The Horrors of Indoctrination

Chapter 8: When Blood Answers Blood

Chapter 8: When Blood Answers Blood

After service that evening, Wanja sat in the dim light of their hut, cradling her youngest child while the other one slumbered nearby. Kamau had long since rested, quietly uttering words of worship for Mwangi, even in his sleep. But Wanja could find no such refuge. She couldn’t shake off the horrifying images buried in her mind from Mwangi’s cruel deed earlier that day. The agonizing screams of the victim as the snake’s poison melted his insides... the twisted joy on the prophet’s face as he reassured the congregants that this was the true path to forgiveness.

What kind of spiritual transformation would make someone give up their humanity and morals? There must be a boundary between devotion and utter depravity — and Mwangi seemed to have crossed it with zero remorse. Perhaps sensing the chaos within, the child started getting restless in her arms. Wanja instinctively quieted them with a tired whisper, rocking them gently while she looked towards the door. Just then, there was a quiet knock, so she rushed to open it and saw her friend Mary standing there in her usual shawl.

“You sent it to me?” Mary whispered, looking back briefly as Wanja guided her into the small house.

“I’m sorry for being so secretive,” Wanja whispered, locking the door tightly. “But I can’t hide my worries anymore about our spiritual journey.”

Still standing, Wanja turned to Mary, and with a deep breath, prepared herself to speak the unsettling truth.

“After seeing the terrible things revealed today, I can’t ignore where Mwangi’s teachings are taking us. His actions go against everything I thought we were working for.” Mary’s face stayed mysterious in the dim light, but Wanja kept talking, feeling like she couldn’t hold back her words anymore. They came out fast, like a dam breaking.

“Moreover, I can’t let my kids see more of these horrible things happening around us. It’s not right. We’re being told to think it’s okay, even good, but I can’t go along with that. It’s like they’re trying to make us believe it’s some kind of deep, meaningful experience, but it’s just wrong.” She looked into Mary’s troubled eyes, hoping for empathy...or at least, not to be judged too harshly.

“I know what could happen if I speak out like that,” Wanja said, her voice becoming tense. “That’s why I’ve kept quiet and followed orders, even though I’ve always had my doubts. But I can’t just watch anymore. Not after what happened today.”

Wanja was surprised when Mary didn’t react the way she thought she would. She expected her to either argue back or show her love, but she didn’t do either. She kind of shrank into herself, her face showing despair as she sat down on a dilapidated couch right next to the door.

“You aren’t alone in harboring such doubts, sister,” Mary said at last, her voice weighted with sorrow. “I also know that Prophet Mwangi’s teachings are wrong. But you have to be careful not to speak out against him where others might hear.” Leaning close, the fire cast shadows over the older woman’s face, which now looked scared.

“Let me tell you the hard truth... so you know just how brutal it gets for those who abandon Mwangi’s faith.”

What came next was a terrifying story that drained every bit of strength from Wanja. Mary spoke about her only son, Jose, who had been deeply spiritual from the start and bravely confronted Mwangi’s increasing rituals and wicked acts. But then, in the middle of the night, the Prophet’s most devoted followers captured him.

For a few days, Jose screamed in pain inside the sanctuary until his cries stopped suddenly. Mary whispered with a raspy voice how Mwangi’s men dug a simple underground tomb near the chapel. They left a small opening for air, like a cruel joke, while Mwangi’s punishment tormented Jose to death for defying him.

Wanja’s hands flew to her mouth as Mary sadly explained how she heard her firstborn’s cries turn from loud screams of pain to quiet pleas for help as he was locked away to suffer without air or food. “But that’s not the worst evil Mwangi has done,” her face grew somber as she began recounting another harrowing tale to Wanja. “You know Sister Wambui, our friend. Ever wondered why she’s always quiet and always prefers sitting in the back pew during church services?”

Wanja nodded slowly, another wave of chill already creeping up her spine from Mary’s ominous tone. “Well, a few years after she joined our church, Wambui found herself pregnant out of wedlock. Her family had already abandoned her to shame.”

