Guests Gasp as Pastor Suddenly Halts Wedding Ceremony — Moments Later, Everyone Realizes What He Saw Hidden About the Bride That Changed Everything

Once upon a time in a quiet town called Umans, there lived a man named Pastor Ayula. He was not just any pastor. He had been preaching for over 25 years and was known across the town for one thing. He didn’t joke with prayer. People said that Pastor Aula had the kind of eyes that could see beyond what others could. He wasn’t loud. He didn’t shout during sermons.

 But when he looked at you, it felt like he already knew your secrets. On this sunny Saturday morning, Pastor Ayula stood in his office, looking through the glass window that opened into the main church hall. The chairs were all arranged. Flowers lined the aisle. The choir was warming up their voices softly at the corner.

 The crowd had already started gathering outside the gate. This was no ordinary wedding. Today was the wedding of Czecher Obi, the only son of Chief and Madam Obobi, and the bride Adiz, a woman who looked like she walked straight out of a fashion magazine. The whole town had been waiting for this day.

 As the choir hummed softly, Pastor Ayula adjusted his white robe, picked up the Bible on his desk, and walked slowly to the altar. But just before he stepped in, he turned and looked again through the glass. Something in his chest felt heavy, like a small stone pressing down. He paused. “Brother MBA,” the church’s head of security, walked past him and noticed.

“Daddy, are you all right?” he asked. “Yes, yes,” Pastor Ayola said quickly. “I’m fine. Just thinking.” He wasn’t lying. He was thinking. He was thinking about the bride. Pastor Ayula had met Advice before the wedding. The first time was during their premarital counseling. She had been polite, gentle, and very soft-spoken.

 But something about her presence left a strange silence in the room even after she had left. Churka had done most of the talking, excited, proud, and clearly in love. Ad had just smiled and nodded. The second time was the wedding rehearsal. Again, she looked perfect. But when she held Checker’s hand during the practice vows, the pastor noticed her grip was too tight, not nervous tight, but cold tight, like someone holding on, not to love, but to control.

 Still, he had said nothing. Not everything required words. But today, as he watched the bride’s car arrive and people began cheering outside, that small weight in his chest grew heavier. Inside the church, the choir began singing louder. Cameras flashed. The organists started playing the bridal march. Guests turned to the back of the church, their eyes wide with admiration.

 Then the doors opened, and there she was, Ad. She wore a white gown that fit her like it had been sewn into her skin. Her hair was packed high and decorated with silver clips that sparkled under the lights. Her makeup was perfect, not too much, not too little. Her lips were red, her eyes sharp, and her smile. Her smile was fixed like glass.

 Beautiful, but unbreakable. As she took her first step into the church, Pastor Ayula’s heart skipped. Not because she looked beautiful, because the air changed. The temperature dropped a little. The choir’s voices trembled for a moment, and suddenly, the heavy feeling in his chest pushed harder. He took a deep breath.

 Checker stood at the altar beaming. He couldn’t take his eyes off Ade. His friends stood beside him grinning like boys. The bridesmaids followed Adise slowly holding her long veil. People pulled out their phones. Some were already crying. But Pastor Aula wasn’t watching the guests. He wasn’t watching Checker. He was watching Ad’s mouth. She wasn’t smiling anymore. Her lips were moving slowly, silently.

She wasn’t singing along. She wasn’t praying. Her lips were whispering something. Something he couldn’t hear. Jesus. Pastor Aula whispered under his breath. He blinked and looked again. Her lips were still moving, but her face was blank. No emotion, no joy. And then, just for a second, her eyes lifted and met his. His breath caught in his throat. It was like time stopped.

 Her eyes didn’t blink. They just stared. And in that split second, he heard something. A whisper, clear, calm, heavy. If you bless this union, blood will be on your hands. He stepped back slightly. His hand clutched the Bible tighter. Was it his imagination? Was it fear? Was it the Holy Spirit? He didn’t know, but he couldn’t ignore it.

 The bride kept walking slowly, now just a few steps away from the altar. The whisper in his heart didn’t go away. It pressed deeper, louder. The air felt thick. He leaned slightly to brother MBA and whispered, “Please call Mama Checker from the front row.” Quietly, Brother MBA nodded and left quickly. Pastor Aayula smiled, hiding his concern and took a step forward as Adrived at the altar. She stood beside Checker, both of them now facing him. The music stopped.

The church fell silent. He opened his Bible, but his eyes didn’t look down. They stayed on Ad. Shall we begin? He said. Yes, sir. Cha said, beaming. Yes, pastor. Ad said with a small smile. Her voice was sweet. Her face was calm. But Pastor Aula saw it clearly now.

 Her hands were shaking very slightly, almost invisible. But they were shaking. He opened his mouth to start the welcome prayer, but nothing came out. Instead, he closed the Bible. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I need to speak with the bride and groom alone.” “Just for a moment.” Gasps filled the church. Checker looked confused. “Sir,” I said. “Just a moment,” Pastor Aula repeated.

 His voice was calm but firm. Whispers filled the pews. People were murmuring. Ad’s eyes widened slightly. Pastor, is something wrong? She asked. He smiled. Just a short word in private. Right now, she pressed. Yes, right now. Chica looked at Ade, then at the crowd, then back at the pastor. It’s okay, Pastor Aula said.

Please trust me. After a long pause, Checker nodded. Okay. Adise hesitated then finally nodded too as they stepped off the altar and walked toward the small room behind the pulpit. The whole church buzzed with confusion. Some people stood to peek. Others brought out their phones.

 Ushers quickly tried to calm them. In the small counseling room, Pastor Ayula shut the door behind them. He didn’t sit. He didn’t open the Bible. He just stood and faced them. My children, he began. Before we continue with this wedding, I want to ask you a very important question. Please answer me truthfully. Checker nodded. Of course, pastor.

 Ad’s face was calm again. Go ahead, sir. Pastor Aayula turned to her. My daughter, is there anything at all you feel you should confess? Anything you need to say before I join you together? Ad blinked. I don’t understand, sir. I believe you do. She looked away, then back at him. Sir, with all due respect, this is our wedding day. I’m not hiding anything.

 He stepped closer then. Why are your hands shaking? Adise slowly dropped her hands to her sides. I’m just nervous, she said. Pastor Aula nodded slowly. All right, he said softly. Then he reached for his Bible and held it out to her. Please place your right hand on the Bible. She hesitated just for a second.

