YOU WONT BELEIVE WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM AFTER HE URINATED ON AN ELDERLY WOMAN GRAVE
Episode 1✅
Once upon a time in a small village surrounded by thick forests, there lived a young man named Tunde. Tunde was known for being playful—sometimes too playful. He would often joke about things that the elders of the village said were sacred or serious.
One evening, Tunde and his friends were playing a game of hide and seek near the village cemetery. The sun was setting, and the orange glow painted the sky, but the cemetery was dark and silent. Tunde’s friends warned him not to go too close to the graves.
“Don’t mess around there,” one of his friends, Sola, whispered. “The spirits don’t like it.”
But Tunde laughed and shrugged. “Spirits? That’s just a story to scare children,” he said boldly. He wanted to prove he wasn’t afraid of anything.
As the game went on, Tunde felt the need to relieve himself. Instead of walking a little farther into the bush, he chose a grave nearby. The grave was old, with moss growing on the tombstone, and it had an eerie silence around it.
With a smirk on his face, Tunde said to himself, “It’s just dirt like everywhere else.”
Then he unzipped his trousers and urinated on the grave.
The air around him suddenly became cold, and the rustling of the leaves stopped. It was as if the whole world was holding its breath. Tunde zipped up and laughed.
“See? Nothing happened,” he said loudly, his voice echoing through the stillness.
But as he turned to leave, he tripped over a root that seemed to come out of nowhere and fell flat on his face. His friends, who were hiding nearby, burst out laughing. Tunde stood up, dusting himself off, and muttered, “Stupid root.”
That night, as Tunde lay in his bed, strange things began to happen. First, he felt a cold wind sweep through his room even though the windows were tightly shut. Then he heard faint whispers, like someone was calling his name.
“Tunde… Tunde…” the voice hissed.
He sat up quickly, his heart pounding. “Who’s there?” he called out, but there was no answer.
Suddenly, he felt something tug at his blanket. Tunde’s eyes widened as he looked down and saw the edge of his blanket slowly sliding off the bed by itself. He jumped up, screaming, and ran to his parents’ room.
“Mama! Papa! There’s something in my room!” he cried.
His mother lit a lantern and followed him back to his room, but when they got there, everything looked normal. The blanket was back on the bed, and the room was quiet.
“Tunde, you’ve been watching too many scary stories,” his father said, shaking his head.
But Tunde knew what he saw and heard.
The next day, Tunde started feeling strange. Wherever he went, he felt like someone was watching him. He kept hearing the same whisper:
“Tunde… you disrespected me…”
But no one else could hear it.
The villagers noticed Tunde wasn’t his usual playful self anymore. He was jumpy, quiet, and always looking over his shoulder. His friends started teasing him.
“What’s wrong, Mr. Brave? Scared of ghosts now?” they laughed.
But Tunde wasn’t laughing.
Days turned into weeks, and Tunde’s strange behavior became the talk of the village. He barely ate, avoided his friends, and refused to go near the cemetery. But no matter where he went, the whispers followed him.
At night, his sleep was disturbed by chilling dreams—dreams of the grave he had disrespected. In one dream, an old man with hollow eyes and a long bony finger pointed at him.
“You defiled my resting place,” the figure said in a voice like cracking wood. “Until you make amends, you will know no peace.”
Tunde woke up screaming, sweat pouring down his face. His mother, worried sick, ran into his room.
“Tunde, what is happening to you? Tell me the truth!” she demanded.
At first, Tunde hesitated, but he couldn’t hold it in any longer.
“Mama,” he stammered, “I… I urinated on a grave by the cemetery. It was a joke, but now something is after me.”
His mother’s face turned pale. She grabbed his hand and led him straight to the village elder, Barara Aan.
Barara Aan was the wisest man in the village. He had a long gray beard and eyes that seemed to see right through you. When Tunde and his mother explained what had happened, Barara Aan sighed deeply and shook his head.
“You have angered a restless spirit,” Barara Aan said gravely. “That grave belongs to someone who suffered greatly in life. Their spirit does not tolerate disrespect.”
“What… what can I do to stop this?” Tunde asked, his voice trembling.
“You must appease the spirit,” Barara Aan replied. “But it will not be easy. You must visit the grave again and offer a proper apology. You will need items for a cleansing ritual—white chalk, palm oil, a rooster, and kola nuts. And you must be sincere in your heart.”
Tunde’s stomach churned at the thought of returning to the cemetery.
“Can’t we just do the ritual from here?” he pleaded.
Barara Aan gave him a stern look. “The spirit is tied to the grave. If you do not face your wrongdoing where it happened, the spirit will not forgive you.”
That evening, Tunde, his mother, and Barara Aan gathered the ritual items and set off for the cemetery. As they approached the graveyard, the air grew cold again, and Tunde felt the weight of invisible eyes watching him. He shivered, clutching his mother’s arm.
When they reached the grave, Barara Aan drew a white chalk circle around it and placed the items carefully on the tombstone.
“Kneel, Tunde,” Barara Aan instructed. “Speak to the spirit. Apologize for what you have done.”
Tunde’s knees wobbled as he knelt before the grave. His voice cracked as he said:
“I… I am sorry. I didn’t mean to disrespect you. Please forgive me and leave me in peace.”
For a moment, nothing happened. Then the wind picked up, howling through the trees. The palm oil in the ritual bowl began to bubble, and the rooster squawked loudly before falling silent.
Barara Aan’s voice boomed over the wind: “Spirit, hear us…”
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