Mary paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. “Prophet Mwangi put on a warm embrace at first, assuring Wambui that our church would provide for her and her unborn child, which was very unusual. For others, whenever a woman gets pregnant out of wedlock, they’ll be punished and subjected to shame.

“That was different for Wambui. As her belly swelled over the following months, however, Mwangi’s demeanor slowly changed.”

“What do you mean?” Wanja asked apprehensively.

“He became...obsessed with the pregnancy. Kept insisting, it was a divine miracle that needed to be closely monitored. He demanded Wambui remain confined in a back room of the church, allowing only himself and a few devoted women from the church to visit her.”

Wanja felt bile rising in her throat, somehow sensing the story’s terrifying path. “But...why? What did he do?”

“When Wambui finally went into labor, Mwangi refused to let her leave. He delivered the baby himself, right there on the dusty floor of the church. The women who were taking care of Wambui were sent out, and he insisted that he needed to consecrate the newborn life in an ancient ritual.”

Mary’s eyes grew wide with revulsion. “Wambui described hearing her infant son’s cries. Then...they just stopped. She said Mwangi emerged alone hours later, his hands stained in blood. He claimed to have ‘baptized the miracle child back to God.’ When Wambui regained enough strength to explore, she found a tiny fresh grave inside the church’s inner room.”

Tears streamed down Mary’s cheeks. “She hadn’t spoken much since that day. Her own son’s life was sacrificed, his body desecrated in blood rites, all under the guise of that monster’s warped faith.”

Wanja sat in stunned horror, realizing the true depths of wickedness that were happening beneath their church’s pious facade.

“You understand, sis,” Mary’s eyes filled with old sorrow. “When the Prophet gets angry, there’s no running or fighting back. If you go against him, you’ll face his harshest punishments.” In that tense, quiet moment, Wanja felt any defiance left in her completely crushed by the shocking truths. How could she even think of escaping or saving herself when such terrible cruelty was committed to people without any repercussions?

After Mary shared her story, there was a thick silence. Wanja felt her throat tighten with a mix of horror, pity, and respect for her friend’s hidden pain. “Mary...” she finally managed to speak, her voice barely above a whisper. “How? How have you borne such torment and remained among the very people who inflicted that fate upon your child?”

The old woman looked deep inside herself, her eyes going beyond the dimly lit room to the dark corners of her own sadness. When she talked, her voice sounded empty and sad.

“We are on a battlefield, Wanja. You can’t escape; you can only fight back if you want to survive. You see, some foolish people have tried to run away, they just don’t understand how evil Mwangi really is.”

Mary leaned in even closer to Wanja, lowered her voice even more, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and fascination.

“You must hear what happened to Jacob when he tried to flee the village. The Prophet did not take kindly to his defiance.” Wanja’s eyes went wide, but she nodded to Mary to continue.

“Jacob had been a devoted member for years, never questioning the Prophet’s teachings or instructions. But like everybody else, doubts started creeping into his mind.” Mary paused, taking a sip of water to wet her dry mouth before continuing the grim tale. “One night, Jacob decided he had had enough. He packed a small bag with some supplies and made for the forest surrounding our village, thinking he could slip away unnoticed. But the Prophet has eyes and ears everywhere.

He knew of Jacob’s plans before Jacob even made it to the tree line. The Prophet sent his Enforcers, his most devout and ruthless followers, to retrieve the traitor. They pursued Jacob deep into the forest,” Mary said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “The poor man ran for his life, but they tracked him relentlessly. When they finally ran him to the ground, they...”

Mary swallowed hard. Tears began welling up in her eyes. “They what?” Wanja asked, dreading the answer. “They severed his limbs,” Mary said, barely audible. “One by one. So, he could never run from the Prophet again.”