 Then she placed her hand on it. He placed his hand over hers and began to pray very softly. Father, in the name of Jesus, if there is any darkness in this heart, let it be exposed. If there is any evil in this plan, let it scatter. If there is any secret hiding in her spirit, let it come to light. Amen.

 Adise pulled her hand away quickly and stepped back. I I don’t think this is necessary, she said, her voice shaking a little now. Checker frowned. Ada, are you okay? I’m fine, she said, avoiding his eyes. I just don’t like this kind of drama. I’m not hiding anything. Pastor Aula turned to Czecha.

 Son, do you truly know who you are marrying? What kind of question is that? Checker replied surprised. Yes, I do. I’ve spent months getting to know her. Have you met her family? Her parents are late. Checker said she stays with an aunt. Have you ever entered that house? Once or twice, Czecha said. Why? Pastor Aula didn’t answer.

 He just sighed. Then said quietly, please sit down. Both of you. There is more I need to ask and we don’t have much time. The small room behind the altar was quiet now. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that made you feel something was about to happen. Pastor Aula stood near the door. His arms folded across his chest. His eyes didn’t leave a ease.

 Not even for a second. He could feel it. Something dark. Something hidden. And it was standing right in front of him wearing a white wedding gown. Adise sat down slowly, but her fingers kept tapping against the side of the chair. “Tap, tap, tap.” Checker sat beside her and held her hand, trying to calm her down. “Babe, relax,” he whispered.

 “It’s just a short talk.” Pastors probably just worried about something small. Adise forced a smile and nodded. “I’m fine,” she replied softly. But the truth was, she wasn’t fine. Her chest felt tight. Her heart was beating too fast. “Pastor Aula didn’t sit.” He placed the Bible gently on the table and took one slow breath. “Checker,” he said calmly.

 “Tell me something. When you first met Ad, what was the very first thing that pulled you to her?” Checker chuckled a little. “Ah, pastor, everything about her was special. I saw her at a charity event. She was helping this old woman carry water and I just stood there watching. Something about her made me want to know her. She looked humble. Did you talk that same day? Yes, sir.

 Chica nodded. We talked for hours. She told me about her background. She lost her parents when she was young. She’s lived with her aunt ever since. She said she’s always wanted to serve others, especially the poor. That’s why she attends charity programs. I see, the pastor said quietly, then turned to Adise.

 My daughter, I asked you earlier if there was anything you needed to confess before we continued. You said no. Yes, sir. Ad replied, her voice soft. But now I’ll ask you again, Pastor Aula said, his tone firmer. Not as a man, not as your pastor, but as someone God has placed here to protect this altar. Are you sure? There’s nothing hiding in your heart.

 Adise looked away, her jaw tightening. Checker frowned and leaned forward. What’s going on, pastor? What are you really asking her? The pastor sideighed. I’ve been in this calling for many years. I’ve joined so many couples. But today, when your bride walked into this church, I felt something I’ve never felt before. A heavy choking darkness entered with her.

Ad’s eyes snapped back to him. “That’s not true,” she said quickly. “I’m not hiding anything. I love checker with all my heart.” “Then why were your lips moving when you were walking down the aisle?” “I was praying,” she said. “What words were you saying?” Ad hesitated. I I was asking God for strength.

 Strength for what? She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Checker stood up. Okay, this is getting too much, he said, looking upset. Pastor, I don’t understand what you’re doing. This is my wedding day. We’ve done all the counseling. We’ve waited months. You know me. You know my heart.

 Why are you suddenly treating Ada like she’s some kind of “Because I saw her lips move,” Pastor Aayula interrupted gently, and I heard a whisper that said, “If you bless this union, blood will be on your hands.” Checker froze. “What? What do you mean?” Ad laughed nervously. “That’s not possible. You must have imagined it. Maybe you’re just tired or overwhelmed.” The pastor’s voice became quiet.

 My daughter, if that whisper was just imagination, then explain the shaking in your hands. Explain the cold in the air. Explain why even now the spirit in this room is not at peace. Ad’s smile slowly disappeared. There was silence, long silence. Then a knock at the door. Brother MBA opened it slightly. Sir, he whispered. Mamaaka is waiting at the back in trance like you asked. Should I bring her in? Pastor Aayula nodded.

Please. When Mama entered, her face showed clear worry. Pastor, what’s going on? She asked. What is this delay? The pastor looked at her kindly. Mama, I need you to speak freely. When you first met Ad. What did you feel? Mama Checker looked at Aden at her son. She hesitated but then answered.

 I tried to keep quiet because I didn’t want to be the mother-in-law who spoils everything. But something about her always troubled me. She was too careful, too perfect. And every time I asked about her family, she changed the topic. Mama, checker said shocked. You never told me this. I didn’t want to destroy your joy, she said gently. But something in my spirit kept saying, “Look deeper.

” Ad stood up slowly. “This is not fair,” she said. Her voice was shaking now. “I came into this family with love. I did everything right. I respected Mama. I came for all the church counseling. Why are you treating me like this?” The pastor stepped forward. Then let me ask you again one last time.

 And this time, answer not with your mouth, but from your soul. Who sent you here? Ad’s face went still, her eyes locked on his. Everyone went silent. Seconds passed. Then she whispered, “I I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Cher looked at her confused and hurt. “Ada, what is he saying? What is he trying to pull out of you?” “I don’t know,” she said loudly.

I’ve done nothing wrong. But her voice cracked, her hands trembled more. And finally, her legs gave out. She dropped to the floor, her head in her hands. I didn’t want it to go this far, she said, her voice low and shaking. I was just supposed to get close. That’s all. The room went completely still.

 Checker stepped back. Get close to do what? I didn’t plan to love you, she said. Tears running down her face. It wasn’t supposed to feel real. I didn’t plan to care, but I started falling and I couldn’t stop. Start falling into what? Checker asked, his voice rising. What are you talking about? Ad looked up at him. Broken. You were the next target.

Pastor Aula slowly sat down for the first time. His hands were steady now. The heaviness had lifted. Mama gasped. Target. Adise nodded. They find rich men, lonely ones, ones who want love. The women are trained, taught how to behave, how to be everything a man wants. And once the wedding happens, the rest is easy. What do you mean the rest? Chika asked. She looked away ashamed.

The honeymoon, the drink, the body is found in the morning. The will is already signed. The widow inherits everything. The cult collects their share. Checker felt like the ground was shaking. You You were going to kill me. No, she whispered. Not anymore. I couldn’t do it. I changed the plan.

