Lucas screamed in absolute, visceral terror. He pounded his fists against the burning door, choking on the thick, black smoke. His colleagues in the main shop heard his agonizing, flesh-tearing screams. They rushed to the back, grabbing fire extinguishers, desperately trying to break the door down.
But they couldn’t even get within ten feet of the storeroom. The heat radiating from the flames was intensely, unnaturally hot, pushing them back.
They stood there in horror, listening as Lucas was burned alive, utterly consumed by the fiery, relentless sweep of a mother’s vengeance. When the fire department finally extinguished the blaze, the only thing burned in the entire building was the back room.
By 4:00 PM, the absolute, paralyzing terror had fully consumed Simon.
He had heard about Jean. He had seen the smoke rising from Lucas’s boutique. He knew exactly what was happening. Boris had come back from the dead to collect their souls.
Simon completely lost his mind. He bolted from his shop, sprinting wildly through the crowded, chaotic streets of the capital city.
He was screaming at the top of his lungs, his eyes wide with madness. He was constantly looking over his shoulder, dodging and weaving through traffic.
But he wasn’t just running. He was being physically assaulted by an invisible force.
Horrified pedestrians watched in sheer confusion and terror as Simon sprinted down the sidewalk. Suddenly, his shirt would violently rip open across his back. Deep, bloody, vicious lash marks would magically appear on his skin, as if he were being brutally whipped by an invisible, relentless flagellant.
CRACK. Simon screamed in agony, stumbling forward, clutching his arm as another invisible lash tore through his flesh. He was dancing a horrific, macabre dance of torture in the middle of the street, punished by a supernatural fury that only he could feel.
Driven by the unbearable, agonizing pain and the absolute terror of the pursuit, Simon realized there was only one place on earth he could go. Only one person who could possibly stop the demon chasing him.
He ran for miles, bleeding, exhausted, and weeping, until he finally reached the gates of Boris’s upscale villa.
Mama Kafui was sitting calmly on the front porch, her hands folded in her lap, her eyes cold and empty, simply waiting.
Simon collapsed onto the manicured grass right at her feet. He was a broken, bleeding, sobbing mess.
“Forgive us! Please, God, forgive us, Mama!” Simon wailed, grabbing her ankles, his eyes rolling back in his head with sheer terror as he felt the invisible presence looming directly behind him. “We did it! We poisoned Boris! We were so jealous of his success! We put the poison in his drink! Please, I beg you, stop this curse! Call him off!”
Mama Kafui did not flinch. She did not offer a word of forgiveness. She simply looked down at the murderer of her son with eyes as cold as a frozen grave.
“The innocent blood has spoken,” Kafui whispered.
Simon gasped. He clutched his chest, his eyes bulging wide with an ultimate, paralyzing terror as he stared at something horrifying standing directly behind Kafui.
He let out one final, gurgling breath, and his heart violently exploded in his chest. He collapsed face-first into the dirt, dead.
The sweep was complete.
Chapter 8: The Final Rest
That night, at exactly the stroke of midnight, Mama Kafui walked the long, silent road back to the cemetery.
She stood before the grave of her son. The moon was hidden behind thick clouds, but she didn’t need light to see what was waiting for her.
Resting exactly where she had placed it the night before, was the traditional palm broom. But it was no longer the clean, yellowed palm fronds she had purchased at the market.
The heavy bristles of the broom were entirely soaked, dripping with thick, dark, crimson blood. The horrific, undeniable evidence of absolute justice served.
Kafui did not scream. She did not shrink away.
She reached down and picked up the heavy, blood-soaked broom. She carried it to a small, cleared patch of dirt near the edge of the cemetery. Using a small bottle of kerosene and a match, she ignited a small, controlled fire.
She placed the bloody broom into the center of the flames.
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