From 23 Years of Witchcraft to Freedom in Christ

Chapter 1: A life of darkness Do you think a child of barely seven years old can stop a witch with just a single word? Today I'm going to share a testimony with you that will give you goosebumps and reveal the supernatural power of God at work through innocence. If you enjoy true stories of deliverance, please subscribe to the channel and hit the like button so more people can hear these powerful testimonies. My name is Yeri Hman and I am 36 years old. I live in Aayakucho, Peru. a cold city in the Andian highlands where the mountains seem to touch the sky. But my story isn't about the beauty of my homeland. It's about the darkness that consumed me for 23 years of my life. Today, in the summer of 1998, I finally have the strength to tell you what happened to me. When I was 13, my world was shattered. The armed conflict in Peru wasn't just news on the radio. It was real blood, real screams, and real death. I watched my father and 1 minutemy three younger brothers die in a single day. I survived because I hid beneath some floorboards while listening to the gunfire and the screaming. To this day, I can still smelt the gunpowder and the blood from that day. My aunt Sebastiana took me in after the massacre. She lived alone in a small house on the outskirts of Aayakucho, surrounded by mountains and silence. At first, I thought I was safe, but I was wrong. My aunt wasn't an ordinary woman. She was a healer, but not the kind who heals with herbs and prayers to God. She worked with dark entities whose very existence I hadn't even known about. One night, 3 months after the tragedy, my aunt took me to Kaka Hill. It was 3:00 Chapter 2: The assignment in the morning, and the Highland cold was chilling me to the bone. Yeah, Etsy. If you want to have power in this world, if you never want to feel helpless like you did that day again, you have to make a pact, she told me firmly. I was 13 years old. I was shattered inside, filled with rage at God for not saving my family. That night, I performed my first ritual. We sacrificed a black rooster. I mixed my blood with ashes and repeated words in quita that I didn't fully understand. I felt something enter me like a cold presence settling in my chest. My aunt branded my left arm with a hot iron to seal the pact. The pain was unbearable, but I didn't scream. From that day on, the scar remained as a permanent reminder. Years passed, and I became just like my aunt. I learned to cast spells, bind lovers, and lay curses. People sought me out in secret. Wives wanting to win back their husbands. merchants wanting to destroy their competition. Envious mothers wanting to harm other families. I charged well 500, 800, even 2,000 souls per job, depending on the request. But there was one group of people I hated with all my soul. The evangelicals, those Christians who spoke of a God of love, forgiveness, and miracles. To me, they were hypocrites. Where was their God when my family was killed? Why didn't he perform a miracle that day? Whenever I saw those happy families leaving their services with their smiling children and Bibles tucked under their arms, something inside me writhed with rage. In the Santa Ana neighborhood, there was a small adobe temple on Losador Street. It was an evangelical church that was growing fast, too fast. The pastor was named Mateo Quisp, a 40-year-old man who had previously lost his first wife to cancer. People said his faith was genuine because he knew pain. His church started with 20 people and within 2 years it had 80 members. That growth bothered me. Several of my regular clients stopped seeking me out because they had joined the church. Don Jinto, who used to pay me every month to ensure his business prospered, told me one day, "Yeah, Etsy, I don't need your services anymore. I found Christ and he is enough. It made me furious. I lost money. I lost power. I lost control. But what enraged me most was seeing the children from the church, happy, protected, and loved. I never had that. My siblings never got the chance to grow up. Every time I saw those kids playing in the church courtyard, it felt like a knife being driven into my chest. Why them and not my siblings? That question tormented me day and night. Ephrain Carders owned the largest hardware store in Aiakucho. Everyone respected him as an honest merchant. But I knew the truth. He was my spiritual godfather. The high priest who taught me the most powerful rituals. No one suspected that this man in a suit and tie summoned dark entities in his basement every new moon. He gave me a percentage of the earnings from my work and I gave him absolute loyalty. One day in June 1998, Ephra called me into his office. Yeah, Etsy, I have a special jobs for you. 2,000 souls if you do it right, he said counting out the bills on the desk. 2,000 souls was a lot of money back then. What do I have to do? I asked. He leaned in and lowered his voice. Pastor Matteo is organizing a major deliverance service this Sunday. I need you to neutralize his son before Chapter 3: Preparations for the ritual that service. If something happens to the boy, the pastor will be emotionally devastated and the service will be a failure. I felt a chill run down my spine when Ephra mentioned the boy, the pastor's son. How old is he? I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. Seven. His name is Esquil. Ephra replied, sliding the bills toward me. He's just a child. Yeah, Etsy, it'll be easy. You know how to do it. A quiet job. Nothing flashy. I just need the pastor emotionally vulnerable by Sunday. I took the money and tucked it into my bag. But something churned in my stomach. I couldn't sleep well that night. There had been jobs targeting adults, businesses, or marriages, but never directly against a child. so young. The voices in my mind, those entities that always accompanied me, whispered, "It's just another job. That boy is your enemy's son. Do it." I tried to calm myself by thinking about the 2,000 souls. With that money, I could pay 