 I wanted to run, but they said if I did, I’d die instead. The room was silent. Everyone was frozen. Then Pastor Aula spoke. You were sent by who? I don’t know their real names. They don’t use names, only faces, only numbers. They wear black robes. They speak in strange tongues. I was recruited 3 years ago when I had nothing. They promised me power, money, protection.

 Protection from what? Mama asked. From hunger, from pain, from being nothing. They said I’d never be poor again. And you believed them? Yes. Checker shook his head, tears forming in his eyes. Was any of it real at ease? Even one moment? She looked at him with sad eyes. The last two months were real.

 When you held me after my nightmares, when you sang to me, when you knelt down that day and said you would protect me for life, I wanted to believe it. I really did, but the shadows were too deep. I was already too far in. Pastor Aula stood up slowly. The wedding is over, he said. Adise didn’t argue. She didn’t beg.

 She just sat there on the floor, her veil slipping off, her makeup ruined, her dream shattered. Brother MBA, the pastor called gently. Get the church team quietly. Escort her to the back room. Call the police. Do not make a scene. Yes, sir. Checker, the pastor said gently, “You are not a fool. You are a man who trusted. You loved with your heart. But heaven refused this wedding for a reason. You’ve been saved from something worse than heartbreak.

” Checker didn’t respond. He just sat down and covered his face. “Mama walked over and placed her hand on his shoulder.” “We thank God,” she whispered. “We thank God.” Outside the church, the guests waited, confused. The choir had stopped singing. Ushers tried to keep people seated, but something had clearly gone wrong.

 Inside, Pastor Ayula stepped out of the room, his robe brushing gently against the floor. He walked slowly back toward the altar. He picked up the microphone and looked at the crowd. “My children,” he said. “I want to thank you all for being here today, but the wedding will no longer hold. Please, I ask you to pray for peace and for truth.

God has done what only he can do. Thank you and may God bless you. Gasps filled the room. People stood, some cried, some clapped, some whispered, but Pastor Aula dropped the mic, turned around, and walked out through the side door. The battle had been fought. The darkness had been stopped. And deep inside he knew this was only the beginning.

 The church building stood silent, almost frozen in time. The wedding that was supposed to be the talk of the town had ended before it began. People were still outside in confusion, talking in whispers, taking pictures of the empty altar. Some refused to leave. Others kept asking questions no one could answer.

 Inside, checker sat in one of the back rooms, staring at the floor like it could give him answers. His suit was still perfect, his shoes still shining, but his heart had fallen apart. He had not said a word since Ad was taken away. Even his mother, Mama, had stopped talking. She sat beside him, holding his hand tightly as if she was trying to keep him from breaking.

 Pastor Ayula stood by the door, watching them with tired eyes. He didn’t want to say anything yet. He wanted to let the silence do its work. Sometimes silence spoke louder than words. Sometimes people didn’t need answers. They just needed time. But time was not on their side. A soft knock came at the door. It was brother MBA. His face serious.

 He stepped in holding a small handbag. Sir, he said quietly. We found this in the bride’s dressing room. Pastor Ayula raised his eyebrow. Where exactly? Under the vanity table. Someone had pushed it far back, almost like they wanted it hidden. Is it hers? Yes, sir. One of the bridesmaids confirmed it. It’s her backup bag.

 Checker finally looked up. What’s in it? He asked, his voice rough. Brother MBA stepped forward and placed the bag on the table. We haven’t checked yet. I thought it was better for you to see it yourself. Pastor Aula nodded slowly and unzipped the bag. Inside, everything looked normal at first. Makeup items, tissues, a small perfume bottle.

 But as he searched deeper, he pulled out something strange. It was a burner phone, small, black, the kind that didn’t need an ID to register. Next to it was a folded brown envelope. Pastor Ayula opened the envelope. Inside were legal documents, property transfer papers signed and stamped. Everything was in checker’s name now moved into Ades.

 Also inside was a letter handwritten. Neat. The ink was still fresh. He opened it and read to whom it may concern. If you are reading this, it means my husband has passed. It is with deep sorrow I inform you that his death came too soon. We had just gotten married and I loved him dearly. Please find attached the relevant documents regarding his estate. I will need your full cooperation moving forward. The letter was signed.

 Adobe checker stood up suddenly and knocked the chair back. He walked over and grabbed the letter from the pastor’s hand. He read it once, then again, then his legs went weak and he sat back down. She wrote this before the wedding. he asked, his voice shaking. Yes, Pastor Aayula said quietly. She planned everything. Checker whispered.

 She even signed the papers. She was going to act like the morning wife. She was going to bury me and pretend to cry. He dropped the letter on the floor and held his head with both hands. Mama Chaka stood and placed her arms around him. My son, you are alive. That’s what matters. She did not succeed. God saved you.

 But I loved her. Mama, he said, his voice cracking. I loved her. I wanted to build a family. How did I not see this? How did I miss the signs? Pastor Aula sat beside him now. Because you are a good man, he said. And good men don’t think like wicked people. You saw what she showed you. You believed what she told you. But there were signs, checker.

 You just didn’t know what they meant. Like what? The pastor leaned forward. The first time you came for counseling, she barely spoke. She didn’t ask questions. She didn’t smile. It was like she was repeating lines she had rehearsed. I thought she was shy. She wasn’t. She was hiding.

 A woman who’s truly in love cannot hide when planning her future. Then there was the day she refused to take communion. “Do you remember?” Yes, Czecha said slowly. She said she had a stomach ache. She didn’t want the spirit of God in her body. Darkness avoids the light. Checker shook his head. So everything was fake. No, the pastor said, “Not everything.

 I believe she truly started caring at the end. That’s why she confessed. But the plan had already gone too far.” There was another knock on the door. This time it was Sister Chinolo, one of the ushers. She looked nervous. Sir, there’s a man at the gate. He says he knows something about the bride. His begging to speak with you. Pastor Ayula stood quickly.

Did he give a name? No, but he said it’s urgent and that if we don’t listen now, someone else will die tonight. Shaka and his mother both looked up. Bring him, the pastor said. 10 minutes later, the man was sitting in the church office. He looked around 45, wearing a faded shirt and dusty shoes.

 His face was sweaty, his hands shaking. He looked like someone who had seen something terrible. My name is Mazi, he said. I live in Aba. I work in property management, but I used to know a girl named Adise. Pastor Ayula folded his arms. You knew her from way. She was the tenant in one of the houses I managed. This was 3 years ago. She came with a friend.

