned to the church. He knelt by the altar again. Please, he whispered. I’ve served you. I gave you everything. Not my son. Take anything else. Not him.

The altar didn’t glow. There was no voice, just silence. For once, the silence felt like mockery. 2 hours later, his phone rang. It was the driver. His voice was shaking. Sir, we had an accident. Tunday’s heart stopped. Where’s my son? He’s fine. Everyone’s fine, but we couldn’t go. What happened? A trailer came out of nowhere.

I swerved and hit a tree. The road is blocked. The police are here. Tunday didn’t speak. Sir, the driver asked. I’ll send someone, he said, then ended the call. He turned and punched the pullpit. This is not fair, he shouted. You said one every year. You never said it would be my son. The lights in the church flickered. The projector turned on.

This time it showed Daniel’s face, smiling. Under it, the words, “Your blood, your love, your fruit.” Tunday fell to his knees. No, please, not him. That night, he sat in his office, staring at his phone. Goi sent another message. I saw Daniel’s face on the projector. You can’t keep hiding. Whatever you did, it’s demanding more. He didn’t reply.

He turned off his phone and rested his head on the table. He had a dream. In the dream, he was walking in a forest. It was dark, foggy. Then he saw Joy. She was wearing the same clothes she wore the day she died. She didn’t speak. She just pointed ahead. He walked forward. He saw Chisum. He saw others. All his sacrifices.

They stood in a circle staring at him. Then they moved apart. In the center of the circle stood Daniel, blood dripping from his nose. His eyes were empty. Tunday screamed and woke up. His shirt was soaked in sweat. He looked at the clock. It was 3:00 a.m. He got up and walked to the altar.

For the first time in 10 years, he knelt and prayed, not to the voice, but to God. Lord, if you’re still there, please help me. I made a mistake, a big one. I was blind. I was proud, but I’m begging you. Save my son. I’ll do anything. The church was silent. Then the projector turned on again. This time it showed fire and the words, “You broke the covenant.

” Tunday fell flat on the floor. The next morning he went to see a prophet he once mocked. Prophet Odilli, an old man who lived in a small house behind the market. People said he prayed with fire that his eyes could see the spirit world. Tunday knocked gently. The prophet opened the door, looked at him, and stepped aside.

I’ve been expecting you, he said. Tunday sat down on a wooden chair. I don’t know what to do anymore. The prophet nodded. Yes, you do. You just don’t want to. Tunday looked up. Can I break the covenant? Not without blood. Whose blood yours? Tunday blinked. You mean I have to die? The prophet leaned forward. The covenant was sealed with sacrifice.

It must end with sacrifice. I’ll do it, Tunday said. The prophet nodded slowly. Then do it before the demon collects what’s his. That night, Tunday wrote a letter to his wife, to his son, to the church. He placed the letter on his desk. Then he walked to the altar and knelt down. “This ends tonight,” he said. He closed his eyes.

He lifted the same knife he once used to anoint the altar. He raised it high. Then he heard a voice. Not the usual dark voice, but a softer one. Do not die a coward. He opened his eyes. The room was still. He dropped the knife. He stood up. He grabbed his phone and called Ron. Bring Daniel to church now. She asked no questions.

30 minutes later, they arrived. The moment Daniel entered the church, the lights went off. The projector came on. The floor shook. A crack opened under the altar. Red light spilled out. Wrong screamed and grabbed Daniel. Tunday stepped forward. No more hiding, he shouted. I’m here. Smoke rose from the floor and from it the faceless man appeared.

Tall, covered in black. Daniel trembled. Leave him alone. Tunday shouted. The demon pointed at the boy. Promise made. Promised you. Tunday stepped between them. I break the deal. Take me. The demon laughed. You are already mine. Then why do you still need him? Tunday shouted. I gave you everything. Let him go.

The demon’s voice turned dark. Because you love him and love is the purest fire. Tunday stepped forward. Then burn me instead. There was a pause. Then the demon stretched his hand. Tunday’s chest burned. He dropped to his knees. He gasped for air. Wrong screamed. Daniel cried. Then the light faded. The demon vanished. The crack closed.