3 months rent and buy the materials I needed for other rituals. For 3 days, I watched the boy, as Quiel was a normal kid. Black hair, dark skin, an easy smile. I'd watch him play in the church courtyard while his father prepared for the services. Sometimes I'd hear him singing church hymns in his childish voice. Something inside me twisted whenever I saw him looking so happy, so protected because he had a family and I had lost mine. I thought about this bitterly. On Wednesday night, I began the preparations. I went to the Aakucho market and bought a black rooster, red candles, and other necessary supplies. The vendor eyed me suspiciously, but said nothing. Everyone knew who I was, even if they never admitted it in public. I packed everything into a dark bag and returned home after nightfall. At 3:00 a.m. on Thursday, I climbed Akaka Hill. The cold was biting, and the city lay asleep below like a cluster of tiny lights. That hill was my place of power. For 23 years, I had performed my most potent rituals there. I prepared the circle, lit the candles, and sacrificed the black rooster, letting its blood drip into a clay vessel. The entities arrived quickly. I felt their cold presence surrounding me, whispering instructions in my ear. Mix the blood with ash. Bury the boy's belongings. 8 minutesInvoke our power. The voices guided me. I had previously stolen a small toy from the church trash, something the boy had thrown away. I wrapped it in the fur of a dead black cat and bound it with red thread while chanting the ritual words. This boy will be left weak, sick, and terrified. His father won't be able to focus on the Sunday service. I declared this to the freezing mountain wind. The entities promised it would be easy. He is just a human child. He has no spiritual defenses. It will be like snuffing out a candle, they told me, their voices seeming to come from every direction. I buried the ritual bundle at the foot of a hill and poured the blood mixture onto the earth. I felt the power flowing, that dark energy I knew so well. I smiled with satisfaction. The work was done, or so I thought. I returned home just as the sun was beginning to rise. I felt powerful, confident. 2,000 souls would be mine. The pastor would be emotionally shattered. The church would weaken. I would win back my clients. It all made sense in my twisted mind. I lay down to sleep, but had a horrible nightmare. A boy made of light was staring fixedly at me, and I couldn't move. I woke up screaming in a cold sweat. My heart pounding like a drum. It's just the fear Chapter 4: The encounter of the weak. I told myself, trying to calm down. The voices in my mind mocked me. You're afraid of a child. You're pathetic. Finish the job. I drank some cold water and tried to go back to sleep. But I couldn't. Something was different. I had never felt afraid after a ritual before. I always felt in control, powerful. But this time, there was something in the air I couldn't explain. I was restless all through Friday and Saturday. I kept expecting to hear news that the boy had fallen or had an accident, but nothing happened. I discreetly asked around the market if anyone had heard anything about Pastor 10 minutesMatteo's son. No, that boy is fine. I saw him yesterday running and playing just like always. A vendor told me my blood boiled because the ritual wasn't working. I had done everything correctly. Ephrain called me on Saturday afternoon. Yeah, Etsy, the service is tomorrow. Have you done the work yet? He asked impatiently, "Yes, it's all done. Give it time," I replied. Trying to sound confident, even though I was confused inside, I hung up and the voices in my mind began to pressure me. You have to do it directly. Go yourself. Touch him. Activate the power with your own hand. I didn't want to do it. I preferred working from the shadows, but the 2,000 souls were already in my house. And Ephra was expecting results. On Saturday afternoon, I made my decision. I would go to the church in person. I knew Pastor Matteo would be busy preparing the sanctuary for the big Sunday service. The boy usually played alone in the backyard. It would be quick. I would touch him, activate the rituals power, and leave before anyone saw me. Just one touch. I kept telling myself as I walked toward Los Libertador Street, my heart pounding and my hands trembling slightly. I arrived at the church around 5:00 p. m. The sun was still high, but it was beginning to dip toward the mountains. The street was quiet, almost empty. I saw the small adobe temple with its green wooden gate and barred windows from outside. I could hear Pastor Matteo's voice talking to someone inside, likely finalizing details for tomorrow's service. My heart was pounding so hard I felt like everyone could hear it. I walked slowly along the opposite sidewalk, keeping watch. I knew the place well. I had passed by many times while scouting locations for other jobs. The back gate leading to the courtyard was always open on Saturday afternoons. Church members would come and go, preparing for Sunday. No one paid me any mind. I was just another woman walking down the street. No one suspected what I carried in my heart. I took a deep breath and crossed the street. The voices in my mind grew more intense, more urgent. Do it now. Go in. touch the boy, fulfill the pact. I felt that dark energy coursing through my veins, that power that had been with me for 23 years. But I also felt something else, a tightness in my chest I had never experienced before. It was as if something invisible were warning me. Yet I ignored it. I reached the back gate and sure enough, it was a jar. I pushed it gently and stepped into the courtyard. It was a small space with a dirt floor, a few plants in old pots, and a small area where the children played on Sundays. And there he was as quil. The boy was alone, his back to me, playing with toy cars on the ground. He was wearing a blue t-shirt and dark trousers. His black hair gleamed in the afternoon sun. I stood frozen for a few seconds, just watching