The Horrors of Indoctrination

Chapter 11: Witness to Evil Rituals

Chapter 11: Witness to Evil Rituals

The village was asleep, and the moonlight cast long shadows as Wanja quietly walked back to her house, feeling very sad.

Mary’s kind words still rang in her mind. She was ready to risk everything, even her life, to help Wanja’s family get away from the cult that had ruined their peaceful village.

As she got closer to the hut, Wanja saw her husband Baba Maina pacing worriedly in the living area, his forehead creased with concern. Knowing his stand concerning the church, her throat tightened, knowing she had to tell him the truth.

She carefully pushed open the creaky door and saw her youngest son Maina, lying still on the couch, already asleep.

Mumbi was still curled up in the corner, her shoulders shaking as she cried quietly. Also, nothing about the ambiance of the house had changed since she ran out earlier – the air was thick with the smell of the dark spirits possessing Sheri. “Wanja!” Baba Maina’s voice cut through the quiet like a knife. “Where have you been at this late hour?” Wanja swallowed hard, trying to be brave.

“I went to see Mary...” Her voice shook as she talked about their whispered conversation, the desperation in Mary’s eyes as she begged Wanja to take her family and run from the cult. As expected, Baba Maina’s eyes opened wide in disbelief, then narrowed in anger. “You want to defy Prophet Mwangi?” He shook his head firmly. “We are not in danger, Wanja.

We must have faith; he will save our daughter from evil!” Wanja stepped closer, her voice low and urgent. “Can’t you see the truth, Kamau? The Prophet gets crazier every day. Mary is right — we must leave before it’s too late!”

Wanja felt her heart sink as Baba Maina firmly refused to abandon Prophet Mwangi and the cult. Although she already knew his commitment to Mwangi was deep-rooted, she still had hope that she could convince him otherwise. She knew deep down that Mary was right – this was no church, but a dangerous cult that had destroyed their village and allowed dark spirits to possess her precious daughter Sheri. If they didn’t leave now, they wouldn’t make it. Mumbi’s quiet sobs from the corner pulled Wanja from her thoughts. The poor girl had already suffered so much torment watching her younger sister’s descent into possession.

Wanja moved to comfort her, wrapping her arms around Mumbi’s shaking shoulders. “Hush now, my daughter,” she whispered gently. “We will find a way to free Sheri from this evil, I promise you.” Baba Maina scoffed from across the room. “You put too much faith in the words of that foolish woman Mary. She has been misled, turned against the Prophet’s teachings.” Wanja shot her husband with a steely glare. “At least Mary has not abandoned her humanity like the rest of you!” She could no longer hide the bitterness and despair in her voice. “While you all bow and scrape before that madman, he grows more powerful... feeding off our fear and misery!”

“How dare you!” Baba Maina thundered; his face mottled with rage. “I will not allow you to dishonor the Prophet and jeopardize the path to salvation he has laid before us! Plus, don’t you see how far my relationship with Mwangi has come? I’ll soon be one of his right-hand men!” During their heated exchange, neither of them noticed Mumbi silently slip away from her place in the corner. The terrified young girl couldn’t bear to watch her parents fight any longer, nor to be in the sickening presence of the evil spirit possessing her sister Sheri.

Undaunted, Wanja rose to face her husband. “I will do whatever it takes to save our family,” she stated firmly. “Even if it means leaving you behind.” An uneasy silence hung in the air. Baba Maina’s chest heaved with barely constrained emotion. For a tense moment, Wanja feared he might strike her. At last, he turned away, shoulders slumped in dispirited resignation. “Then go...take the girls and leave this place. But once you leave that door, I have no way of protecting you.”

The cycle of arguing back and forth, each defending their reasoning, seemed endless until an eerie silence fell over the house. Breathing heavily, Wanja finally looked away from her husband’s angry eyes and noticed that Mumbi was no longer in her spot at the corner. “Mumbi?” she called out with a trembling voice, panic gripping her heart as she frantically searched the hut.

But the girl was nowhere to be seen. Baba Maina also saw that his daughter was missing. His tough exterior turned to worry. “Mumbi!” he shouted, rushing out of the hut with Wanja close behind. But there was no trace of the upset girl, only the thick bushes and dark shadows around their small home. Mumbi had run into the dangerous night, alone and vulnerable to the church’s zealots. No woman should be outside at such a time of the night, let alone a seventeen-year-old girl.