And the church fell silent. Tunday lay still. Then he opened his eyes. He was alive. Ronk rushed to him. What happened? Tounday looked around, weak but breathing. I think I think he accepted my offer. Daniel hugged him tightly. Tunday hugged him back. I’ll never let you go, he whispered. Later that week, Tunday called a meeting.

He stood before the church elders. He told them everything from the beginning. The forest, the voice, the miracles, the deaths. Silence filled the room when he finished. One elder stood up, you should be arrested. Another one shouted, “You’re a monster.” Goi walked in and said, “He’s not the only one.” Everyone turned to her. She held up a file.

“There are others, churches with the same marks. This thing is bigger than Tounday.” Tounday looked at her. “You still believe me?” She nodded. “I never stopped. I just needed you to wake up.” Tounday turned to the elders. I will step down, but first I will burn this altar.

I will clean the blood and then I will start again. He paused. This time with no voice in the shadows. Outside the rain began to fall, soft, steady, and for the first time in 10 years, the church felt clean again. Tundday sat in his car outside the church, staring at the building he once called the house of God, the same building that now held secrets, lies, and blood.

His eyes were fixed on the entrance. But his mind was far away. Too many things had happened in too little time. And now he had a choice to make. Confess everything in front of the whole church and risk losing everything. Or stay quiet, let it all die slowly, and pretend nothing ever happened.

He felt a chill down his spine just thinking about it. His phone buzzed. It wasn’t Gozi again. Are you ready? He didn’t answer. Instead, he dropped the phone on the passenger seat and stepped out of the car. The Sunday service was just about to start. Ushers were already standing at their posts. The choir was doing MIC checks. Cameras were being adjusted.

Everyone was getting ready like it was just another day of fire and miracles. But Tunday knew it wasn’t. Inside the church, he could hear the sound of worship. His heart started beating fast. He walked through the side door into his office. The moment he entered, he saw Daniel’s drawing pinned on the wall. It was a picture of their family, Tunday, Ron, and Daniel smiling and holding hands.

He took it off the wall and held it tight. Then Ron walked in. “Are you sure about this?” she asked. He nodded. I have to do it. I’ve done too much already. I can’t pretend anymore. She sat beside him. What if they don’t believe you? Then I still say it, he replied. I owe it to the ones who died.

I owe it to God and I owe it to Daniel. She looked at him. You might lose everything. He looked down at the picture in his hands. I already did. They sat in silence for a while. Then a knock came on the door. It was Enozi. They are waiting, she said. Tunday stood up, wiped his face and followed her out. The hall was packed.

Every seat was taken. People were standing along the walls. Cameras were rolling. The choir was singing softly, waiting for the signal. When Tounday walked in, people clapped like they always did. He raised his hand. The clapping stopped. He took the microphone and walked to the middle of the stage. He looked around at the crowd.

Some were smiling, some looked excited, some were wiping tears already, expecting another powerful sermon. But Tounday’s face was serious. I need to talk to you, he said. Not preach, just talk. The church fell quiet. I know many of you look at me like a man of God, a miracle worker, a prophet, but there’s something I’ve been hiding, something I should have said a long time ago.

Whispers started in the crowd,” he continued. “10 years ago, I was a poor street preacher. I begged for food. I watched my mother die in front of a church that refused to help her. I was angry. I was tired. I wanted power. And then I got it. People leaned in. I didn’t get it from heaven. I got it from the forest, from a deal, from something dark. Gasps filled the hall.

I made a covenant. I agreed to give one soul every year in exchange for power, fame, miracles, and I did. Year after year, I sacrificed people from this church, members who trusted me, people who served under me. Someone in the crowd screamed. Another person stood up and shouted, “Jesus.” Toune Day continued.