him. He was so small, so defenseless. For a moment, something in my chest tightened painfully. I saw my younger siblings in him, the ones who had died on that horrible day when I was 13. I remembered how they too used to play with that same innocence, that same joy, a tiny part of my humanity, which I had believed completely dead, cried out within me, "Don't do it. He's just a child." But the dark voices roared louder, "do it now, 2,000 souls. The pastor must suffer. Fulfill your pact. My hand began to reach out, almost without a conscious decision on my part. I walked slowly toward him. Step by step, trying not to make a sound, the boy kept playing, unaware of my presence, my fingers were inches away from touching his neck when something completely unexpected happened. As Quiiel turned around, not Chapter 5: A supernatural shift abruptly, not in fear. He turned slowly, as if he had known all along that I was there, and looked me straight in the eye. But what made my blood run cold wasn't just his gaze. It was his smile. The boy was smiling at me, not with fear, not with confusion, but with a pure, genuine smile, filled with a light that was not of this world. My fingers remained suspended in the air, unable to move even an inch further. And then the boy spoke. His voice was that of a seven-year-old. Yet the words that left his lips carried a weight, an authority that did not belong to his age. Why is your heart so full of evil? God is calling you to follow him. Time stood still. The air grew heavy. I felt as though a beam of light pierced my chest, shattering every wall I had built over 23 years. My legs gave way. I fell to my knees on the dirt of the courtyard with a sharp thud that bruised my kneecaps. Yet I felt no physical pain. I felt something else, an invisible, massive, crushing weight bearing down on my shoulders. It was the weight of 23 years of guilt, hatred, dark pacts, and lives destroyed by my own hands. All that weight, which I had ignored, denied, and buried beneath layers of bitterness, was now crashing down on me all at once. I couldn't move. Literally, I couldn't move a single finger. It was as if invisible chains were binding me to the ground. I tried to raise my hands, but they wouldn't respond. I tried to get up, but my legs were dead. The boy kept looking at me with that calm smile, then simply turned and walked into the temple just like that, as if nothing extraordinary had happened. That normality was the most supernatural thing of all. And then I began to weep. Not a gentle weeping, but a violent, desperate sobbing. 23 years of pain pouring from my throat in choked screams. Tears cascaded down, mingling with the earth of the courtyard. I felt horrible nausey air, cold sweat soaking my clothes and uncontrollable tremors shaking my entire body. It was like withdrawal symptoms multiplied by a thousand. My body was rejecting all the darkness it had harbored for over two decades. But the worst part, the absolute worst, was the voices, those entities that had accompanied me, given me power, and promised me control. Now they were cursing me with indescribable hatred. Weakling, you failed us. We will destroy you. You will never be free of us. They screamed inside my head with an intensity that made me want to tear my skull apart. But for the first time in 23 years since that night on Akaka Hill when I was 13, I wanted those voices gone. I wanted them to leave me alone. I don't know how long I lay there in the courtyard. It could have been 10 minutes or an hour. I had lost all sense of time. All I remember is the uncontrollable sobbing, the shaking, and those voices ceaselessly cursing me. The sun was beginning to set and the mountain chill was seeping into my bones. Yet I remained paralyzed on the ground on my knees, unable to move. It was as if my body no longer belonged to me. Then I heard footsteps. Someone was coming out of the temple and into the Chapter 6: Deliverance courtyard. Mom, are you all right? It was past Matteo's voice. I looked up and saw him standing a few meters away, wearing an expression of concern and something else. His eyes revealed that he knew. Somehow he understood that what he was witnessing wasn't just a sick or unconscious woman. This was spiritual. Help me. I managed to whisper between sobs. Please help me. Pastor Mateo knelt beside me but kept a safe distance. What 18 minuteshappened here? What did you come here to do? He asked in a firm but non-aggressive voice. I was trembling so violently I could barely speak. I came I came to hurt your son. I had come to do some work for him. But when I tried to speak, I couldn't finish the sentence. A fresh wave of weeping made my voice crack. I saw the pastor's expression change. A mixture of shock and pain flashed across his eyes. My son is quil. He asked, tensing up. I nodded, unable to look him in the eye, but managed to say, he's fine. He came in just a few minutes ago and told me there was a woman crying outside who needed my help. The pastor said, his voice trembling. In that moment, I understood. The boy hadn't reported me. He hadn't told his further I had tried to attack him. He had only said I needed help. That realization shattered me even more. Pastor Mateo called out to someone inside, "Brother Hermino, please come here. I need help." I heard hurried footsteps, and an older man appeared, thin, about 68 years old, with trembling hands and a face etched by the hardships of life. I later learned he was Don Hermano, the church's head intercessor. When he saw me on the ground, he asked no questions. He simply closed his eyes and began to pray softly. His voice shook, yet it held an authority that made the voices in my head scream even louder. Mom, can you stand up? Don Herminio asked, extending his hand. I shook my head. I can't. I can'tt move. Something is holding me fast. I said between sobs. The two men exchanged a look of understanding. We are going to pray for you, but I need you to want to be free, too. Do you want to be free? Pastor Matteo asked, looking me straight in the eye. That simple question tore me apart. Did I want to be free? After 23 years in darkness, I truly wanted the light. Yes, I whispered, barely audible. I do. I'm tired. So tired of this, and it was true. In that moment, kneeling in the courtyard, shattered and paralyzed, I realized I was exhausted. Exhausted from hating, from destroying, from living with those voices, and from waking up every day with that horrible emptiness in my chest. 