OUR MANSION HAS A ROOM FULL OF YOUNG GRAVES
My Husband Only Attends Funerals of Children… And It’s Because He Captures Their Spirits to Maintain His Wealth
When I married my husband, I thought I was walking into blessings. He was rich, respected, and admired everywhere we went. People envied me, saying I was lucky. But luck does not cry at night. Luck does not whisper behind locked doors. Luck does not feed on children’s souls.
From the start, I noticed something strange—he only attended funerals of children. He could miss a family wedding, even his own friend’s burial, but never a child’s. He dressed well, carried himself with honor, and always stood close to the grieving parents. At first, I thought it was compassion. But compassion doesn’t make a man smile when a coffin is lowered.
One night, my curiosity led me to follow him. After a burial, he drove to a secret place with a black bag in his hand. Hiding in the shadows, I saw him hand the bag to his sangoma. It glowed faintly, like a living thing trapped inside. The sangoma bowed, and my husband walked away proud. That’s when I knew—he was capturing the spirits of children and feeding them to the darkness in exchange for wealth.
Our house has one forbidden room. A door that chills the hallway every night. He warned me never to enter, saying, “That room is mine. If you love your life, stay away.” But I couldn’t ignore the cries. I heard small voices, laughter that wasn’t laughter, and scratching as if fingernails were dragging along the walls.
One night when he traveled, I gathered courage and opened it.
What I saw will haunt me until I die.
Dozens of child spirits floated inside, chained by something unseen. Some reached out their tiny hands, some wept without sound, some stared at me with hollow eyes. And in the middle of the room stood a throne made of bones—small bones. My husband’s spirit sat on it, watching me, even though his body was miles away.
I slammed the door and ran. But it was too late. The curse had already touched me.
I know because of what happened to my womb.
I have fallen pregnant more than three times. Every time I felt life growing inside me, every time I hoped for a child, it would simply vanish. No miscarriage, no blood, nothing. One day I would feel the baby kick, the next day, nothing. Empty. As if the child was never there. My husband never asked questions, never showed concern. Deep down, I know why. He was taking them. The souls of my unborn children were his offering, swallowed before they ever touched the earth.
And now… the spirits follow me.
I hear them when I close my eyes. I see them standing at the foot of my bed, whispering, pulling at my sheets. Sometimes, I feel small hands pressing on my belly, as if reminding me of the children I lost. When I pass a mirror, their hollow faces flash behind me.
I am not just married to a ritualist. I am living with a curse that already feeds on my bloodline. And I know the spirits will never forgive me for being his wife.
But the truth is, I cannot leave him. Even if I tried, the spirits would follow me, because I am already theirs.
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