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Demons Go To Church

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He had intended to make it a brief prayer.

That night.

When he laid his hands on this girl.

A vocalist.

Whose mellifluous voice had earned her hundreds of invitations to sing in many church programmes.

And people often confess to how much they love to hear her sing.

How deep her voice penetrates their soul.

How divine are the aura she carries while she sings.

And after she had sang.

In a praise and worship night.

This friend of mine.

A guest speaker.

Was persuaded in his spirit to pray for her.

And while he was praying.

The lights in the church began to go off and on.

In quick succession.

And disturbing manner.

That some members had to go check if there was a problem with the generator.

But just as they left, with the prayer still on, she started showing signs of demonic possession.

Speaking in different voices.

And languages.

Smiling evilly.

And with some type of paranormal swiftness.

She motioned to the wall.

And started to walk backwards up the wall.

They all thought it was the generator that tripped the lights off and on.

But it was not the generator.

It was her.

And that was when the horror started.

That was when my friend and everyone began to bombard her with Holy Ghost fire.

The blood of Jesus.

And all manners of prayers.

Prayers that seem to have subdued her powers.

That induced her to confess.

A confession that left everyone in utter stupefaction.

That made them cast aspersions on the GO who invited my friend.

That ended his ministry that night.

And before dawn.

The news was everywhere in the neighbourhood.

About this girl.

An unwilling victim.

Possessed by a 6000-year-old demon.

As the demon in her claimed.

A demon that metamorphosed her to an object of desire.

She was the host.

And the demon was the intruder who came into her life with a manifest of satanic operations.

She could hardly do a thing on her own.

The demon used her looks to attract credulous men.

And made her feed on coal, insects, and her own urine.

You’ll never think those were the things she ate for food.

Maybe not all the time.

Because she was beautiful in all shades.


Filled to perfection.

And she had it all.

Big boobs.

Comely face.

Innocent look.

Flawless figure.

They were her tools for manipulation.

The tools she used to magnet randy men.

And entrap them in her youthful allure.

And she had mastered to use them very well.

To drag mighty men into her net.

She was 21 at the time.

But addicted to sleeping with married men.

Most of which she said she met in the church.

Different churches.

Mostly pastors.

And not one.

Not two.

Not three marriages she wrecked.

She said it was her mission.

To ruin happy homes.

To extinguish the intimacy in Christian couples.

Their spiritual fervour.

Trust for each other.

And finally lead the man into adultery.

She led many men into adultery.

Including the pastor who owned the church they were.

And when the prayer for her intensified.

And the demon was commanded to leave her body.

She started screaming.



And writhing on the floor.

She began to confess.

With voices that were not hers.

Then she screamed, ‘I’m hell in a human body!’

She laughed hysterically.


And rejoined, ‘I’m hell in a human body, don’t command me. I use this body to fight, and destroy pastors. I hate to see them happy, prosper and at peace with their wives’.

And when my friend asked her how she operates.

She said.

No, not her but the demon in her said, ‘I don’t operate. She operates for me with her body. I use her body to seduce men and the power in her eyes to make them need me. Any pastor who looks into my eyes will feel desperate to have me. This is how I seduced this piece of bread you call pastor. Yes, that man behind you, I seduced him to sleep with me, and he keeps coming back to me since each night with me gives him the anointing to perform miracles’.

Then she pointed at my friend.

And with a stern look on her face, she said, ‘You, let me warn you, stop announcing my activities. Stop telling people about perilous times, evil, hell, crises. What is your business? Why don’t you mind your business?’

Port Harcourt!

Poemify Academy

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