 Said they needed a quiet place for prayer and business. They paid 2 years rent up front cash. What kind of business? They sold herbs, local medicine, but I later found out they were doing something else at night. Like what? Checker asked from the corner of the room. Uch looked down. Sir, forgive me.

 But they held meetings, strange ones. I heard voices, screaming, chanting. I saw people in black robes coming late at night. Women mostly. One night, I saw them pouring red liquid at the gate. They told me it was palm oil, but I don’t think it was. Mama Chika gasped and held her mouth. What happened next? Pastor Aula asked.

 One day, Ad disappeared. Her friend, too. The house was empty, but the floor in the bedroom was full of ashes, like something had burned. I was too scared to tell police. So, why are you here now? Because I saw the wedding on Facebook. My niece posted pictures. When I saw her face, I almost dropped my phone.

 I couldn’t sleep last night. I had dreams, bad ones. Then this morning, I saw online that the wedding stopped. I knew I had to come. She’s part of something dangerous. I don’t know how deep, but she’s not the only one. The room went quiet again. Then Pastor Aula stood up.

 Brother MBA, he said, “Go and bring my Bible, my prayer shaw, and the anointing oil. Something is still hiding, and we must go deeper.” Later that evening, Pastor Aayula sat alone in his office. He had dismissed everyone, including Czecha and his mother. He wanted time to pray, time to listen. He knelt on the floor, placed the Bible before him, and closed his eyes. “Lord,” he whispered.

 “You opened my eyes today, but what else do you want me to see? What else is hidden?” He remained still. After a few minutes, a voice whispered in his heart again. Calm, gentle, firm. This is not the end. Others have been marked. Follow the fire. He opened his eyes slowly. Then stood up. This wasn’t just about a ease.

This was about something bigger. Something that had already touched many lives. And if they didn’t act fast, more blood would flow. He picked up his phone and called brother MBA. We’re going to her house,” he said. “Now.” The street was quiet when Pastor Ayula’s car turned into it. The sun was already setting.

Shadows were stretching across the road, making the houses look darker than they really were. Brother MBA was driving. He kept glancing in the mirror at the pastor, who sat in the back seat, holding his Bible and a small bottle of anointing oil. The church van followed behind them.

 Inside it were three more trusted men from the prayer team. Pastor Ayula had only called the ones he could depend on. He didn’t want noise. He didn’t want drama. He just wanted the truth. We’re close now, sir. Brother MBA said, slowing down. The house they were going to was in a quiet part of town. It was the house where Adise had said she lived with her aunt.

 the same house where her wedding gown had been kept, where she had prepared for the biggest day of her life. Now it was the house where answers waited. They stopped in front of a green gate. The compound was quiet, too quiet. There was no music, no light from the windows, no sign of life. “This is it,” Brother MBA said. “Wait,” Pastor Aayula said.

 He looked out the window for a long time, then said, pray first. Everyone closed their eyes. Father, he said softly, we do not come in pride. We come in obedience. Go ahead of us. Expose every darkness. Let nothing stay hidden. Amen. Amen. The others echoed. They stepped out of the cars and walked to the gate. Brother MBA knocked gently. No answer. He knocked again, louder. Still nothing. I’ll try the handle, he said.

 The gate creaked open slowly. The compound was not large. Just enough space for one car and a few flower pots. The walls were cracked in some places. The curtains on the windows didn’t move. They walked to the front door. This time, the pastor knocked himself. Still no answer. Let’s try the back, he said.

 They walked around carefully, moving in silence. The back door was open, just a little, as if someone had left in a hurry. They stepped in. The sitting room was clean, but cold. No fan was on, no lights, just a big old chair, a small TV, and a picture frame on the wall showing a de and an older woman. That must be the aunt, brother MBA whispered. They moved deeper into the house. Kitchen empty.

Bathroom neat but dry. Then they reached the bedroom. It smelled like dust and old perfume. But what they saw next made them stop. There were symbols on the floor. Strange ones drawn with red chalk. Some looked like stars. Others were circles with sharp points. In the middle was a small stool with a black scarf folded on top. Pastor Aula walked in carefully and stood in the center.

 He knelt down and touched one of the symbols. Still fresh. They’ve been doing things here, he said. Serious things. Brother MBA picked up a box from under the bed. Inside were old letters, all with different male names. One letter caught his eye. It was addressed to Azena. Okke.

 “Sir, this is strange,” he said, handing it over. The pastor opened it and read. Mission completed. The man is gone. I have taken control of the assets. We’ll be reporting to the mountain site tomorrow. Burn the house once the property transfer is confirmed. Chills ran down his spine. Mountain sight, he whispered.

 There’s more to this. It’s not just a de. He stood up quickly. We have to go. We can’t stay here long. As they turned to leave, a loud noise came from outside. A car. Then the sound of feet running, then silence. Someone’s here. One of the prayer team whispered. They rushed to the window and peaked. A man stood by the gate.

 Tall, dark-skinned, wearing a black cap. He looked around, then ran back into a waiting car. The driver reversed fast and disappeared down the street. He was watching us. Brother MBA said, “They know we came.” The pastor added, “This is deeper than we thought. Back at the church compound that night, Mama sat alone in the prayer garden.

 The news of Ad’s secret had shaken her deeply, but something still didn’t sit right. She reached into her bag and brought out a small pendant, silver, shaped like a teardrop. It had belonged to her late husband. She always touched it when she felt afraid. Suddenly, her phone rang. Unknown number. she picked. “Hello, mama checker,” the voice said.

It was low male rough. “Who is this?” “You don’t need to know my name,” the voice replied. “But I have information about your son, about the girl he almost married.” Her heart skipped. “What kind of information? Do you want the full truth or just the small part your pastor already told you?” She stood up slowly.

Speak clearly. Meet me at 1000 p.m. tonight behind the old sawmill. Come alone. Bring no phone. If you want to know why Ade was sent, come. The line went dead. She stood there for a long time, her hand still holding the phone. Should she go? What if it was a trap? But what if it was real? She walked back inside to find her son.

 Meanwhile, in the police station, Adise sat in a small cell, staring at the wall. Her face was swollen from crying. Her hands were tied behind her back. She had refused to speak to anyone. Not even the female officer who brought her food. She didn’t ask for a lawyer. She didn’t ask for water. She just sat there whispering something over and over. Forgive me.

 Forgive me. A detective entered the room. His name was Officer Kelvin, a tough man who had handled all kinds of criminals. But this case was different. It felt personal. And now, after the things the pastor reported, it felt spiritual, too. He sat in front of her. “Adies,” he said gently, “you’re in deep trouble, but you can help yourself. Tell us who’s behind this.