They died quietly. Some were found. Some were never seen again. But I knew, I did it. I agreed to it. And every year I told myself it was for the ministry, for growth, for God. But it wasn’t. It was all for me. His voice shook. I wanted to stop, but every time I tried, the voice came back stronger. threatening me, telling me that if I stopped, everyone else would die.

And when they asked for my son, I broke. The church was now completely silent. No one was moving. Tunday looked up. His eyes were wet. But I’m done running. I’m done pretending. Today, I choose truth. Even if it means the whole church leaves, even if I’m arrested, even if I lose everything, I will not lie anymore. He stepped back and dropped the mic.

The sound echoed through the hall. Then someone clapped. Then another, then half the church, then silence again. One man stood up, “You think clapping will clean blood.” Another woman shouted, “He needs to go to jail.” An elder stood and faced the crowd. “Let the police handle this.” Tundday raised his hand. “Please,” he said, “don’t fight.

If you must blame anyone, blame me. Goi walked up and stood beside him. She raised her voice. I know it’s hard to hear, but this is not just about one man. There are more, more churches like this, more covenants, more darkness hiding in light. People turned toward her. I’ve seen the files. I’ve followed the signs.

If you walk out of here today and pretend nothing happened, it will happen again somewhere else to someone else. The crowd listened. Tunday stepped down from the altar. I’m ready, he said. Whatever comes next, I’ll face it. A young girl stepped forward. Will the church continue? Tunday looked around. Not under me.

He walked to the front row and sat down, quiet, calm, like a man who had finally removed a heavy mask. Outside, the sun had come out. The rain from the previous night had stopped. People left the building in silence. No shouting, no songs, just quiet steps. Inside, Tunday stayed seated, holding Daniel’s drawing in his hand. He wasn’t sure what tomorrow would bring.

But for the first time in 10 years, he wasn’t afraid of it. The next morning, the church was still. No ushers, no choir, no noise, just silence. The big glass doors were left unlocked. The lights were off. Only the early morning sun slipped in through the windows, casting long shadows on the cold tiled floor. Tunday walked in alone, holding a small box in one hand and a folded letter in the other. His white robe was gone.

He now wore a simple black shirt and trousers. His face looked older, like he had aged overnight. His steps were slow but steady. He stopped in the center of the hall and looked at the pullpit. It was still shining, clean, and tall. But to him, it didn’t look like a place of glory anymore.

It looked like a tomb, a place that had swallowed too many lives. He walked slowly up the steps and stood behind it. He placed the box on top, opened it, and brought out a lighter and a bottle filled with oil. Then he spoke, not shouting, just loud enough to be heard if anyone was around. This altar has taken blood. It has taken joy.

It has taken peace, but today it takes nothing else. He opened the bottle of oil and poured it all over the pulpit. The oil dripped down the sides and soaked the carpet. Then he unfolded the letter and read it softly. To the ones who trusted me, I’m sorry. To the ones who served beside me, forgive me. To the ones I lost, I will carry you in my heart forever.

He dropped the letter on the wet altar, clicked the lighter, and lit the edge of the paper. The flame started small, then grew. It spread quickly, eating through the oil soaked cloth, crawling down the sides, licking the corners of the glass. Smoke filled the air. The fire hissed and popped. The pull pit cracked as the flames grew hotter.

Tundday stepped back and watched. He didn’t move. He didn’t cry. He just stood there, face calm, eyes steady. Then he heard footsteps. Goi walked in through the main door, holding her phone in one hand and a fire extinguisher in the other. She stopped halfway down the aisle, shocked. “You’re burning it,” she said. “Yes.” Tunday replied without looking at her.

Are you okay? He nodded. I have to end it where it started. She walked closer but didn’t stop him. The smoke rose higher. The flames reached the ceiling. Small pieces of blackened glass fell to the floor. The air smelled like oil, paper, and something else. Something sharp and strange. Something old. Suddenly, the projector screen turned on by itself one last time.