23 years of dark power had brought me no peace, only more darkness. Don Hermeno and Pastor Mateo began to pray. These weren't gentle, pretty prayers. They were authoritative declarations. In the name of Jesus Christ, we command every dark entity to release this woman. She does not belong to you. She was bought by the blood of Christ on the cross. the pastor declared. When they spoke that name, Jesus Christ, I felt something inside me begin to break. The invisible chains loosened slightly, but the entities wouldn't leave without a fight. My body began to convulse violently. I collapsed to the ground, writhing and screaming in voices that weren't my own. She's ours. She has a pact. You can't take her from us. The words poured from my throat. Yet, I wasn't the one speaking. The pastor and Don Herminio didn't stop. They kept praying, declaring, and commanding. More people emerged from the sanctuary, drawn by the commotion. I heard murmurss, some fearful, others joining in prayer. Suddenly, amidst the chaos, I felt a small hand touch my shoulder. I opened my eyes through the convulsions and saw as Quiel kneeling beside me, the boy wasn't afraid. He looked at me with eyes full of compassion and simply said, "Jesus loves you. He has already won the battle for you." Those childlike words spoken with such pure faith were like a nuclear blast in the spiritual realm. I felt an explosion of light within my chest. The entities screamed one last time with desperate fury. And then silence, a silence I hadn't experienced in 23 years. The voices that were always there, whispering, commanding, cursing me, vanished. They simply left. My body stopped convulsing. The tremors gradually subsided. I could move my hands again. I lay there on the floor, gasping for breath, utterly exhausted, but for the first time in over two decades. My mind was silent. A beautiful, peaceful silence that made me weep again, but this time out of relief, Pastor Mateo helped me sit up. How do you feel? He asked. I looked around. About 15 people from the congregation were standing in a circle. They had all been praying for me. Strangers praying for someone who had come to harm them. "The voices are gone. I don't hear them anymore," I said, touching my head as if I couldn't quite believe it. Don Hermano smiled, tears welling in his eyes. "Glory to God. He set you free, sister. He set you free. I stayed at the church that night. I didn't have the strength to walk home, and honestly, I was afraid Chapter 7: Public confession to be alone. Pastor Matteo and his wife, Luciana, gave me a small room they used for storage. They cleared a space, laid an old mattress on the floor, and brought me a blanket. Rest tonight. We'll talk tomorrow, Luciana said with a tired but genuine smile. I just nodded, still in shock from everything that had happened that night. For the first time in years, I slept without nightmares, without voices, and without that constant tightness in my chest. I woke up several times, startled by the silence. My mind wasn't used to such peace. Every time I opened my eyes in the darkness, I expected to hear the entities whispering, but there was nothing, only the silence of the early morning and the distant sound of dogs barking in the street. I cried several times that night, but they were different tears. Tears of relief. Sunday dawn sunny. I heard activity at the church from early on. People were arriving to set everything up for the deliverance service the pastor had organized. I stayed in the room, not knowing what to do. Should I leave? Should I stay? What would happen to me now? Luciana knocked on the door around 8:00 in the morning. You're awake. I brought you breakfast. she said, entering with a plate of bread and hot tea. It had been years since anyone had treated me with such kindness. "Thank you," I murmured, taking the plate with trembling hands. Luciana sat on an old chair across from me. My husband told me what happened yesterday. He told me you came to hurt our son said, looking directly at me. I lowered my gaze, shame burning my cheeks. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me. I Lucian unraised her hand interrupting me. Shh. It's over now. As quil is fine and you need healing sister. That word sister. No one had ever called me that in my entire life. I had no living sisters. My only sister Cusy hated me for becoming a witch like my aunt. Hearing that word from the wife of the man whose son I had tried to harm completely broke me. I don't deserve to be called that. You don't know the horrible things I've done. Not just to your family, but to so many people, I said, starting to cry again. It seemed all I could do was cry. Lucy on a stepped closer and placed her hand over mine. None of us deserves God's grace. Yeah, but he gives it freely. That's what grace means. Unmmerited favor. Her words were simple, yet they pierced deep into my shattered heart. The service starts at 10:00. You don't have to come if you don't want to, but I believe God has something to do in you today. Something big. She stood up and left the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts and my halfeaten bread. At 10:15, I heard the sanctuary filling with people, singing, clapping hallelujah, sounds that used to make me angry. But now, now made me curious. I peaked through the ajar nd saw the sanctuary packed. There must have been over a hundred people squeezed into that small space. Pastor Matteo stood at the front with his Bible in hand. Don Hermino was in the front row, eyes closed, already praying. And as Quiiel Asiel was sitting next