 Tell us where the others are.” She didn’t answer. Why did you plan to kill Checka? Who gave you the poison? How many other men have died? She blinked slowly, then finally whispered. They won’t let me talk. Who? She looked at him for the first time. They are watching. Who’s watching? Her lips trembled. They see everything.

 At 10 p.m., Mama arrived at the old sawmill. The place was dark, abandoned. Long trees and wood planks were scattered all around. She came alone as instructed, holding only her pendant and a small flashlight. A shadow moved near one of the broken trucks. Over here, the voice called. She walked slowly. A man stepped out.

 It was the same man from earlier, the one who had run from the house. I used to be one of them, he said, his voice low. That’s how I know what I know. What is this about? She asked. Why, my son? Why? Your son was on a list. The cult picks men with money, land, power. The girl was chosen for him. Trained, given everything she needed to win his heart.

Why him? Because he was supposed to inherit his late father’s oil contracts next month. If he died this week, everything would go to his wife. She gasped. So, it was all about money. Yes. But not just that. The cult feeds on spiritual blood. The more powerful the man, the stronger the offering. What happens now? She asked, her voice shaking.

 You must protect him, the man said. They don’t give up. If the bride fails, they send someone else or they strike him another way through accident, through food, or even through dream attacks. He handed her a paper. These are the names of others on the list. Tell your pastor. But be careful. Some of his church workers may already be marked. Before she could ask anything else, he disappeared into the trees.

 By morning, the pastor met with Mama Checker privately. She told him everything. He took the list, read the names, and froze. One of the names was someone close, someone in the church, and if they didn’t act fast, more blood would be spilled. The sun had barely risen over Umans. When Pastor Aayula entered his prayer room, his face was tired. His eyes had not closed all night.

 After hearing Mamaaka’s story, after reading the names on the list that mystery man gave her, he knew things had changed. This was no longer about Adone. He placed the list on the floor and knelt beside it. He could feel the weight of each name like they were already under a curse. His voice was calm but strong as he prayed.

 Father, this is beyond me now. These people trust me. These families trust you. Show me the snakes hiding in the grass. Show me how to protect these names. Show me where the next danger is hiding. There was no thunder, no voice from the sky. But in his spirit, Pastor Ayula felt something. A push, a direction.

 Start with checka. He stood up, grabbed his Bible, and called brother MBA. Get the intercessory team. We begin the first prayer watch by 6:00 a.m. We’ll anoint checker’s house. We must block every door the enemy can use. At 6:15 a.m., four men and one woman stood with the pastor at Czecha’s gate. Each of them held a bottle of oil and a prayer guide.

Chaka was still inside the house, sitting in his living room with his mother. He had barely slept. Every little sound outside had made him jump. Even the wind brushing against the window made his heart race. When the knock came, he stood slowly, unsure. “Who is it?” he asked through the door. “It’s me,” Pastor Aula said gently. Chica opened the door and stepped back.

“You’re early, sir.” “I couldn’t sleep either.” The pastor looked at him closely. His eyes had dark circles underneath. His face had lost its color. This wasn’t the strong, happy groom from just 2 days ago. This was a man who had stared death in the face and survived, but didn’t yet feel alive.

 Shaka, the pastor said quietly, today we’re sealing every corner of this house with prayer. You were marked, but God exposed it. Now we must close every gap. Marked? Cher asked. What does that mean? Exactly. The pastor walked in followed by the prayer team.

 It means someone opened a door in the spirit to attack you through your emotions, through your trust through the person you were going to marry. Are they going to try again? Chika asked. Yes, the pastor replied. And not the same way. It might not be another woman. It might be something else, a friend, a meal, even a phone call. But they will come and we will be ready. Room by room, the pastor led the prayers.

 They prayed in the bedroom. They prayed in the kitchen. They laid hands on the doors and windows. They poured oil on the entrance, declaring the house a no-go zone for every dark power. Checker watched everything in silence. His heart was heavy, but he felt something he hadn’t felt in days. Hope. Then came a knock on the gate. This time it wasn’t a familiar face.

 It was a delivery man holding a white box. I have a delivery for Mr. Chaka Obi, the man said. Checker frowned. From who? The delivery man shook his head. It was dropped off early this morning. No name, just instructions to deliver by 7:00 a.m. sharp. The pastor walked to the gate. Open the box, he said. The man obeyed.

 Inside the box was a small fruit cake neatly wrapped with a red ribbon. There was no note, no name. Checker’s face changed. “Sir,” he said quietly. “Adiz once told me she would bake me a fruit cake for our wedding night.” The pastor nodded slowly. “Don’t touch it,” he said. “Brother MBA, take this straight to the church office. Lock it up.

” The pastor turned to the delivery man. “Who gave this to you?” I don’t know the name, he replied. A woman. She was wearing dark glasses. She said she was a family friend. Where did she drop it? At the park. I was just told to deliver it here on time. You may go, the pastor said. The man walked away quickly.

 Checker watched as they carried the cake away like it was a bomb. You think they were trying to kill me again? He asked. Yes, the pastor said. and they will try more than once. But that cake was not just food. It was a spiritual door. What if I had eaten it? You might have died in your sleep, he answered.

 Or you might have started seeing things, hearing voices, losing control. Chaka sat down on the doorstep. This is all too much, he said. How did my life become a battlefield? You were born for more than money, the pastor said. You are a target because you are a gate. Through you, they wanted to open a path for destruction.

 If they had gotten you, they would have moved to others. Checker looked at him. Who else is on that list? The pastor hesitated, then said, “People in business, government, even church leaders, they are using women to get to them. But now that you escaped, the enemy will speed up.

” So what do we do now? We watch, we pray, and we go after the root. Back at the church, Mama Chaka sat in the pastor’s office holding her pendant tightly. She was thinking about what the mystery man said the night before. If the bride fails, they will try another way. She looked up as the church secretary walked in. “Mema,” she said, someone dropped this letter for you.

 “For me?” Yes, said it was from a neighbor, a woman. She opened the letter. Inside was a message written in red ink. You stopped the wedding, but you didn’t stop us. The boy is still ours. If you speak again, we will take you instead. Her hands shook. She stood up quickly and rushed to the pastor’s prayer room. Sir, she said, they’ve threatened me. The pastor read the note, then looked up slowly.