It showed a blank white screen. Then slowly words began to appear in red. One more soul. Tunday saw it and froze. N Goi looked too, her eyes wide. What is that? Tunday shook his head. I don’t know. The deal was broken. I gave up everything. There’s nothing else left to take. The screen flickered. Then it went black.

Goi stepped closer to him. What if it wasn’t just about you? she asked. What if this church wasn’t the only door it opened? Tunday looked at her. Then we’ve only scratched the surface. The fire crackled behind them. Goi sighed. So what now? He turned to her. Now we warn others. Now we fight. And this time we don’t stay quiet.

Outside people had started to gather. Some were recording the smoke. Some were crying. Some were just standing watching the fire swallow the altar that once gave them hope. Tounday stepped outside and faced them. He raised his voice. The fire you see is not the end. It’s the beginning. The truth has been buried under this pull pit for too long.

But today it turns to ash. And behind him the flames roared louder as if they were answering back. The fire didn’t stop quickly. It burned through the pulpit, melted the glass, and ate through the stage like it had been waiting to do it for years. Thick black smoke poured out of the building, filling the air. Firefighters came, sirens screaming, but by the time they brought it under control, the altar was gone.

Only ashes remained, ashes and a strange silence. The church was shut down that same week. News spread fast. Some said it was spiritual. Others said it was madness. But the truth was out and nobody could erase it. Tounday didn’t run. He didn’t hide. He stayed. He faced the police. He answered every question. He told them about the forest, the deal, the sacrifices, the voice, and the price he paid for power.

Some people didn’t believe him. They said he was lying to escape punishment. Some called him a fallen prophet. Others called him cursed. But there were those who listened. People who remembered the strange deaths, the red lights, the cold air around the altar, the dreams, and the unspoken fear that lived inside the church for years.

They started to believe. A few weeks later, Tounday was released on bail while the case continued. But by then, he had already become something else, a symbol of truth, of danger, of the dark side, of false power. Goi took the files and videos she had gathered and made a documentary. She called it ashes under the pulpit.

It was posted online, shared across social media, and watched by millions. The video showed everything. Tuesday’s confession, clips of strange happenings inside the church, interviews with families of the lost members, and moments when the projector had shown disturbing images. It didn’t take long for the video to go viral. The title said it all.

You will never go to any church again after watching this video. People were shocked, scared, angry. Some churches started losing members. People began to ask hard questions. Who else made these deals? Who else was pretending to be sent by God? Was every miracle really from heaven? Some pastors came out to defend themselves.

Others went quiet. A few disappeared completely. Meanwhile, Tundday stayed away from crowds. He didn’t preach. He didn’t perform. He didn’t wear suits. Most days, he just sat under a tree at the back of his small rented house with a notebook in hand and Daniel beside him. “Daddy,” Daniel asked one afternoon, “will you start another church.

” Tunday looked at him and smiled. No, not now. Why? because I need to heal first. And I want people to know that it’s okay to wait. That God is not noise. He’s not loud music or flashing lights. He speaks soft and true. Daniel nodded slowly. Will you ever preach again? To didn’t answer right away. Then he said, “Maybe, but only when I know I’m clean.” A few years passed.

The world moved on, but the memory of the fire didn’t die. Some people still called him names. But many now called him a man who told the truth when it could have killed him. Daniel grew older, wiser. He studied, read the Bible, asked tough questions, and stayed away from anything that looked too flashy or too loud.

One Sunday morning, he stood before a small group of people in a quiet compound and spoke softly. My name is Daniel. My father was once called a prophet, then a liar, then a murderer, but in the end he became a man who chose truth over power. And I want to carry that truth forward, not with fire and falling crowds, but with simple love, honest prayers, and clean hands.

” And the people clapped, not because of a miracle, but because they believed him. In the distance, in the exact place where Fire Mantle Ministries once stood, a new building was rising. Not a church, just walls. No name on the gate yet. But inside, beneath the fresh floor, the ashes remained.

And deep in the ground, something waited, quiet, watching, whispering. One more soul. And somewhere else someone was listening.