Madam, stop! Spit it out! That meat is human flesh! the housemaid screamed,..-phuongthao
Madam, stop! Spit it out! That meat is human flesh! the housemaid screamed, knocking the spoon of egusi soup from Mrs. Angela’s trembling hand in pure terror.
Are you mad? Did you just pour away my food? Angela shouted, rising abruptly, anger flashing across her face as the rich soup splashed onto polished tiles.
Madam, please… look inside the pot in the kitchen. Master is not cooking goat meat. He is cooking the baby that went missing yesterday, the maid whispered shakily.
Angela froze completely, her breath hitching painfully. She stared at the spilled soup, then at the weeping maid, then slowly toward the kitchen door.
If you lie to me, I will sack you today, Angela warned, though her voice lacked confidence as she stepped cautiously toward the kitchen.
HOW IT STARTED began long before that horrifying evening, when Angela married Chief Badmus, the wealthiest and most influential man in their entire village.
Badmus possessed cars, houses, political connections, and wealth nobody could measure. Many young women desired him passionately, yet he selected Angela without hesitation.
Angela’s mother celebrated loudly, boasting to neighbors that her daughter had entered money, as though wealth alone guaranteed lifelong happiness and peace.
Her father, however, frowned deeply and warned that nobody truly knew the source of Badmus’s immense fortune or mysterious connections.
Angela ignored those warnings, dazzled by luxury and affection, convinced that love and comfort would silence every rumor whispered behind closed village doors.
She moved into his enormous mansion filled with marble floors, glittering chandeliers, and servants who bowed respectfully whenever she walked past.
For the first year, life seemed perfect. Badmus pampered her constantly, gifting lace fabrics, gold jewelry, imported perfumes, and expensive shoes weekly.
Angela forgot her father’s fears entirely, believing she had married a hardworking businessman unfairly judged by jealous villagers.
Everything shifted quietly when Badmus joined a secret society called The Red Eaters, whose members rarely appeared publicly together.
He began returning home late, his clothes faintly stained with dark spots he dismissed as wine spills from meetings.
One evening, he carried in a heavy clay pot sealed tightly with red cloth and protective charms tied around its rim.
He called it the Pot of Life, warning Angela sternly that she must never open it under any circumstance.
If you open it, you will run mad, he declared, his tone colder than she had ever heard before.
Fear replaced curiosity, and Angela agreed, though unease settled inside her heart like an unwelcome tenant refusing eviction.
Soon, every Friday evening, Badmus locked himself inside the kitchen, cooking alone for hours without assistance.
The aroma drifting through the mansion felt different, strangely sweet yet metallic, clinging to the air uncomfortably.
He insisted it was special meat granting strength, prosperity, and protection, but forbade Angela from tasting it.
Angela’s curiosity intensified. Why would a billionaire insist on secret cooking rituals when servants were readily available?
Last week, he surprised her with unexpected enthusiasm, promising to cook her favorite soup for their anniversary celebration.
Angela felt cherished again, believing perhaps his strange behaviors were harmless traditions tied to success.
Badmus visited the market and returned carrying a large black nylon bag that dripped dark liquid steadily.
Is that a goat? Angela asked lightly, though discomfort flickered within her chest unexpectedly.
Yes, a special goat from the North, he replied too quickly, rushing inside without meeting her eyes.
He locked the kitchen door again, forgetting to close the window blinds facing the backyard.
The housemaid washing clothes outside glanced up and accidentally witnessed something horrifying through the open slats.
Badmus removed something small from the bag and placed it carefully upon the chopping board.
It was not shaped like any goat she had seen before.
It possessed tiny fingers and delicate toes that made her stomach churn violently.
He muttered strange incantations while cutting, his expression eerily serene and detached.
The maid recognized a tiny bracelet dangling from a severed wrist, identical to the missing neighbor’s child.
Terror seized her completely. She retreated silently, shaking uncontrollably within her cramped servant quarters.
If I speak, Master will kill me. If I stay silent, Madam will eat abomination, she whispered desperately.
She waited anxiously until Badmus finished cooking and disappeared upstairs to shower leisurely.
Angela meanwhile sat elegantly at the dining table, unaware, admiring the beautifully arranged dishes.
Badmus had already served the steaming egusi soup, smiling strangely before excusing himself to bathe.
Angela lifted her spoon slowly, inhaling the rich scent, unaware of the horror concealed within.
The maid burst into the dining room just before Angela tasted it, screaming frantically.
Now Angela approached the kitchen trembling, her pulse hammering painfully against her ribs.
She pushed the door open, the heavy scent engulfing her senses immediately.
The pot boiled vigorously upon the stove, steam swirling thickly around the dim space.
Angela stirred cautiously, her hands shaking uncontrollably as dread consumed her thoughts.
A small piece rose to the surface, floating slowly like a silent accusation.
It was unmistakably a human finger, adorned with a tiny silver ring.
Jesus, Angela screamed, dropping the lid as realization shattered her reality.
Heavy footsteps echoed behind her, deliberate and menacing.
So, you have discovered my secret, Badmus said calmly, voice devoid of affection.
Angela turned slowly, confronting her husband holding a butcher’s knife firmly.
His eyes appeared unnaturally dark, almost swallowing the light around him.
I warned you never to look inside, he said, stepping closer ominously.
Now you must complete the ritual, he added coldly.
Honey, please, Angela pleaded, retreating until the wall trapped her.
The oracle demanded I consume the heart of one who loves me, Badmus explained disturbingly.
I planned to sacrifice you eventually, but tonight will suffice, he concluded chillingly.
He raised the knife high, shadow stretching across the floor dramatically.
The maid crouched silently behind the refrigerator, spotting a heavy wooden pestle nearby.
Fear battled courage fiercely within her fragile heart.
She remembered the missing child’s mother crying helplessly earlier that week.
Summoning unexpected bravery, she gripped the pestle tightly.
As Badmus lunged toward Angela, the maid leaped forward courageously.
She struck his arm forcefully, the knife clattering across the floor loudly.
Badmus roared angrily, turning toward the maid with murderous fury blazing.
Angela seized the fallen knife instinctively, desperation empowering her trembling hands.
Together, they backed toward the door, hearts pounding wildly.
Badmus advanced again, wounded but relentless, chanting under his breath angrily.
Suddenly sirens wailed outside, neighbors alerted by the maid’s earlier secret message.
Police stormed inside swiftly, weapons drawn, overpowering Badmus before he escaped.
The Pot of Life was seized as evidence, its contents revealing unspeakable crimes.
Angela collapsed into tears, realizing her father’s warnings were tragically justified.
The maid held her tightly, both shaking yet alive.
Chief Badmus was arrested, his wealth exposed as bloodstained corruption.
The Red Eaters dissolved under investigation, secrets spilling into public disgrace.
Angela left the mansion permanently, choosing a modest life afterward.
She often visited the maid, grateful for her courage.
And every Friday, she remembered how close she came to becoming meat in the pot.