The night wrapped around Mumbi like a heavy blanket as she ran away from her family’s home. Tears rolled down her face, and she was breathing hard. She couldn’t stand being in that house any longer. All she knew was that she needed to get away, even if just for a few moments of peace.

Her feet carried her down the overgrown path, propelled by fear and desperation, until at last a small hut came into view. This was the home of Wanjoh. Although she tried to stay away from him as much as possible, she always felt a special connection to him. She reached the doorway and knocked frantically. “Wanjohi! Please, open up!” she cried out, sobbing. He didn’t open immediately. It took two minutes at least, and then Mumbi noticed some light piercing through the cracks of the wooden door.

Finally, the door creaked open, and Wanjohi’s worried face appeared in the lantern light. His eyes widened when he saw Mumbi’s distressed state. “Mumbi? What happened?” He quickly took her inside, glancing nervously outside into the night, hoping no one would see her.

Being caught outside alone could mean severe punishment from the church’s law enforcers. Once the door was shut, Mumbi collapsed into Wanjohi’s comforting arms, clinging to him as she let out all her fear and pain. Through her sobs, she told him how crazy the past few days had been: Sheri’s worsening condition, the dark spirits possessing her that had killed two, and the heated argument between her parents.

But Wanjohi needed no explanation. He had witnessed firsthand as Sheri’s possessed form tore things apart that night.

“My mother...she wants us to escape,” Mumbi stammered. “To f-flee before it’s too late.” Wanjohi frowned deeply, knowing the Prophet’s madness and the cult’s brutal control over the village. Trying to escape was almost a death sentence.

“Oh, Mumbi...” He stroked her back soothingly. “We can’t risk being caught out here. The church members are everywhere. If they hear us talking, they’ll come looking. Plus, we aren’t completely sure that no one saw you.”

But Mumbi’s eyes were resolute in her tears. “I can’t go back there, Wanjohi. Not with that evil taking over my sister... maybe even my whole family. You should see Sheri, she looks like a dead person! And my parents, they’re arguing like mad people.”

A heavy silence filled the small hut. Outside, the night was filled with countless dangers. Finally, Wanjohi decided.

“Alright. But we can’t stay here.” He went into his inner room, and a moment later came out holding two heavy blankets. He took Mumbi’s hand and led her to the back of the hut, where a tiny path opened into a small area, hidden by brushes and branches. It was a desperate hiding place, but it was their only option. “We’ll be safe here for tonight,” Wanjohi assured her in a low whisper as they settled onto the dirt floor.

“I don’t want to be safe just for tonight. I want this to be over,” Mumbi whispered back.

“The morning is wiser than the evening,” said Wanjohi. “Tomorrow, we’ll think of a plan.” Mumbi held onto him, shivering despite the heavy cover.

For now, they could only wait out the night and hope no one found them.

As the hours dragged on, the shelter felt more and more like a prison as Mumbi and Wanjohi sat silently. Mumbi’s mind raced with frantic thoughts of escaping and saving her family. She couldn’t stand the idea of hiding in fear while her family was still trapped in uncertainty. If her mother, Wanja, was really planning to carry out Mary’s daring plan, Mumbi knew they had to act fast.

“Wanjohi,” she whispered. “We can’t just hide here like scared rabbits.” Wanjohi’s eyes widened at her bold words, but he stayed silent, letting her speak. Mumbi swallowed hard, fighting the fear in her throat. “If we want to help my family escape the Prophet’s control, we need to know what he’s planning.”

She looked around the cramped space as if this realization had just dawned on her. “We can’t learn anything hiding here in the dark. We need to go to church and see for ourselves what Mwangi is really up to.”

A heavy silence fell as Wanjohi considered her plan. Going into the church at night was incredibly dangerous. Just thinking about it made his mouth dry. “Mumbi, do you know what you’re suggesting?” he asked seriously. “If the Prophet’s followers find us...”

He didn’t need to finish. The danger was clear. But Mumbi’s face was set, her fear overcome by her usual fierce determination.

“I can’t just wait here while my family is in danger,” she said firmly. “We need to see the truth ourselves and hope it helps us break Mwangi’s control.”

Wanjohi looked at her with admiration. Her bravery was both terrifying and inspiring. He saw she had the heart of a lioness, and he hated to admit it. He loved her even more for it.

