A chill ran down my spine as I felt two powerful hands tightening around my neck. The nails seemed to penetrate my throat, cutting off my air supply entirely. Panic surged through me, but there was no way to scream or gasp for breath—my windpipe was blocked, my body trembling. Desperately, I tried to twist my head, to see who was suffocating me. With every ounce of effort, I managed to shift my gaze just enough to catch a glimpse of something unimaginable. I could scarcely believe what my eyes were telling me.

Earlier the event

It had been a long journey back from Eastern Cape, the kind of bus ride that left one weary and longing for nothing more than the comfort of home. I finally arrived in my apartment in Western Cape around 2 a.m., exhausted and eager to sink into the warmth of my bed. Without a second thought, I collapsed into the blankets, too tired to even remove my shoes.

I was deep in a dreamless sleep when I suddenly awoke to a strange, cold breeze brushing against my skin. Groggily, I opened my eyes and found that my blanket had slipped off the bed and onto the floor. Without hesitation, I reached down and pulled it back up, settling once more under its warmth. But as I began to drift off again, the chill returned. This time, I woke up to find not only the blanket on the floor, but neatly folded. My heart skipped a beat.

I lived alone, and no one had access to my apartment. I could not fathom how the blanket had moved on its own, nor why it had been folded so carefully. Confused and a little unnerved, I tried to make sense of it. But as I sat there, lost in thought, I began to hear muffled voices. They sounded like people having a conversation somewhere in the room.

I froze. My eyes darted around the darkness, searching for the source of the voices, but there was nothing there—just empty space. Panic rose within me, and I reached for my phone, hoping the time would offer me some comfort. But the time was frozen. My phone displayed 2 a.m., the same time I had arrived, though it felt like hours had passed.

Frantically, I checked my battery—it was low, and my phone had no service. Something was terribly wrong. I could not explain it. I felt trapped in some bizarre, distorted version of time and reality.

In a desperate attempt to shut my mind off, I swallowed some sleeping pills, hoping they would bring me the peace I so desperately needed. But even as I lay under the blankets, I could hear the voices returning—this time, they were coming from under my bed. Their mumbled conversation was unintelligible, but the intensity of it sent shivers through my body. It felt as if they were debating something of dire importance, but I could not understand a single word.

Fear gripped me. I did not know what to do. My only instinct was to remain as still as possible, pretending to be dead, hoping that whatever was happening would pass. I lost track of time as I lay there, drenched in sweat, my body shaking with terror. I did not dare breathe, not a single movement, for fear that whatever was in the room with me would notice.

Then, the footsteps came.

They were slow, deliberate, as if someone—or something—was creeping closer. My blanket was slowly pulled away from me, and a low, rasping voice hissed in the darkness: “You were not supposed to be back. Not yet.”

Frozen, my heart raced. My body trembled uncontrollably, but I could not move. As the blanket was dragged off, I tried to resist, but the force was overwhelming. And then, I saw it.

A small, twisted creature, hunched over with grotesque features. Its skin was a sickly gray, its eyes enormous and unblinking. It had no nose, and a few jagged teeth protruded from its mouth. Behind it, there was another figure—a tall, gaunt creature, shackled with a leash tied around its neck. The taller creature seemed to be some kind of slave to the short one.

I tried to scream, to cry out, but the words wouldn’t come. My throat was dry, my mouth unable to form sound. I could hear the rattling of chains as the small creature tugged the larger one forward, pulling it out of the room, vanishing into the darkness as quickly as they had appeared.

Suddenly, everything returned to normal. The oppressive silence lifted, the weight in the room dissipated, and the time on my phone moved forward. I looked at the clock. It was 10 a.m.

Confused and terrified, I sprang from the bed and immediately went to a traditional herbalist. When I explained what had happened, he looked at me with grave concern. The apartment, he explained, belonged to the Queen Mother of Witches—a powerful figure who ruled over the three kingdoms of devil worshippers: the Forest, the Underworld, and the Marine Kingdom. This was a place where evil forces gathered, a meeting point for sinister plots.

The spirit of the Queen Mother, the herbalist told me, still lingered in the bed where I slept. I had unknowingly been sleeping on top of her resting place, and because of this, I had attracted the attention of dark forces, such as the tokoloshe and the zombie-like creature. If I didn’t act soon, I would surely become one of her recruits.

Shaken, I left the herbalist’s home with instructions and herbs to protect myself. But I knew I could never stay in that apartment again. I booked a bus back to Eastern Cape that very afternoon.

The Return

When I arrived the next day, my father and stepmother were shocked by my sudden return. I recounted everything that had happened, explaining in detail the horror I had experienced. They, too, were concerned and suggested that I seek the guidance of a powerful herbalist in the village.

That evening, after dinner, I sat on the couch, trying to make sense of everything. My mind raced with thoughts and questions, struggling to understand the meaning behind it all. Slowly, I drifted off to sleep.

It was then that I felt it—the same hands, powerful and unyielding, tightening around my neck. The nails cut into my skin, and I could feel the pressure against my windpipe, choking me. I struggled to turn my head, to see who was suffocating me, and what I saw froze me in place.

There, above me, with a sinister smile on her face, was my stepmother. She was dressed in black and red, her expression twisted in malevolent glee. She was the one who had been choking me, her grip unrelenting.

And then, with a malicious whisper, she said, “It’s time for you to join us”.

TO BE CONTINUED ON PART 3

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