 They’re angry, he said. But that means they’re exposed. He folded the note and placed it in his Bible. Mama, go home now. Don’t speak to strangers. Don’t eat outside. I will assign someone to stay with you for now. Later that afternoon, the police came to the church. Officer Kelvin met with the pastor privately.

 Sir, he said, “We’ve been watching Adase. She’s not talking much, but last night she started saying strange things. What kind of things? She spoke names. Some of them we’ve never heard, but two of the names are on the list you gave us. The pastor nodded. She’s breaking. Officer Kelvin said, “But someone visited her in the night.

” “What do you mean?” The female guard stepped out for 10 minutes. When she returned, Adise was on the floor gasping for air. She kept saying, “They came in black. They told me to stay silent.” “Was she hurt?” “No, but scared. Deeply scared.” “Can I see her?” the pastor asked. Officer Kelvin hesitated.

 “Only if you come now.” She said she wants to see you. That evening, Pastor Ayula sat across from Adiz in the police station. She looked weak. Her lips were dry. Her eyes had dark circles. She smiled faintly when she saw him. You came. I came because you called. She nodded. I want to tell the truth, she said.

 But I’m scared. They have no more power over you unless you allow them. She looked around the room. I wasn’t the only bride, she said softly. We were trained in a house in Joe’s 20 girls. All beautiful, all desperate. They picked us one by one. Gave us targets. Checker was mine.

 Who picked the targets? There’s a woman. Her name is Madame Kimi. She wears all black. No one sees her face. She walks with a limp, but her voice it controls people. Where is she now? I don’t know, she whispered. But I know she’s watching. She has people in the police, in government, even in the church.” The pastor nodded slowly. “You’ve done well by speaking.” She reached across the table, trembling.

“Will God forgive me?” “Yes,” the pastor said. “If you truly repent, he will forgive.” She began to cry. I wanted out. I swear I did. But every time I tried to leave, someone died. I didn’t want to kill Checka. I swear. I know, he said gently. Now tell me. What is the mountain sight? She looked up sharply.

You know about it. I saw it in one of your letters. Her eyes filled with fear. That’s where they take the real sacrifices. Where is it? She looked away. I’ll draw you a map. That night in his prayer room, Pastor Ayula unrolled the mapades had drawn.

 It was a small village on the edge of Kogi State, a hill covered in trees. No name, no roads. He stared at it. He knew what had to happen next. This was the route. And if they didn’t go now, they might not get another chance. The church was quiet that Sunday morning. The usual joy that filled the walls during services had disappeared. There was no music, no clapping, no dancing, just silence.

 The chairs were still set up from the wedding that didn’t happen. The flowers were still fresh. The red carpet was still clean, but nobody wanted to step on it. Pastor Aula stood alone at the altar. He didn’t have his Bible in his hand. He wasn’t wearing his robe. He just stood there staring at the spot where Adise had stood a few days ago. that same spot where he saw her lips moving silently.

That moment had changed everything. He let out a deep breath. His heart was heavy, but he knew what had to be done. He stepped down from the altar and walked toward his office. Inside, Brother MBA, Officer Kelvin, and two elders from the prayer team were already waiting.

 On the table in front of them was a small bag, a bottle of oil, two flashlights, and the handdrawn mapades had given them. We leave tonight. Pastor Aayula said as he entered that mountain is not just a location. It is their altar. And if we don’t destroy it, they will come back stronger. Sir, one of the elders said, “Are we sure it’s safe? We don’t know what we’ll meet there.

 It won’t be safe,” the pastor replied. “But God didn’t ask us to wait for comfort. He asked us to shine light in darkness.” Officer Kelvin leaned forward. I’ve made arrangements for backup, he said. But we’ll go quietly. No sirens, no noise, just one van, one path.

 Brother MBA opened the map and pointed at a narrow road marked in red. This path leads into the bush, he said. From there, it’s a 30inut walk uphill. That’s where Ad said the altar is hidden. The pastor nodded. Then we prepare, we fast, we pray, we cover ourselves in oil and we go. That afternoon, while the team prayed inside the church, Checker sat quietly in his living room.

 He hadn’t stepped out since the day the wedding was stopped. His phone kept ringing, but he didn’t answer. His friends sent messages, but he ignored them. The world still thought he was recovering from a broken wedding, but he knew it was more than that. His heart wasn’t just broken, it was changed. He stood up and walked to the shelf beside the window.

 On it were photos from his childhood, his university days, and business awards. Right in the middle was a frame of him and his father. He picked it up. Papa, he whispered. They almost got me. He sat down and held the photo close. A soft knock came at the door. It was Mama Checker. Can I come in? She asked. Yes, Mema.

 She walked in holding a small white box. What’s that? Chicker asked. A gift, she said. But not from Adm. [Music] She opened the box. Inside was a simple necklace with a tiny wooden cross. Your father gave me this when we were still dating, she said. He told me it kept him safe during a robbery years ago. I want you to wear it just until this war is over.

 Checker nodded and let her put it around his neck. Memma, do you think I’ll be okay? You will, she said softly. You survived the poison. You survived the lie. That means your story is not over. That night, just before 11 p.m., the church van left the compound. Inside were Pastor Aula, Brother MBA, Officer Kelvin, and three men from the prayer team. They carried no guns, only their Bibles, torches, and bottles of oil.

 The road was long, the night was dark, but nobody complained. At exactly 12:17 a.m., they arrived at the base of the hill. The area was quiet, too quiet. Even the crickets were silent. They stepped out of the van and turned on their flashlights. “Stay close,” the pastor said. “Do not speak unless it’s a prayer.

” They followed the path marked on the map, moving through thick grass and tall trees. The night felt colder with every step. After 30 minutes, they reached the top. There, hidden between rocks, was a flat clearing. In the center was a large stone table. Around it were 12 black chairs and behind it a tall wooden statue covered in red cloth. The pastor walked forward slowly.

 “This is it,” he whispered. “This is where they call spirits.” One of the prayer team members pointed at the ground. There were ashes everywhere, burned paper, pieces of cloth, a torn Bible, and bones. “Human?” Officer Kelvin asked. Maybe,” the pastor replied. Suddenly, a loud rustling sound came from the trees behind them. They all turned quickly. Nothing.

 Then another sound. A whisper, then laughter. Low, soft, but real. “They know we’re here,” Brother MBA said. “They’ve been watching,” the pastor added. He stepped forward, poured oil on the stone table, and began to pray. In the name of Jesus, every power that has fed on blood here, we break your altar. We scatter your sacrifice. The others joined in.