“Okay,” he said softly. “If we’re going to do this, we need to move before dawn.” Mumbi gave a small, relieved smile. The village was cloaked in darkness, silent and tense. With Wanjohi leading, they stuck to the overgrown paths, always watching out in case any elder from the church was watching them.

The church was just a short stroll from Wanjohi’s house. So, within no time, they reached the thick bushes around the sanctuary’s compound. Crouching down, they looked for a way to sneak inside. Wanjohi pointed to a small window of a room attached to the main church. Not everyone was allowed into this room, only Mwangi and a few of his favorite elders.

The window was just big enough to crawl through. Mumbi led the way, her heart pounding as she carefully opened and slipped inside. The musty smell hit her as she landed quietly in the room. Wanjohi followed, his face tense with worry. But their fear faded as their eyes adjusted to the dark. As the moonlight slightly illuminated the interior of the room, they could see wooden racks and shelves filled with what looked like sacks.

But the dim light made it hard to see what was inside. What they could see clearly, however, were ceremonial robes, musical instruments, and candles shoved into corners of the room. Wanjohi grimaced at the suffocating air as he moved closer to Mumbi.

“This place smells like decay...and something worse,” he muttered uneasily. Mumbi nodded silently, her eyes drawn to a statue that was placed carefully on one shelf. It looked familiar, so she approached and took the small sculpture into her hands. As she looked even closer, a memory flashed through her mind, and she recognized the effigy. It looked exactly like the figure she had seen in the woods the day she sneaked Sheri out into the forest for an exorcism.

With this realization, she quickly returned the statue to its place and instantly knew in her heart, without a shadow of a doubt, that Mwangi had a hand in whatever was plaguing Sheri.

Without showing her fear, Mumbi proceeded. The sanctuary was now just a few steps away. Trying to steady her nerves, Mumbi began to creep towards the door leading to the main church with Wanjohi right behind her. As they got closer, they heard murmured chants, the voices sounding eerie and echoing. Mumbi felt icy dread prickling her skin.

This wasn’t a normal prayer session. There was something diabolical in those droning chants.

Finally, they were standing in front of the door. Wasting no time, Mumbi walked slightly ahead of Wanjohi until they could peek into the room beyond. The sight almost took their breath away. The large chamber glowed with the light of dozens of candles, their flames casting creepy shadows across the high stone walls and ceiling. The air was thick with the stench of burning tallow.

But it was the scene at the center of the room that made Mumbi’s blood freeze. There, at an altar covered in occult symbols and lots of statues, stood the Prophet Mwangi. The Heavenly Gates Church leader looked vastly different from his usual self. He wore tattered rags, his skinny frame starkly outlined by the flickering candlelight. Strange symbols had been drawn on his bare skin with dark paint. Or… maybe dried blood.

Wanjohi felt sick at the sight and had to turn away to keep from retching. When he finally spoke, it was in a barely audible whisper.

“Mumbi...what are these symbols?”

Even as he asked, he could hardly believe the horrible scene before them.

But Mumbi couldn’t look away. A ring of stern-faced elders in sackcloth surrounded the altar, chanting as Mwangi raised a curved dagger above his head.

A bead of cold sweat ran down Mumbi’s temple as a fresh wave of revulsion washed over her. She didn’t know much, but one thing was certain. This was no church gathering, no simple prayer meeting. This was black magic... a rite to summon dark entities.

As Mwangi’s chant reached a fever pitch, thick smoke began billowing from brass braziers at the altar’s base. The air seemed to thicken and move with a palpable, evil presence.

Wanjohi watched in numb horror as Mwangi lowered the dagger to his own forearm, slicing deeply. Blood ran down his skin, spilling over the altar as the chant reached its peak.

Then, as if on cue, the whole ritual shifted. What had been an unholy ceremony became even darker and more depraved. The chanting stopped, replaced by Mwangi’s howls as he raised his blood-soaked arms to the ceiling. Shadows danced and writhed in the candlelight, seeming to take on a life of their own. It was as if a malignant entity was being summoned... or had already arrived to witness these foul proceedings.

Mumbi could barely understand the horrible scene in front of her. What evil power was Prophet Mwangi trying to summon with this b****y ritual? Her mind spun with fear and confusion. She watched in growing terror as Mwangi’s screams grew louder, echoing through the room like cries of the damned.