Wanja was horrified by the vivid mental picture Mary’s words had painted. She imagined Jacob bleeding out in the middle of the forest, screaming in unimaginable agony. “The enforcers carried what remained of Jacob’s mutilated body and left him in the church where they took care of his wounds until he got better.” Mary went on, forcing herself to recount every torturous detail. “Like a gruesome warning to anyone else who might dare defy the Prophet’s will, Jacob was made to apologize to the congregants every Sunday…”

“What about going to the authorities?” Wanja interrupted.

“Even the authorities seemed powerless against the cult’s cruel ways of silencing anyone who speaks out. So the villagers keep their heads down, their lips sealed, too scared to risk the Prophet’s anger and endanger their families by telling anyone about the control and a***e happening inside the church. Mwangi is smart, you know, he doesn’t force anyone to join his church. But once you’re in, there’s no turning back.”

Wanja shuddered, struggling to maintain her composure. The cruelty, the disregard for human life... it chilled her to her core. She realized, with dread settling in her stomach, that the only way out of this cult and the village was in a casket. Mary finally broke down, burying her face in her hands and weeping at the recollection of Jacob’s unthinkable suffering. Wanja put a comforting arm around her and turned her head to look at her kids, who were sleeping next to them. She wondered if any of them would ever find the courage to escape this waking nightmare they called home.

“What should we do? How do we escape this...?” Wanja managed to speak, though her voice was trembling. “Some wrongs dig in so deep, Wanja. Some hurts stick to your soul, like scars marking your spirit. It’s like shrapnel, staining you inside.” Her hand went to her stomach without her even realizing. “Jose’s cries, his last painful seconds, they’re etched into me, as if they became a part of me the moment he lost his innocent life.” Mary pulled an old handkerchief from her sleeve and delicately blew her nose. Then her eyes locked onto Wanja’s with a fierce intensity, sending shivers down her spine. “You know, even if I could, I can’t just leave behind my spiritual duties or my life with these people... because that would mean giving up what’s left of my son’s eternal essence before it’s had a chance to be properly fixed.”

Wanja felt frightened even more as she sensed the seriousness hidden in her friend’s words. “Do you... do you really want to seek revenge against our Prophet and his followers?” she questioned, struggling to hide her increasing worry in her tone. “That would only lead to your total destruction...”

“Blood answers blood, Wanja, if you can’t get justice, you get revenge,” Mary cut her off with clipped finality. “It’s the only thing a mother can do when her child’s life is taken away, right in front of the very sacred place that should have kept them safe.” Standing up smoothly, the old woman appeared to grow bigger in the light, almost giving off a strong sense of threatening determination. Mary continued, saying, “I’ve kept my sadness hidden for too long, bound by rules and stupid duties.

But now, the scales have finally begun tipping towards a more... fiendish equilibrium.” She stepped closer to Wanja, her eyes ablaze with determination and a powerful sense of purpose emanating from her. “I’m going to use myself as a tool to bring down Mwangi from the inside,” she said fiercely, a hint of wildness creeping in. “Believe me - I’ll wreck everything he’s built before letting him crush my rebellious soul.”

For a moment, Wanja could only stare in shock as she learned the real reason why her best friend stayed in this cult. It wasn’t just about obeying or getting spiritually enlightened as she thought. It was something much darker burning deep inside.

After what seemed like an eternity, Mary blinked sharply, and her haunted eyes softened a bit. “So, you see, I must keep going on this road, even if it means doing terrible things for Mwangi. I won’t stop until his lies are exposed and Jose’s death is avenged completely.”

As Mary brushed past Wanja towards the exit, she paused to offer one last murmur over her shoulder:

“I’ve grown to love you so much. When that day comes, can I expect you to be on my side?” Before Wanja could answer, Mary continued, “Be careful about where you stand in the coming days. When I finally unleash my anger, it will destroy everything in its path.” With that last statement hanging in the tense air, Mary walked out into the darkness. And in her walk, one could see that all her kindness had vanished, replaced by a mother’s fierce revenge.