MONEY RITUAL GONE WRONG
I Did a Money Ritual, L What Happened to me is scary.
Money rituals are real.
And they always, always come with a price.
I was broke, desperate, and drowning in debt. Rent was overdue, my landlord was threatening to throw me out, and my phone buzzed with calls from loan sharks who no longer bothered to be polite. Life had never felt this hopeless.
Then, on one particularly miserable evening, I got a message from an unknown number:
**"Are you ready to change your life? No going back after this."**
I should have ignored it. In fact, I almost deleted it. But desperation is a dangerous thing—it makes you curious, reckless. It makes you believe in things you wouldn’t normally consider.
So I replied.
**"Who is this?"**
Almost instantly, another message came through.
**"Someone who can help. Meet me at midnight, behind the old church."**
I felt a chill crawl down my spine. Midnight? The old church? It all sounded like the beginning of a horror story, but my empty pockets and growling stomach silenced my doubts.
I had nothing to lose.
### **A Deal with the Devil?**
That night, I dressed in all black, as if trying to blend into the darkness itself. The streets were eerily quiet as I walked toward the abandoned church. I hesitated at the entrance, my heart pounding.
Then I saw him.
A tall man, dressed in a long robe, his face hidden in the shadows. He didn’t speak at first, just studied me like he was reading my soul. When he finally spoke, his voice was deep, unsettling.
**"You want money. You want power. But are you willing to pay the price?"**
I swallowed hard. "What’s the price?"
He chuckled, a sound that made my skin crawl. **"Nothing is free, my friend. But don’t worry, you won’t have to give your life… just a small sacrifice."**
A small sacrifice? I nodded slowly, not trusting my voice.
He pulled out a small black pouch and handed it to me.
**"Take this home. At exactly 3:00 AM, sprinkle the powder inside over a mirror while saying, 'O great ones, bless me with wealth.' Then, go to sleep. By morning, you’ll have your first sign."**
I took the pouch with shaky hands. "That’s it?"
His lips curved into something that was almost a smile. **"For now."**
Then he turned and disappeared into the night.
### **The First Sign**
At exactly 3:00 AM, I followed his instructions. The powder smelled strange, like burnt wood and something metallic. As I whispered the words, my reflection in the mirror flickered—just for a second.
My heart nearly stopped.
But nothing else happened. No sudden burst of energy, no booming voices from the underworld. Just silence.
Feeling foolish, I climbed into bed and forced myself to sleep.
The next morning, I woke up to a message on my phone. My bank account had been credited with **$5,000.**
My breath caught in my throat. Where had the money come from? Who sent it?
I didn’t ask. I didn’t care. I was rich—or at least, richer than I was yesterday.
I paid my rent immediately, cleared some debts, and even bought myself a nice meal. For the first time in months, I felt free.
But deep down, something didn’t feel right.
### **The Price of Wealth**
The next few weeks were a dream. Money kept flowing into my account from unknown sources. I never asked questions—I just spent. New clothes, expensive drinks, even a little car.
Then, the nightmares started.
Every night, I dreamt of shadows whispering my name. They stood at the foot of my bed, their voices like wind through dead leaves.
**"Time to pay."**
At first, I brushed it off as paranoia. Maybe I was just guilty, knowing that money didn’t come from a clean source.
Then, something worse happened.
One night, as I was coming back from a party, I found my apartment door slightly open. My stomach dropped. I stepped inside, heart racing, only to find everything untouched.
Except the mirror.
The mirror in my bedroom had cracked in the center, and something was written across it in smeared red letters.
**"One week."**
I didn’t sleep that night.
### **The Final Warning**
I tried to reach out to the man who had given me the powder, but the number was no longer in service.
A week passed, and nothing happened. I started to convince myself it was all in my head.
Then, on the seventh night, my world changed forever.
I was in my living room when I heard the front door creak open. I froze. My heart pounded in my ears as slow, deliberate footsteps echoed down the hall.
I wanted to run, to hide, but my body wouldn’t move.
Then I saw them.
Dark figures, featureless, filling my doorway. Their presence was suffocating, an overwhelming force pressing down on me.
One stepped forward, its shadowy hand reaching toward me.
**"Your debt is due."**
I screamed. The lights flickered. The room spun.
And then—blackness.
### **The Aftermath**
I woke up in a hospital bed. My neighbors had found me unconscious, my apartment ransacked like a storm had hit it. The doctor said I had suffered from a "panic attack," but I knew better.
The money was gone. Every single dollar I had mysteriously vanished from my account. My fancy car? Stolen. My expensive clothes? Nowhere to be found.
It was as if the wealth had never existed.
I left town the next day. I don’t know what happened that night, and I don’t want to know. But one thing is certain:
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