In the dim candlelight, his body seemed to be dancing, twisting as if a dark spirit was trying to take over. The surrounding elders were on their knees, faces pressed into the dirt floor, as smoke wrapped around them. Their chants had stopped, replaced by a silence that was more terrifying than any noise.

Wanjohi felt a big rise in his throat as he saw Mwangi’s body moving in disgusting ways, probably trying to entertain the evil forces he had called upon. His terrified eyes then saw the crude altar at the center of the ritual.

There, in the red glow of Mwangi’s blood, something else was forming. Mumbi gasped and turned away, unable to look any longer. Her slender body shook violently, cold numbness spreading through her limbs. If these were the rituals of their village’s “church,” then she knew that Prophet Mwangi’s followers could never be saved. They had been sold to the forces of Hell. And evil had answered.

If her sister Sheri’s suffering was connected to this evil, then her family’s souls might already be lost. Beside her, Wanjohi trembled, fighting back waves of nausea. He wanted to run away from this terrifying scene, to put as much distance as possible between them and the unspeakable evil forming in the next room. But something kept him there, forcing him to look at the light flickering in the swirling smoke.

Wanjohi moved to pull Mumbi away as the ceremony became spookier. But then a loud roar, full of twisted pleasure, froze them in their tracks. It was Mwangi. Or what was left of him, taken over completely by evil. He was turning his head in all directions as if he had noticed their presence.

Wanjohi was the first to sense the danger, his eyes wide with fear. Grabbing Mumbi’s wrist, he finally tore his gaze away.

“We have to go! Now!”

His urgent words snapped Mumbi out of her daze, and they fled towards the small window. Their footsteps echoed, surely giving away their location. Mumbi tripped and fell with a cry, hitting the floor hard.

Wanjohi stopped and turned back, terror in his eyes.

“Mumbi! Get up, we must.” His words were cut off by the sound of footsteps. One of Mwangi’s men was walking right outside the room.

Heart pounding, Mumbi scrambled back until she hit a cabinet, spilling its contents across the floor. Human skulls tumbled out; the sight was too horrific to process.

A scream built in her chest, but Wanjohi clapped his hand over her mouth, pulling her into a tight embrace. They shrank against the wall, holding their breath as the footsteps drew closer. Then they stopped. This was their chance to run out.

Within a minute, both Mumbi and Wanjohi had squeezed themselves out of the room. Heart pounding, Mumbi scrambled back until she hit a cabinet, spilling its contents across the floor. Human skulls tumbled out; the sight was too horrific to process.

A scream built in her chest, but Wanjohi clapped his hand over her mouth, pulling her into a tight embrace. They shrank against the wall, holding their breath as the footsteps drew closer. Then they stopped. This was their chance to run out. Within a minute, both Mumbi and Wanjohi had squeezed themselves out of the room.

But as soon as they got out, a tall, hooded figure loomed from the shadows. For several terrifying moments, it seemed to sense them. From the horrors they had just witnessed, they couldn’t tell whether the approaching figure was human or not.

But when the figure spoke, the voice was human, though rough and tired. “Why have you come here at this hour?”

The figure drew even closer. “Wanjohi...? And Mumbi, daughter of Wanja?” The rough, tired voice startled them with its familiar tone. “Why have your reckless children decided to disobey the rules?”

Mumbi felt a chill of fear as she realized the voice belonged to Karanja, the old cultist who had been with the Prophet’s followers since before she was born.

Though deeply involved in Mwangi’s teachings, he had always been seen as one of the more reasonable members of the church elders. Could he still have some of his old wisdom? Did he have doubts about the cult’s dark path? Shaking, Mumbi finally managed to speak, her words rushing out. “K-Karanja… please don’t give us up!”

“You two shouldn’t be here,” Karanja said in a low rumble. “You know the ruler is allowed inside the sanctuary at this time unless the Prophet allows it.”

Wanja opened her mouth to explain, but Wanjohi quickly clamped a hand over her lips. He shook his head almost imperceptibly at Karanja. The big man seemed to understand.

The old man made a low noise, possibly a sigh or a snort of contempt. When he spoke again, his tone was like a tired teacher explaining hard truths to stubborn students.

“You are starting to see the true depths of the mess we’re in. But you can’t understand the full scope of the forces at play.”

Karanja continued, his voice heavy with fatigue. “He has been calling on powers far beyond human control. At first, it was barely noticeable. But the more Mwangi tried to use these evil forces, the deeper he dug into the dark world. And the further the Prophet seemed to get obsessed.”

