The story I never told

if it's true? I buried it deep, afraid of what I might find if I dug it up. Yet the more I ignored it,

n and sadness. "Beenzu," she said, voice trembling, "Every time I'm wi

chill settled over me.

are talking. They sa

I'd tried to forget-moments when people seemed to look at me with that same strange pity, that same knowing fear. I remembered

prophet's number and said, "Tell him you got the cell number from me." I didn't think much of it, but I called, desperate to bring my brother hom

d on the walls, and his gaze was sharp, piercing. After a quick prayer, I barely started talking about my brother when he cut me sho

sed. Wasn't I he

see them going to an anthill around 19 hours, burying something there. And if you're not careful, you'll get frustrated and drink beer, th

words echoing with an eerie cert

one to believe in such things. That night, though, I couldn't shak

he present. Her eyes were wide with concern as she handed me the phone, already dial

s voice on the other end, calm yet unsettling. "Hello

n't sure what she meant. "Maybe

for me to move forward. I had no idea who she was, but her voice held a strange authority. I remembered another strange conversation-one I'd had

e sharp. "Beenzu, which people are you talking about? You

the woman on the phone, those old fears crept b

not sure,"

can come there. I'll need

that." The lady beside me shot me a sympathetic look.

at a small mini-mart, whiskey and lagers lined up on the counter. I'd tried to tell him and another friend, Stewart, about the prophet's words, but

e real? Or was I losing myself in fear? But deep down, I knew one thing:

contin