The Horrors of Indoctrination

Chapter 4: The Unwanted Ritual

Chapter 4: The Unwanted Ritual

The living room was thick with the scent of desperation. For three long years, this same scene had played out night after night. Mumbi’s eyes traced the familiar faces kneeling on the floor—Mama and Baba Maina up front leading the prayers, Maina now clutching his worn-out Bible.

The elders, standing behind Mama and Baba Maina, chanted louder, slapping the soles of their feet against the hard-packed dirt, working themselves into frenzies in hopes that their spiritual zeal might scour away the evil festering in Sheri’s body. It was around midnight now, and there were no signs of slowing down.

Mumbi closed her eyes and retreated inward. She had not truly prayed in years. These nights were mere theatre, hollow recitations chanted by equally hollow people. Her faith was as diseased as the flesh sloughing off Sheri’s bones.

Instead, Mumbi focused her mind on the brokenness, the guilt, the fury. She forged it into an inextinguishable blaze of determination. Sheri’s life depended on her making a third attempt at defying the church’s ways. This time, Mumbi vowed through clenched teeth, that she would not fail. If it cost her everything, she would save her sister’s immortal soul, even if it meant damning her own. As she sat there determined to act, she remembered her first attempt at saving Sheri’s life. It was about a year after her elder sister started getting ill.

The church elders remained resolute. More prayer and more devotion were required to take this sickness out.

But Mumbi saw the way Sheri’s eyes now burned with unnatural light, heard the spine-chilling whispers sliding from her cracked lips when she thought no one was listening, and she was convinced that something needed to be done.

One night, their parents were away at the overnight prayers. Mumbi’s chance had finally come to save her sister from the vile claws of whatever profane entity had started to take root. She had requested help from Wanjohi, one of the few youths who doubted the church’s harsh doctrine.

A soft tapping came from the window of Wanjohi, who had arrived, eyes wide with nervousness. Mumbi quickly ushered him inside and laid out her desperate plan.

“Are you mad?” Wanjohi hissed. “If the elders catch wind of this blasphemy?”

“We don’t have a choice,” she rasped back, forcing herself to take another step forward on trembling legs. “Do you want Sheri to become... to end up like Ireri?”

Wanjohi flinched at the mention of his younger brother, one of the first victims of their generation to succumb after the church elders insisted on treating him with prayer alone. The disease had taken ghastly hold, blackening Ireri’s veins from the inside out until he wasted away into a dry shell.

Steeling themselves, they gently lifted Sheri’s feather-light body from the bed and quietly left, moving like shadows in the darkness, nervous at every sound of a twig snapping or a rat scurrying nearby. Twice they were forced to flatten themselves in the bushes, holding their breath as they came across some members of the church who were heading for the overnight prayers.

At last, they reached the thatched hut of the village’s aged priest. Smoke coiled from the rooftop as Mumbi hammered urgently at the unsteady wooden door. When it finally creaked open, the old man’s eyes went wide with shock and dread at the sight of blighted Sheri.

“You must,” Mumbi pleaded between ragged gasps, her voice dropping to a hoarse whisper. “You must find what’s plaguing her, or she’ll die… please!”

The priest ushered them in, and before they could find a space to sit, his face twisted into a strange expression, and he started uttering weird sounds that made the night feel scary. He continued with a spooky chant while shaking a noisy instrument and waving burning herbs over Sheri. At first, nothing happened, and for a moment, Mumbi felt stupid for even thinking this was a good idea. But then Sheri’s body started shaking and jerking really hard, her muscles stretching against her skin as she arched her back in a weird way. She made a loud, scary scream that sounded like it wasn’t human at all, ripping through the quiet night.

Wanjohi took a few steps back, eyes wide open with terror. Just then, some weird force lashed out, flinging the old priest across the room with bone-crushing force. He fell to the ground, unconscious. Smoking and bits of burning material swirled as the strange energy seemed to fight against the ritual that had been performed.

“We have to leave!” Mumbi cried in panic, hauling Sheri’s jerking body over her shoulders. They ran into the darkness, overwhelmed by the terrifying sound of Sheri’s cries but even more by the condition in which they left the priest. They fled until finally, they put enough distance between themselves and the smoking hut.

Gasping for breath, Mumbi collapsed against a tree trunk, gently laying Sheri’s still-twitching body on the ground. That’s when the weight of what they had witnessed came crashing down. The old priest, lying motionless... had the strange force killed him? Guilt and horror knotted in Mumbi’s chest as wracking sobs tore from her throat.

“It’s all my fault!” she cried, tears streaking down her cheeks. “I brought this evil here... I killed him!” “The priest... oh god, I’ve killed him...” she choked out between anguished cries. She felt no better than the dark entity possessing her sister.

“No!” Wanjohi was at her side. His voice was soft but firm as his arms wrapped around her trembling form. “You did what you had to try and save Sheri. You’re not to blame for this.” Mumbi fell against him, as he held her close.

Their eyes met. In the depths of Wanjohi’s eyes, Mumbi saw a mix of fear, sorrow... and something else she couldn’t quite place a finger on. An unspoken intensity. An inexplicable yearning swelled within her need for human connection, for comfort amidst this whirlpool of fear and guilt.

Their faces were now mere inches apart. She could feel the warm puff of Wanjohi’s breath fanning across her lips. For a moment, their lips crashed together in a passionate embrace, the f*******n thrill cutting through the panic and despair. Mumbi surrendered to the kiss, without thinking clearly.

But then the full gravity of what they were doing came crashing over her. They were youths of Heavenly Gates. Worse, she was only fifteen, just a child! Wanjohi seemed to reach the same realization just as quickly.

He broke off the kiss abruptly, eyes averted as he gulped in ragged breaths. “We can never speak of this again,” he rasped in a strangled tone. “If the elders knew...” Mumbi could only nod numbly, her own cheeks flushing hot with shame and confused yearning. The momentary lapse had been... intoxicating. But now was not the time to process these emotions. Sheri remained possessed just next to them, twitching occasionally.

“I’ll carry her,” Wanjohi said gruffly, lifting Sheri on his shoulder with ease before setting off in tense silence. Mumbi trailed numbly behind, the chirping night songs of oblivious insects mocking the turmoil going through her mind. They had walked nearly a kilometer when a familiar silhouette materialized on the path ahead Mama Maina, returning from the overnight vigil. Mumbi’s heart seized as their mother took in the scene, understanding and horror crashing across her weathered features in equal measure.

“You are foolish, foolish children,” she hissed in a taut whisper. “Do you realize what you’ve done? The danger you have brought upon us all?” Mumbi opened her mouth, but no words would emerge past the guilt cementing her throat. Nearby, Wanjohi seemed to shrink under Mama Maina’s anger.

For several agonizing moments, Mama simply stared between them, a mix of fear, anger, and disappointment playing across her lined face. Then, finally, her shoulders slumped in resignation. “There is a trail, hidden from the path ahead,” she said in a low, grave tone. “It will take us home unseen. Now move quickly!” She didn’t wait for them to respond, already turning to lead them into the shadowed tree line. Exchanging a bewildered look, Wanjohi and Mumbi could only obey in stunned silence, following Mama Maina’s measured strides as she expertly guided them home through the dark, winding trail.

All the while, an oppressive silence hung over them—part relief at their narrow escape, part gnawing feeling over what fresh horrors this night had potentially awakened.