Wanjohi’s throat tightened at those chilling words, remembering how Mwangi’s body had twisted and thrashed during the ritual as if becoming a vessel for something far worse.

Karanja nodded slowly, confirming Wanjohi’s silent horror. “You saw the depths of his rituals tonight. The Prophet is now just a vessel for the outer forces he foolishly summoned, allowing them to spread their evil will in our world. He wanted more control over people and for his influence to spread far beyond Kiambutu village, but in the process, he summoned evil that he couldn’t control.”

He fell silent, weighed down by his shattered faith and the struggle to hold on to reason. When he spoke again, his words were softer, almost pleading. “I don’t know how to stop this madness, this evil that has taken root in our home and our people.”

His voice cracked with despair, sounding every bit his old age. “All I see ahead is a path of further suffering.” Mumbi’s heart tightened at Karanja’s painful words. Hearing even a somewhat moderate cultist confirm the extent of Mwangi’s evil and the dark powers he had unleashed was almost unbearable.

The truth shook her soul. If the old man’s words were true, then her sister Sheri’s suffering and the horrible “cleansing” done in the name of purification were not just acts of crazed fanatics. They were signs of a greater evil trying to enter and take over their world because of Mwangi’s foolishness. This darkness threatened to swallow their village and perhaps the whole world if not stopped.

Wanjohi also felt the heavy weight of Karanja’s words, like a tightening grip on his racing heart. Part of him had hoped that the cult could still be reasoned by, believing that some humanity remained within its twisted beliefs.

But now, seeing this disillusioned elder reveals such terrifying truths, that hope has been destroyed. They stood on the edge of destruction, both in body and soul, if Mwangi’s dark ministry continued their spread.

For a moment, Mumbi felt her courage waver in the face of such overwhelming evil. How could they fight against such powerful darkness? Despair rose in her like a choking wave, and her earlier bravery faded into the shadows.

Then Karanja moved forward, his tattered robe swirling around his thin body as he gripped Mumbi’s shoulders with surprising strength. His sunken eyes looked into hers with an intensity that left no room for doubt.

“Enough talk of saving ourselves or finding some way out,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “Things have gone too far for any human hopes to fix.”

Mumbi flinched at the pain in his voice. This was a man who had seen the human spirit break under the cult’s increasing horrors. He had watched even the most faithful go mad as their leader invited the darkest forces into their midst.

Wanjohi started to speak, wanting to argue, but Karanja silenced him with a raised hand and a stern look that held centuries of hard-earned wisdom.

“You must leave this place while you still can,” he told them urgently. “Forget about reasoning with the Prophet or breaking the spiritual grip he has on this land and its people.”

His desperation was clear as he grabbed Wanjohi’s shoulder to make his point.

“Have you not seen the forces Mwangi’s rituals have brought upon us? Do you not understand the full extent of what now roams these halls?” The memory of the swirling, shapeless evil they had seen in the main sanctuary flashed through Mumbi’s mind, and she swallowed hard against the fear tightening her throat.

“We understand, Karanja,” she whispered. “But my family... I can’t leave them to this madness, this evil! Not while there’s even a faint hope of--”

“Hope is for those already lost,” Karanja interrupted harshly, letting go of her and stepping back. “I have seen those same flickers of faith and resolve snuffed out over decades of spiritual corruption. The Prophet, and some of our people, are beyond any hope of salvation from their choices.”

A deep sorrow seemed to weigh him down as he looked away, unable to meet their eyes. “All that remains is the choice to flee while your souls are still your own or to suffer the same eternal torment as the rest.”

“I didn’t see anything,” Karanja said meaningfully. “Now get out of here before someone else sees you.”

Wanjohi nudged Mumbi, and they hurried away, trying not to draw any more attention. As they neared the gate, another figure melted out of the darkness, Ndungu, one of the Prophet’s most loyal and vicious enforcers.

“Well, well...”

Ndungu’s lip curled in a contemptuous sneer as he blocked their path.

“The Prophet’s little rats have been snooping where they don’t belong again.”

Wanjohi stepped protectively in front of Mumbi, his hands balled into fists.

“Let us pass, Ndungu. We’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Oh, I’ll be the judge of that,” Ndungu advanced on them menacingly. “The Prophet’s time at the altar is sacred. You know that better than anyone. Trespassers must be punished.”