to his mother, looking around with the innocence of a 7-year-old boy. The service began, and I stayed in the room, listening. They sang songs about freedom, broken chains, and victory. Every word was like a bomb on my inner wounds. Then Pastor Mateo began to preach. Today I want to speak to you about God's power to set captives free. No matter how long you have been in darkness, God can bring you out in a second. Last night, I witnessed a miracle. My heart began to pound. He was going to tell my story. Last night, a woman came to this church intending to harm us. She had been practicing witchcraft for 23 years. She came specifically to hurt my son. The sanctuary fell into absolute silence. I could feel the tension even from my room. But God used my 7-year-old son to stop her. And right here in this courtyard, that woman was completely delivered from the power of darkness. I heard murmurss, a few hallelujah, and some groans of intercession. And that woman is here with us today. My blood ran cold. What was he doing? Why was he telling this publicly? Panic set in. I wanted to hide. I wanted to disappear. But then I heard Pastor Matteo's voice softer now. Yetsy. Sister Yeretszi, could you please come to the 28 minutesfront? Don't be afraid. You are among family here. My whole body was trembling. I didn't want to go out, [clears throat] but something inside me, something new, something that wasn't the dark voices from before was gently urging me to do it. I stood up on shaky legs, walked slowly toward the door of the room, and opened it wide. A hundred pairs of eyes turned toward me. I saw faces filled with curiosity, some with fear, others with compassion. I walked down the center aisle of the sanctuary, feeling as though every step weighed a ton. Some stepped slightly aside as I passed. Others reached out to touch my shoulder, whispering, "God bless you, sister." I reached the front and looked at Pastor Mateo, unsure of what to do. Brothers and sisters, this is Yeti Hmon and she has a testimony to share with all of you because what God did for her last night, he can do for any of you or for your loved ones who are living in darkness. The pastor said, handing me the microphone, I took it with trembling hands. Migua mi music blancoenti waiting and then my eyes met as quil. The boy smiled at me and nodded as if encouraging me and I began to speak. My name is Yeritan and for 23 years I Chapter 8: Seeking forgiveness practiced witchcraft in this city. My voice came out shaky but clear over the microphone. The silence in the sanctuary was absolute. I could hear my own breathing. I made pacts with dark entities. I destroyed marriages. I made people sick. I ruined businesses. All for money and for hatred. Hatred toward God for taking my family away when I was 13. The words poured out like vomit. 23 years of secrets coming to light. Yesterday, yesterday I came to this church to harm Pastor Mateo's son. I was paid 2,000 souls to neutralize him. Before this service, I heard gasps of shock from the congregation. Some women covered their mouths with their hands. I performed rituals, sacrificed animals, and summoned the darkest entities. I know. I came here convinced I would succeed because because he was just a child. I thought it would be easy. My voice cracked, but I kept speaking. But just as I was about to touch him, he turned around, looked at me, smiled, and said something that shattered 23 years of walls around my heart. I paused to wipe away the tears that had begun to fall. He asked me why my heart was so full of evil and told me that God was calling me to follow him, a 7-year-old boy, a boy I had come to hurt. He spoke to me with more love than I had received in my entire adult life. I fell to my knees. I couldn't move. The entities that had given me power for 23 years abandoned me. And for the first time in decades, I heard silence in my mind. Beautiful silence, peaceful silence. Last night, I slept without nightmares for the first time since I was 13. Now I was weeping openly in front of all those people. I didn't care. I had nothing left to hide. And today, today, I am here because I want to ask for your forgiveness. I looked specifically at certain people in the congregation. There were faces I recognized, people for whom I had performed rituals. Sister Rosa Fernandez, are you here? I asked, scanning the crowd. A woman in her 40s slowly raised her hand from the third row. Her face showed confusion and fear. 2 years ago, you lost the baby in your fifth month of pregnancy. The doctors said there was no medical explanation, that the baby's heart simply stopped beating. Rosa turned pale. I I did that work. Your neighbor paid me 500 souls because she was envious that you were pregnant while she couldn't have children. I killed your baby with witchcraft. The words cut like knives. Rosa began to scream. Her husband had to hold her up because her legs gave way. The sanctuary erupted in chaos. People shouting and weeping. Some wanted to drive me out. Pastor Mateo raised his hands, calling for calm, but the situation was spiraling out of control. She killed my son. She killed my baby. Rosa screamed hysterically as her husband and other women tried to soothe her. I could only stand there clutching the microphone, tears streaming uncontrollably. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. There are no words. There is no way to give back what I took. My voice choked with sobs. I wanted the earth to swallow me whole. I wanted to die right then and there. What was I doing? Why was I confessing all of this publicly? Don Hermano stood up and shouted in a voice that was trembling yet firm, "Brothers and sisters, please, doesn't the Bible say that whoever is without sin should cast the first stone?" Doesn't it say that we all sin and fall short of the glory of God? Her intervention slightly calmed the chaos. This woman is confessing publicly, confessing her sins. She is seeking forgiveness. Isn't that what we preach? Isn't that what Christ did for us on the cross? The sanctuary began to quiet down, but the tension was palpable. Rosa was still weeping, though now more composed. She looked at me with eyes full of pain and hatred. How can I forgive you? How can I forgive someone who took my son away from me? Her voice was broken, shattered. I had no answer. There was no possible answer. I cannot ask you to forgive me. I don't have that right. I can only tell you the truth and pray that someday. Perhaps God will grant you the grace to do so because I do not deserve it. The silence that followed was deafening. Then something unexpected happened. A young woman of about 19 stood up from the second row. She was thin with visible scars on her arms, a poorly done to on her neck and eyes that had seen too much suffering for her age. "Yeah, Etsy, do you remember me?" she asked in a horse voice. I looked at her trying to place her. There was something familiar about her. I'm My Rose. My legs senti 8 months ago, I was set free from my addiction to past her basic in this church. My heart stopped. My leg grows. Of course, I remembered her. Your mother Your mother paid me to spiritually bind you to drugs when you were 14. She was jealous of you. She said you were prettier than her. That your father loved you more. She paid me 800 souls so you would never be able to escape addiction. I confessed feeling nausea rising in my throat. My lyros nodded as tears streamed down her cheeks. I know. My mother confessed it to me 3 months before she died of cerosis. 5 years spent destroying my life because of past her bases. I lost my adolescence. I turned to prostitution to get drugs. I had twins at 16 and almost lost them because I couldn't stop using drugs. My lyros spoke firmly despite her tears. But 8 months ago, God found me in this church. He set me free, cleansed me, and gave me a new chance. And today, today, I have to decide whether to live in bitterness over what you took from me or to walk in the forgiveness Christ taught me. The entire sanctuary held its breath. My lyros walked toward the front. I instinctively stepped back, expecting her to strike me. I deserved it, but she didn't raise her hand to hit me. She raised her arms and embraced me. I forgive you. Yeah, it I forgive you. Yeah, in the name of Jesus, I forgive you. she whispered in my ear, and I I broke down. I fell to my knees, clinging 36 minutesto the legs of the young woman whose life I had destroyed for 5 years. She knelt beside me and wept with me, and the whole congregation erupted, not in rage this time, but in collective weeping, in worship, in deliverance. Chapter 9: The price of conversion After that service, my life changed completely, though not in the pretty way they show in movies. The first few days were the hardest of my life. On Monday morning, I went back home to get some clothes and personal items. When I arrived, I found the door marked with red paint. Someone had written traitor in large letters. My heart raced. I knew exactly who was behind this. Ephrain and the other sorcerers in the city already knew I had converted. I entered the house in fear. Everything was in disarray. They had broken in and trashed my belongings, clothes strewn across the floor, broken dishes, overturned furniture. But what shocked me most was finding a dead black cat hanging from the ceiling of my bedroom with a note pinned to its body. The pact is sealed in blood. You cannot break it without consequences. You have one week to return. The signature was a mark I knew well. Ephrain Card's mark. My hands trembled as I held that blood stained note. I didn't stay in that house for even 10 more minutes. I grabbed the few things I could stuff into a bag and ran back to the church. Pastor Mateo saw me arrive, breathless and terrified. What happened? He asked. I showed him the note. His face turned serious. The persecution has begun. Things will get worse before they get better. Yeah, are you sure you want to follow this path? Is it still possible for you to? I cut him off. I am never going back. I'd rather die, and I meant it. That very week, the nighttime attacks began. Stones thrown at the church windows at 3 a.m. Graffiti on the walls. Anonymous threats left at the gate. The congregation was frightened. Some members told Pastor Mateo to kick me out, saying I was bringing trouble to the church. I didn't blame them. I felt the same way. But the pastor stood firm. She stays. This is a church, not a social club. We welcome the broken here. Don Herminio became my spiritual protector. That 68-year-old man with trembling hands and a body weakened by silicosis possessed a faith that made hell itself tremble. He slept in the room next to mine inside the church. Whenever I woke up screaming in the middle of the night from nightmares, he was already praying, "Calm down, sister. The one who is in us is greater than the one who is in the world. He would tell me in his grally voice, and I would go back to sleep, knowing someone was watching over me. But the worst attack came 3 weeks after my conversion. It was a Tuesday night, close to 11:00. I was in my room reading the Bible Luciana had given me when I heard shouting outside, "Fire." Yeah, Etsy's house is burning. My blood ran cold. I ran out of the church along with the pastor and other fellow believers. From the church, we could see black smoke rising a few blocks away. My house, the home where I had lived for 15 years, was engulfed in flames. The firefighters arrived 40 minutes later. By then, there was nothing left to save. The adobe walls had collapsed. The roof had burned away completely. Everything I owned in this world, old photos of my deceased family, the few clothes I had left, the furniture I'd bought with money from witchcraft, had all turned to ash. The police arrived and took statements. Probably a short circuit, the officer said, sounding uninterested. But I knew the truth. This was no accident. Luciana hugged me as I gazed at the smoldering ruins of my former life. I'm so sorry. Yeah, Etsy, I'm so sorry, she said, stroking my hair. But