At 12, Her Aunt Sold Her To A Ritualist After Her Parents Died, Then The Unthinkable Happened

A few months after Norah’s mother mysteriously died while on her way to pick Norah up from school, everything in the young girl’s life began to fall apart. Her father had already died when she was just two, so her mother had been her whole world—her protector, her provider, her best friend. Life hadn’t been perfect, but it had been peaceful, until tragedy came knocking.

Norah’s mother, a hardworking and successful businesswoman, was driving to pick up her daughter one afternoon when her phone rang. It was her elder sister, Delilah, calling with an urgent request. “Please, sister, I need $1,000. It’s something very important. Please, I beg you,” Delilah said, her voice full of desperation.

Norah’s mother sighed. “Delilah, I don’t have the money right now. I just paid for new goods this morning. I promised to send you something next week. I’m expecting some payments.”

But Delilah’s tone quickly turned bitter. “That’s what you always say. You think you’re better than everyone else because you’re the most educated, the richest, the one everyone praises. But remember, nothing lasts forever.”

Norah’s mother was stunned. “Why are you talking like this? Have I ever turned you down? Have I ever refused to help you?”

“Yes,” Delilah snapped. “You always have excuses. One thing I believe is this: those who are on top today will be at the bottom tomorrow. And those at the bottom today will rise. Life is turn by turn. Enjoy your so-called success while it lasts, because it won’t last forever.”

Her words stung like fire. Norah’s mother gripped the steering wheel tighter, her voice breaking. “What kind of hatred is this, Delilah? What sort of deep envy are you hiding? I sponsored your first son through school. When your husband kicked you out, I rented a house for you. I even gave you money to start your business—money I worked day and night for. Tell me, have I not done enough?”

Delilah didn’t flinch. “And what does my son’s education or my useless husband have to do with the money I’m asking for today?” she snapped.

That was it. Norah’s mother couldn’t hold back anymore. “You’re an ungrateful human being. I swear on everything I’ve worked for, I will never give you a penny again. You’re an ingrate.”

Just as she was about to hang up, Delilah said something that chilled her to the bone: “You’re always talking about your business—business this, business that. But you don’t even know if you’ll live to see tomorrow to do that business. Death doesn’t ask for permission.”

Those words echoed in her mind like a curse. Her heart pounded. Her emotions overwhelmed her. She lost focus—and in the blink of an eye, a speeding truck slammed into her car. She died instantly.

The entire town mourned her loss. Everyone thought it was just another tragic accident. But no one knew about the chilling conversation she had with her sister Delilah just minutes before she died.

When Norah heard her mother had died, her world shattered. At just 11 years old, she had lost the most important person in her life. After the burial, her mother’s elder sister, Delilah, stepped forward and made big promises. She told everyone she would raise Norah like her own daughter, send her to the best schools, and give her a good life.

Her words gave Norah a tiny spark of hope. But behind those promises was a dark and hidden plan.

Soon after, Delilah took full control of all her late sister’s properties. She sold some, moved her own family into Norah’s mother’s house, and claimed everything for herself. That’s when Norah’s nightmare truly began.

Delilah, the woman who had promised to care for her, turned her into a housemaid in her own mother’s home. While her cousins attended expensive private schools—paid for with Norah’s mother’s money—Norah stayed home, scrubbing, cooking, and cleaning from morning to night.

Eight months passed. Delilah never enrolled Norah in any school. Instead, she used the money left by Norah’s mother to pamper her own children. Meanwhile, Norah lived like a ghost in the very house her mother built with love.

One afternoon, Delilah looked at the 12-year-old girl and coldly said, “You’re an orphan now. It’s time you start working for your own survival. I have no money to care for you, let alone send you to school.”

With trembling lips, Norah asked, “But Auntie… what about all my mommy’s properties that you sold?”

“I used all of that for your mother’s burial,” Delilah lied without flinching.

Norah tried again, “What about all the money that was in her account? The one you transferred to your own account that day?”

Delilah’s face hardened. “Are you stupid?” she barked. “Go to my room and my children’s rooms. Gather all the dirty clothes and wash them now.”

Norah quietly raised her hand, showing a fresh bandage. “Please, Auntie. A knife cut my finger while I was slicing vegetables. Can I use the washing machine instead?”

“If you touch my washing machine, I’ll kill you myself,” Delilah thundered. “I want every cloth washed by hand before my children return from school. Do you hear me?”

In that moment, Norah understood. She was no longer being raised—she was being used.

One morning, overwhelmed by pain, Norah sat in a corner, silently crying. All she wanted was to go back to school. Again and again she begged, but Delilah always said no.

That day, something inside Norah changed. She walked to her room, opened her small box, and pulled out her old school uniform. It no longer fit perfectly, but she wore it anyway. With her school bag in hand, she stepped outside and headed for the gate, hoping someone at her old school might help her.

But just as she stepped out, Delilah spotted her and screamed. Norah ran. She ran as fast as her legs could carry her, heading straight toward the busy expressway. Just as she was about to cross, a car came speeding toward her.

Tires screeched. People screamed.

The car came to a sudden stop.

A well-dressed man stepped out. It was Chief Lucas, a wealthy businessman known for helping orphans. “Young girl, why were you running across a busy road like that?” he asked kindly.

Through tears, Norah replied, “Ever since my mom died, my aunt turned me into a housemaid. She refused to send me to school. I was going to ask my old school for help.”

Chief Lucas was moved. He held her hand and said, “Come with me.”

He led her back to her compound and knocked. When Delilah appeared, he stood firm. “Madam, what exactly is your problem with this young girl?”

“She refused to do her chores and insisted on going to school. That’s the problem,” Delilah snapped.

Chief Lucas introduced himself as a philanthropist and said, “I want to take responsibility for her education and care. Would you permit me to take her?”

Delilah’s eyes narrowed. “Wait, do you mean you want to adopt her?”

“If that’s what it takes, yes,” he replied.

A sly smile spread across Delilah’s face. “Good. She’s a burden anyway. How much are you willing to pay?”

“How much do you want?” Chief Lucas asked.

“$1,000,” she said coldly—the exact amount she once begged Norah’s mother for, the same argument that led to her sister’s tragic death.

Chief Lucas paid the money and took Norah with him. Norah, though sad to leave her mother’s house, felt hopeful. She believed her suffering was finally over.

But she was wrong.

Chief Lucas was not who he seemed. Behind his wealth and kind smile hid a terrifying secret. He was a powerful ritualist who had already sacrificed his own wife for riches and long life. Now, he had only seven days left to live.

To survive, he had to sacrifice three virgin girls between the ages of 9 and 13. He already had two. All he needed now was one more. That final girl was Norah.

That night, while Norah was sleeping peacefully, he crept into her room and blew a strange powder over her face. It sent her into a deep, lifeless sleep. He carried her and the other girls to his secret occult altar deep in the forest.

But just as he stepped into the altar with the girls, something terrible and unimaginable happened.