THE RICH MAN WHO BROUGHT TROUBLE TO OUR VILLAGE

 The Rich Man Who Brought Trouble to Our Village. 

The rich man who came to our village and gave us money that turned into snakes at night. 

Not long ago, a strange man came to our village. He was very rich, dressed in fine clothes that shone in the sunlight. He didn’t look like the people we usually see in the village, so when he started walking around, everyone noticed. His smile was wide, and his eyes were filled with mystery.

The man began to give out money to the villagers. At first, we were all happy. Who wouldn't want to receive such gifts, especially from a rich man who didn’t ask for anything in return? People lined up to receive his money, and it seemed like a blessing from the heavens. He was kind to everyone, sharing coins with the elderly, women, and even children.

But there was something strange about the way he gave out the money. Not everyone received both coins and banknotes. Some villagers would only get the shiny coins, while others—those who would later die—received both the coins and the crisp notes. We didn’t think much of it at first. The money was a blessing, or so it seemed.

However, as time went on, a darker truth began to unfold.

By nightfall, the coins given to those who received both the coins and notes would change. They didn’t just stay as coins—they turned into a large, venomous snake. Not just any snake, but one that slithered through the village in the dark of night, causing terror among us. The snake, with its black, shiny scales and sharp fangs, would come to life after the money had transformed, and it would leave death in its wake.

The first death was quiet. It was the old woman who had been given both coins and a note. She was found in the morning, lifeless and still. There were no signs of struggle, no obvious cause of death. But soon, more deaths followed. The next victim was a young man, a farmer, who had also received both the coins and the note money. His body was found at the edge of the village, as if he had tried to run but collapsed before reaching safety.

That’s when the fear began to spread. The snake was no longer a mere legend; it had come to claim its victims. The people who received both the coins and the notes were always the ones to die. The snake was always there, silently slithering in the dark, watching and waiting for the moment to strike.

As the deaths grew more frequent, we realized that something dark was happening. The man, who had once seemed so kind, wasn’t just giving out money; he was selecting his sacrifices. The coins and notes were not blessings, but tokens marking the ones who would die. Every time the snake appeared, it meant another soul had been taken, chosen by the rich man and his dark rituals.

The villagers grew terrified. At night, doors were locked tightly, and children were kept inside. We began to fear the very money we had once welcomed. Those who had received both the coins and the notes became paranoid, knowing that death was waiting for them. They began to hide, to avoid the snake’s visit, but there was no escape. The snake would always find its way to them.

But it wasn’t just those who had received the full amount of money who suffered. The fear spread to everyone in the village. We all knew someone who had died, and we all knew the snake was the cause. It wasn’t enough to know the snake was real—we lived in constant dread that it would return, that death would visit us next.

The village that had once been filled with laughter and peace was now a place of mourning. We could no longer trust the gifts of strangers, no matter how kind they seemed. The snake’s visits were regular, and each time it appeared, someone was gone by morning. The elders gathered in the middle of the night to discuss what could be done, but it was too late. The rich man had already left, vanishing into the shadows, just as quickly as he had come.

The snake no longer appeared after his departure, but the damage had been done. The people who had survived, those who had not been chosen, now carried the weight of fear and suspicion. We no longer trusted the kindness of others, and we no longer trusted each other. The money the rich man had given us wasn’t a gift—it was a curse.

The village, once a place of togetherness, was now haunted by the memories of the deaths and the snake. Every time we saw a coin or a note, we remembered the dark power that had once come with it. The fear of death had taken hold of us all, and we knew that we could never truly escape it.

The rich man was gone, but his mark on our village would last forever. We had learned a hard lesson: sometimes, what seems like a blessing can be nothing more than a trap, and sometimes, those who offer gifts are only looking to take away something far more precious—our lives.