something strange happened in my heart at that moment, watching it all burn. I felt peace. It's okay, I said, surprising myself. That place was full of dark memories anyway. Maybe God is clearing everything away to give me a fresh start. Luciana looked at me in surprise, but smiled through her tears. You're changing, sister. God is doing something profound in you. But the persecution didn't end there. A week after the fire, I was walking through the Aayakucho market, buying vegetables for the church, when I heard a familiar voice behind me. Yeah, Etsy, we need to talk. I turned around and my stomach dropped. It was Ephra Carders. There he stood right in the middle of the market, dressed in the impeccable suit of a respectable merchant, smiling as if we were old friends. But his eyes, his eyes were filled with darkness and menace. I have nothing to discuss with you, I said, trying to sound firm, though my voice trembled. Ephrain stepped closer, close enough for only me to hear him. The pact is sealed in blood. Yeah, Etsy, you know that you can't just abandon us and go off to play church. The entities are furious. I am furious. I lost money because of you. clients left me because my most powerful apprentice turned into a pathetic Christian. He spat out those last words with contempt. My blood has already been covered by another more powerful blood. I replied, recalling the teachings I had heard in church, Ephra laughed. A cold laugh that made my blood run cold. Do you seriously think a few pretty prayers are going to protect you from 23 years of pacts? You're naive, girl. I'm giving you one last chance. Come back this week or the consequences will be permanent and not just for you but for your new church family. Two, she stared hard at me, spat on the ground at my feet, and calmly walked away into the market crowd. I returned to the church trembling and weeping. I told Pastor Mateo about the encounter. He gathered the intercessors that very night. Don Hermano, Luciana, and eight other believers met in the sanctuary to pray for protection. They prayed for 3 hours without stopping. I stood in the center of the circle, feeling the spiritual weight of everything that was happening. Lord, cover your daughter with your blood. No weapon formed against her shall prosper. Don Herminio declared with authority. Despite his trembling voice, and I I could only weep and cling to a faith I was just beginning to understand. The following month was a spiritual and emotional roller coaster. On one hand, I was experiencing a peace and freedom I had never known before. On the other, the spiritual attacks were intense. There were nights when I would wake up feeling an oppressive presence in the room, as if something heavy was sitting on my chest, making it 43 minutesimpossible to breathe. I would scream and Don Herminu would come running in to pray. This happened so many times I lost count. But the most painful blow came from the place I least expected. One Saturday afternoon, I was helping to clean the sanctuary when someone knocked insistently on the gate. I went to open it and froze. "It was my sister, Cusy. I hadn't seen her in nearly 2 years. She was 5 years younger than me, the only blood relative I had left alive. Cusy," I whispered, feeling a mix of joy and fear. But her face showed no joy. It showed pure contempt. So, it's true. My sister, the powerful witch, is now a pathetic Christian, she said, her voice full of venom. Her words hurt me more than any spiritual attack. Cusy, please let me explain, she raised her hand, cutting me off. There is nothing to explain. You betrayed our blood. You betrayed the memory of our grandmother who taught you the path to power. You betrayed everything our family fought for over generations. Her eyes blazed with rage. "Our family didn't fight. Our family lost itself in darkness. I was lost for 23 years, and you are still lost," I told her, feeling a surge of courage I didn't know I possessed. Cusy stepped closer until she was inches from my face. "I came to tell you something very clearly." "Yeah, from this moment on, you are dead to me. You are not my sister. You have no family. And if you ever need help, don't come looking for me because I will spit in your face. Every word was a stab to my heart. Cusy, please. You're the only thing I have left. My voice cracked, but she was already turning to leave. I lost a sister, too. The day you became a Christian. May your God watch over you because we, the ones who truly loved you, have abandoned you. She walked away down the street without looking back. I Chapter 10: The turning point stood by the gate, weeping like a little girl. Luciana came out and found me there, devastated. She was my sister, my only sister, and she hated me. I sobbed in her arms. I know, my child. I know this is the price one sometimes has to pay. That night was the darkest of all. It wasn't demonic attacks or threats from sorcerers. It was absolute loneliness. I lay on my mattress, staring at the ceiling, thinking about everything I had lost. my burned down house. The sister who had rejected me, my former life of power and money. I wondered if it was all worth it. Was it really worth going on? Even after God had taken my family when I was 13 and was now stripping away the little I had left. Doubts consumed me. At 2 in the morning, I got up, put on my shoes, and walked out of the room like a zombie. I crossed the empty temple and stepped out onto the street. I don't know what I was thinking. Or perhaps I did know. A part of me wanted to go back, back to the familiar, back to the power, back to the voices that at least made me feel I had control over something. I walked through the empty streets of Aiakucho until, without realizing it, I found myself in front of Ephrain Carders's house. I stood on the sidewalk, gazing at that large two-story home. I knew the basement held the altar where we had performed so many rituals. I knew that if I knocked on that door, Ephrain would welcome me with open arms, restore my position, give