 The wind began to blow hard. The statue shook. A voice screamed from the bush. Leave now or die. But the pastor didn’t stop. Every hidden priestess, every evil watcher, we blind your eyes. We confuse your tongue. We cover this land in fire. The wind turned into a storm. The statue caught fire by itself.

 The chairs fell one by one. The stone cracked in the middle. Then everything went silent. No more wind. No more voices. Just peace. The pastor stood in the center of the ashes. “It is finished,” he said. They poured oil on every corner, then walked back down the hill. At 5:33 a.m.

, as the team returned to the church compound, a call came through. It was from the police station, Ad was missing. What do you mean missing? Officer Kelvin asked. She was found outside the cell, unconscious. Her wrists were marked with black lines, and on the wall, someone wrote in blood, “She spoke too much.” Back in the church office, the pastor sat down slowly. He knew what was coming. The battle had only just started.

 But now the enemy had shown their face and he was ready. The early morning sun rose slowly over Umans, but the light didn’t feel warm. It felt strange. The wind that passed through the church compound carried something heavy, something sharp. Adise was gone, and now Pastor Ayula knew they had poked the real hornets’s nest.

 He sat alone in his office, staring at the bloodstained message the police had sent him through a photo. Three red words were written on the wall of the holding cell. She spoke too much. They had silenced her, not with bullets, not with poison, but with fear so strong her body gave up. There were no wounds on her, but her lips had turned black.

 Her fingers were stiff and her eyes her eyes were wide open like she had seen something no one should ever see. The pastor closed the picture on his phone and dropped it face down. “Lord,” he whispered, “we need your help.” A soft knock came at the door. Brother MBA entered with a flask of tea. “Sir, you haven’t eaten. I’m not hungry. At least drink something. You need strength.” The pastor didn’t argue.

 He took the flask and poured himself a small cup. How’s Chaer? He asked. Still quiet. MBA replied. He hasn’t left his room. His mother says he barely talks now. And the others. We posted guards around the names on the list, but two phones have already gone off. Which ones? Chief Eeken and Honorable Felix.

 Their lines are not reachable. One of our team members is checking their homes now. The pastor closed his eyes briefly. They are speeding up. They’re trying to finish what they started before we can stop them. Sir, MBA said slowly. Do you think someone inside is helping them? The pastor opened his eyes and stared at him. That’s what we need to find out.

 By noon, Mama visited the church. She carried a basket of fruit, but her face was serious. I had another dream, she said. The pastor leaned forward. What did you see? I saw Checker standing on a cliff. Behind him was a crowd cheering. In front of him was a fire.

 And just when he stepped back to walk away, someone from the crowd pushed him forward. Did you see the face of the person who pushed him? No. The face was covered, but it wore a choir robe. The room went silent. You think it’s someone from the church? She asked. I think it’s someone close enough to blend in. Someone who can smile during service and kill after church. She dropped her eyes.

I’m scared, pastor. This thing has gone beyond what I can understand. The pastor stood and placed his hand gently on her shoulder. You don’t have to understand it. You only have to stay close to God while we fight. That evening, a small emergency meeting was called in the church. Only trusted leaders were invited.

 10 people sat around the long wooden table. Elders, prayer team heads, ministers. The pastor stood at the front. We stopped a wedding last week, he began. But we uncovered something much darker. Something that’s been moving in secret for years. He told them everything. the cult, the girls, the mountain altar, Ad’s confession, her sudden death.

 By the time he finished, the room was filled with silence. Then, Sister Fer, the choir mistress, raised her hand. “Sir, you said someone from inside might be involved.” “Yes, do you think it’s someone in this room?” “I don’t know,” the pastor said. “But whoever it is knows everything we do. And now that Adiz is gone, they might strike again.

 One of the elders, Papa Jubzi, spoke up. Then what do we do? Cancel all services. No, the pastor replied. We prepare, we pray, and we open our eyes. This church must be clean. Every corner, he paused. And I want all department heads to submit full names of their members by morning. every worker, every volunteer, everyone who has access to the church building. At 9:00 p.m.

, as the church compound went quiet, a shadow moved through the back gate. The person wore a hoodie. Their steps were silent. They walked quickly toward the pastor’s office. In their hand was a small black bottle. They stopped at the door, looked around, then bent down, and began to pour the liquid at the threshold.

 But just as they stood up, a voice said from behind, looking for something. It was brother MBA holding a flashlight. The figure froze, then turned and ran. MBA chased. He shouted, “Security! Close the gate.” The shadow figure ran past the small prayer garden, jumped over a low wall, and vanished into the night.

 By the time the rest of the team arrived, the person was gone. MBA pointed at the black bottle still rolling on the ground. Inside it was a thick dark liquid. The pastor arrived minutes later and picked it up with a cloth. “They tried to mark my office,” he said. “This is blood mixed with charm powder.” “What does it do?” “It attracts confusion and death.” He looked up at the dark sky.

 They’re desperate now. Meanwhile, inside Checker’s house, the young man sat by the window, still holding his father’s photo. He wore the wooden cross his mother had given him. He stared at the moon, then whispered, “Why me?” He wasn’t asking God. He was just talking to the air, to himself. “I just wanted a wife. I just wanted to be loved.

” His mother walked in quietly. “Check her.” He didn’t turn. Do you want some tea? He shook his head. She sat beside him. You’ve been quiet for too long. What should I say, Mama? Anything. Anger, fear, even pain, but not silence. Silence is dangerous. He finally looked at her. Do you think this will ever stop? Yes, she said, because they picked the wrong family.

 Later that night, Officer Kelvin returned to the pastor with bad news. Sir, Chief Eeken is dead. The pastor froze. How? Car crash. Brakes failed. His driver survived and said the car acted strange just before the accident. And honorable Felix still missing. The pastor sat down slowly. They are reducing the list.

 We need to move faster, Kelvin said. We will, the pastor replied. We just need one name. One real name of anyone in the cult who hasn’t disappeared. Kelvin opened his notebook. There’s one. A woman. Uin mentioned by Adce. We traced her to a fashion house in Aaka. Is she dangerous? Very rumored to be the one who handles charm preparation, but she has no criminal record.

 Untouchable, rich, popular. Then she’s our next stop. At midnight, the pastor returned to the altar alone. He lay flat on the ground. God, we have reached the limit of our strength. We need your fire. Not tomorrow, tonight. Light the next step and show us the traitor hiding among us.

