The Day I Buried My Own Shadow for Money
I want to confess something that still keeps me awake at night. I did a money ritual. Not just any ritual — the kind that doesn’t end when the candles die out.
It started like most stories — with struggle. I had lost my job, my debts were chasing me, and my family was starting to look at me like I was cursed. Every night, I scrolled through my phone seeing people my age showing off cars, apartments, soft lives. I felt small. Desperate.
One night, my old friend Themba called me. We hadn’t spoken in years. He told me he could help me, that he knew someone who could “change my story overnight.” At first, I thought he meant a business plug. But when he said “You just need to be brave at midnight,” my stomach turned.
Still, I agreed.
He took me to a village far from town. No lights, no signal, just the sound of frogs and the wind whispering through the trees. The sangoma there didn’t look like the ones you see in movies. He was quiet, old, and his eyes never blinked. He said he could see the hunger in me — the kind that money alone couldn’t fill.
He told me that night I’d be rich… but I had to give something in return.
He led me behind his hut to a small graveyard. The soil was fresh, like something had just been buried. He gave me a mirror and told me to look at my reflection under the full moon. I did. My reflection blinked before I did. He said, “That’s the one we need.”
He asked me to dig. My hands trembled as I buried the mirror face down, and he started chanting words that didn’t sound human. The ground shook slightly, and I swear I felt something cold crawling up my legs like invisible snakes.
Then he gave me a small clay pot filled with what looked like black oil. He said, “Every morning at 3AM, wash your face with this and say: ‘I accept the shadow I buried.’ Never skip a night. Never tell anyone.”
I did it.
On the third day, money started flowing in. My old clients called back. Strangers wanted to do business with me. I even got a car out of nowhere — a gift from someone I barely knew. I thought it was blessings. But I was wrong.
At night, I’d hear footsteps in my room. Not heavy ones — just soft, dragging steps, like someone walking barefoot on wet ground. My reflection started moving before me again. Once, when I looked in the mirror, I saw myself smiling — but my mouth wasn’t moving.
And then the smell started. Damp soil. Rotten flowers. The smell of graves. It followed me everywhere.
One night, I woke up and saw a figure sitting on my bed — it looked exactly like me, but darker, like it was made of smoke. It whispered, “You buried me alive.” I screamed until my throat burned, but no one in the house heard me.
I stopped doing the 3AM washing, but it didn’t matter. The money kept coming — and so did it. I see it in car mirrors, in shop windows, even in puddles. My shadow doesn’t walk behind me anymore; sometimes it walks beside me.
People ask how I got rich so fast. I just smile and say “hard work.” But deep down, I know — I didn’t work for this money. I traded for it. I buried my own shadow for it.
Now, I’m writing this because I feel it standing behind me again as I type. I can smell the soil. I can feel the cold breath on my neck. Maybe tonight is the night it comes to take back what I owe.
If you ever meet someone who says they can make you rich overnight, run. You might end up like me — rich, yes… but never alone.
Even when I turn off the lights, something in the dark still moves.
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