THE SNAKE IN MY GRANDMOTHER'S PIT TOILET THAT CHANGED MY LIFE FOREVER

THE SNAKE IN MY GRANDMOTHER'S PIT TOILET THAT CHANGED MY LIFE FOREVER 

The Snake in the Pit Toilet That Changed My Life Forever

I never thought my wealth would come from the filth of a pit toilet. People look at me now and see success — expensive cars, a mansion, and businesses all over the country. But no one knows that the secret of my fortune lives in the darkness beneath the toilet I built behind my grandmother’s old house.

It started years ago when I was desperate. I had nothing. No money, no job, no future. I would sit at the back of my grandmother’s yard staring at that old pit toilet, the smell choking me, and I would wonder why life was so unfair. Then one night, as I sat there in my misery, I heard a hissing sound coming from inside the toilet. A deep, heavy hiss that shook the wooden walls.

At first, I thought it was a rat or a lizard. But when I leaned closer, I saw two glowing eyes staring back at me from the darkness. Then a voice, not a normal voice but a heavy whisper, filled the air: “Feed me, and I will feed you.”

My blood ran cold. I thought I was losing my mind. But the voice came again. “Feed me, and I will feed you.”

That was the beginning of my deal with the snake.

I started with chickens. Every time I dropped one into the toilet, I heard the sound of its wings beating against the walls, followed by silence, then the heavy shifting of scales. The next morning, money would find its way to me. Then I moved to goats, and the rewards became bigger. I grew bold, greedy, unstoppable.

But one day, the voice called louder. Harsher. It said, “Bring me blood of your kind.”

I refused at first. I told myself I could never go that far. But then my businesses began to collapse. My phone stopped ringing. Contracts I was sure of suddenly vanished. I lost two cars in a single month. The snake was punishing me.

In my desperation, I obeyed.

The first time I dropped a human into the pit, it was a boy from the neighborhood. He had been drinking, staggering home late at night. I lured him to the back, pretending I needed help lifting something. When he leaned over, I shoved him hard, and he fell into the toilet screaming.

The sound that followed was not human. It was the snake, uncoiling, crashing against the pit walls, swallowing him whole. His scream echoed, then cut off in an instant. For a moment, the smell of waste was drowned by the sharp metallic stench of blood.

That night, I didn’t sleep. My hands shook. My ears rang with the boy’s cry. But when morning came, my bank account overflowed with unexpected money. Deals I thought were gone suddenly returned. The sacrifice had worked.

From that night, the snake demanded only more. No more chickens. No more goats. Only blood like mine. And each time I fed it, my wealth grew, and so did my curse.

Now the snake is too big for the pit. When I look inside, its body coils all the way up to the surface. Its tongue flicks, its eyes glow, and sometimes I see human bones half-buried in the waste. At night, I hear it moving beneath the house, shaking the ground like a hidden earthquake.

And sometimes… it leaves the pit.

I woke one night to a strange sound in the yard, like wet scales dragging across dirt. At first, I thought it was the wind. Then I saw it—a massive shadow moving silently, a tree-trunk-wide python gliding along the ground, its eyes glowing in the dark. My heart stopped. The snake was out, hunting for more blood.

I hid in my room, but I could hear it hissing, its tongue flicking over concrete, sniffing the air, smelling my sweat, my fear. It moves with an intelligence no animal should have. I watched it coil around the legs of a stray dog in the yard, crushing it instantly, swallowing it whole. Then it paused, turned its head, and I felt it know I was there.

The snake returned to the pit only when it was satisfied, but the next night, it comes again. Sometimes I hear it inside the walls, its massive body sliding through the pipes, waiting, watching, reminding me that I am not the master here. I live in wealth, but I cannot leave. I cannot sleep outside. I cannot even enter my own yard after dark. The snake owns me.

I wake every morning to riches I did not earn in the light, but at night, I feel the terror that comes from knowing that something alive, ancient, and hungry is only a few feet below me, waiting for me to slip, to falter, to feed it again.