 As he prayed, a gust of wind entered the room. and in his spirit he saw a face halfcovered but familiar from inside the church. The altar was dark. The only light came from a single candle Pastor Ayula had lit hours ago. He had been praying since midnight, lying face down, waiting.

 When he finally sat up, his face was wet with sweat, but his eyes were sharper than ever. He had seen it. Not a full face, not a name, but he saw the edge of a white robe, a woman’s hands, a voice whispering behind his pulpit. Someone close, someone trusted, someone from the church. He stood up slowly, picked up the candle, and walked back to his office.

 There, spread out on the table, were all the ministry lists, choir members, ushers, prayer warriors, Sunday school teachers. every name, every face. He picked up a pen, circled four names, one from each department. Then he called brother MBA. Call a special meeting, he said. Tell them it’s urgent.

 All heads of department must attend. And MBA, lock the gate after they arrive. No one leaves until I say so. By 7:00 a.m., 10 people were seated in the pastor’s conference room. None of them knew why they had been summoned so early. Some looked worried. Some tried to hide their fear. Sister Fer, the choir mistress, sat near the window.

 Deacon Ken, the usher team head, sat beside her. Elder Chinier from the prayer team, adjusted her rapper every few seconds. Sister Vivien, the youth leader, kept checking her phone, her leg tapping nervously under the table. Pastor Aula entered holding a Bible in one hand and a bottle of oil in the other. He didn’t greet anyone. He didn’t smile. He walked straight to the whiteboard at the front of the room.

 He wrote three words. Who betrayed us? The room fell completely silent. Then the pastor turned to face them. We stopped a wedding last week. He began. And with it, we stopped to death. But we didn’t stop the enemy. Everyone looked at each other. No one spoke. They came to the church, poured blood at my door.

 They chased us from the mountain. And last night, they killed Chief Eeken. Gasps filled the room. And I’ve seen it clearly now, the pastor continued. They have someone here. Someone who knows our steps, our plans, someone sitting in this very room. All eyes shifted nervously. I’m going to ask some questions, he said, and I want answers. Real answers.

 If you lie, the Holy Spirit will expose it. He walked to Sister Fer. How long have you been in this church? 10 years, sir. Where were you last Friday night? At home, sir. Can anyone confirm that? My daughter, she lives with me. He nodded. Moved on to Deacon Ken. Have you seen any strange faces in church lately? Yes, sir. A woman I’ve never seen before.

 She came during Thursday prayer meeting, sat at the back, and left before closing. Did you follow her? No, sir. I thought she was just a visitor. The pastor turned to Elder Chinier. You’ve served on the prayer team for over 15 years. Have you ever suspected witchcraft activity inside the church? She swallowed hard. Yes, sir.

 2 years ago during a vigil, someone placed a charm under the keyboard. We found it during cleanup. Did we find out who placed it? No, sir. The case went cold. He moved to Sister Vivien. Where were you last night between 1000 p.m. and midnight? Viven blinked. I was I was home, sir. Alone? Yes. No one saw you. No, I live alone. The pastor walked back to the front of the room. He didn’t say anything for a few seconds.

 Then he pointed straight at Sister Vivian. You’re lying. Her eyes widened. Sir, you were not at home last night. Yes, I was. You were seen at the junction wearing a red scarf. You entered a tricycle. The driver said, “You gave him a bundle of herbs to deliver to someone called Madame K.” Vivian’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. Everyone stared at her.

 “Do you know who Madame Kay is?” the pastor asked. Vivien stood up slowly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. The pastor took a step forward. “Then explain why your name was circled in Ad’s notebook. She listed every girl who trained under Madame K. Your name was there right under hers. Vivian’s hands started shaking.

 I She looked around, her eyes full of fear. Pastor, I swear you lied about your name when you joined this church. He said your real name is Ngoyum. You changed it 5 years ago. Moved from Inyugu to Umans after a court case disappeared. Sweat poured down her face. Did you plant the blood at my door? the pastor asked.

 She didn’t answer. Did you? Viven dropped to the floor. I didn’t mean to stay this long, she cried. I was only sent to monitor just to watch and report. But when the wedding failed, they said I failed my task. They told me I was next if I didn’t finish what Ad started. Who are they? The pastor asked. Madame K. She works with three men.

 They meet once a month. I don’t know their names. I only deliver messages. What kind of messages? Names, faces, schedules, prayer topics, anything that shows the church is getting stronger. The pastor knelt beside her. Do you want freedom? She nodded, crying. Then give us one thing, one real thing we can use to end this.

Viven looked up. They meet next week, Thursday night. in a house behind the abattoire in Awaka. It’s their new center. I was supposed to bring another girl there for training. The pastor stood up. Give me the address. She did. Then the pastor turned to officer Kelvin who had been waiting outside. Prepare your men, he said.

 We strike on Thursday. 3 days later, Thursday night, a walker, a small van pulled up behind a row of shops near the abandoned slaughter house. Inside were Pastor Ayula, Officer Kelvin, and two police officers. All wore plain clothes. They moved quietly, entered through a narrow path. In front of them was a bungalow with black curtains over the windows.

 The door was guarded by a tall man wearing all black. He held a stick, not a gun, but his eyes were deadly. Kelvin gave a signal. One officer moved left, another right. They approached from both sides and grabbed the guard quickly. No time to shout. The pastor and Kelvin pushed open the door.

 Inside were five people, two women, three men seated in a circle, candles all around them. On the table were charms, red powder, and photos. One photo was checkers. Another was Pastor Aula’s. They froze when the door burst open. One of the women stood and shouted a strange word, but the pastor lifted his Bible. In the name of Jesus. The candles went out by themselves.

 Wind blew through the windows. Two men tried to run. Officers tackled them. One woman tried to bite her tongue. The pastor grabbed her mouth and prayed loudly. No more blood. No more secrets. We break this altar now. The floor began to shake. Then silence. The evil had been broken. One week later, the church was full again.

 This time, not for a wedding, but for thanksgiving. Checker walked to the altar holding his mother’s hand. He looked around. Then took the microphone. I almost died, he said. Not just in my body, but in my soul. I thought I was getting married, but God showed me I was walking into a trap.

 Today I thank him for opening my eyes, for giving me back my life. The crowd clapped. Some cried. Then pastor Ayula stepped up. He looked around the room slowly. Not every wedding is heaven’s will, he said. And not every smile means love. But when God fights for you, even secret enemies will fail. Let today remind us evil can wear a veil but it cannot escape the eyes of God.

 The church stood to their feet and this time the altar was safe.