me money, and make me feel powerful again. My hand rose. I took two steps toward the door, and then I froze, not physically, like that afternoon in the church courtyard. This time, it was my heart that stopped because right then, out of nowhere, I heard small footsteps behind me. I turned slowly and couldn't believe what I saw. It was as quil. The boy was standing there in the street at 2:00 in the morning in his pajamas, barefoot, looking at me with those eyes full of light. As quil, what are you doing here? How? It made no sense. A 7-year-old boy shouldn't have been walking the streets alone at that hour. It was impossible. God woke me up and told me to come get you. The boy said matterof factly, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. He told me you were about to make a bad decision and needed someone to remind you that he hasn't left you alone. Tears began to stream down my face. As quil, I I don't know if I can do this. I've lost everything. My sister hates me. I have no home. I have nothing. My voice cracked with every word. The boy stepped closer and took my hand, his small, warm hand, holding mine, which was cold and trembling. My dad says that sometimes God has to take away the old to give us something new. He says seeds have to die underground before they can become big trees. I didn't fully understand what he meant. But there was something in his voice, something that anchored me to reality. Let's pray together and then I'll walk you back to the church, he said, closing his eyes. And there in the middle of the empty street at 2:00 a. m., a 7-year-old boy prayed for me. He prayed with such pure faith that I felt as if the heavens were opening up above us. Jesus, help be strong. Help her not to give up. Remind her that you fight for her and that she isn't alone. Amen. Just like that. Simple, direct, and powerful. When he finished praying, he took my hand and started walking. Come on, I'm sleepy and I have school tomorrow. He said with a yawn, and I followed him. I turned my back on that house. turned my back on my past and walked alongside that boy back to the church without looking back when we arrived at the sanctuary. Pastor Mateo was standing at the door, pale and frantically searching for his son as quiel, "Where were you?" I was looking 49 minutesall over the church for you. He cried out in relief and furious at the same time as he embraced his son. As Quiiel looked at him calmly, "I had to go find Yarrett and dad. God told me to. She was in danger. Pastor Mateo looked at me with eyes that understood everything. He said nothing. He simply nodded. And that night, that night, I decided I would never look back. The following months Chapter 11: A new path were a time of slow but real transformation. The church became my family. Don Hermino taught me how to pray. Luciana taught me to read the Bible. and Pastor Mateo patiently discipled me, answering my thousand questions about God, forgiveness, and new life in Christ. Little by little, the nightmares subsided. The oppressive voices grew fainter until finally they stopped troubling me altogether. It was as if my mind were healing from the inside out. In November 1998, almost 6 months after my conversion, something unexpected happened. It was a Sunday afternoon after the service when an older man arrived at the church. He was about 60 years old, humbly dressed with a face etched by suffering. He asked for me specifically. When I came out to meet him, he looked at me with deary eyes. You sai, the former witch who converted a few months ago. I nodded feeling curious and a little afraid. My name is Todrailka. I am a healer. or rather I was a healer in Huang Cavalika. 3 weeks ago I heard your testimony because someone recorded the service and the cassette made its way to my village. He said pulling an old audio tape from his pocket. I wept for 2 hours listening to your story because I too am weary. I've been doing this for 40 years and I feel empty inside. I came to ask you is it real? Did God really set her free after 23 years? His voice trembled with hope and desperation. I hugged him without a second thought. It's real, brother. It's completely real. And if he did it for me, he can do it for you. That afternoon, Todora stayed at the church. Pastor Mateo prayed over him for hours. To wept, screamed, and writhed just as I had months before, and in the end, he was set free, completely free. That was the first time I witnessed what God could do through my testimony. It wasn't just my story. It was a tool to set others free. In the months that followed, more people arrived, sorcerers, healers, and people involved in the occult from across the Aayakucho region and nearby towns. Some came out of fear, others out of curiosity, and some in desperation, just as I had been. And one by one, God set them free. The church had to organize special deliverance services on Friday nights because the demand was so high. Don Herminia wept with joy as he watched what God was doing. Sister Yerretzy, you 52 minuteswere a weapon of the enemy and God turned you into a weapon of deliverance. He would tell me his trembling hands resting on my head in blessing. But it wasn't all celebration. Ephra Cardes was furious. His witchcraft business was crumbling. Clients were abandoning him. And other sorcerers in the region blamed him for failing to control his rebellious apprentice. In March 1999, I received news that his hardware store had gone bankrupt. People stopped buying from him once rumors of his double life began to spread. The most respected man in Aiucho was falling apart. One day in April, Pastor Mateo called me into his office. Yeah, Etsy, I have something difficult to tell you. Ephrain Carders is very ill. He has advanced liver cancer. The doctors say he has only a few months to live. My first thought was he deserves it after all the harm he caused. But immediately I felt a conviction in my heart. Do you want to go visit him? The pastor asked. The idea terrified me. But I knew the answer. Yes, I have to go. I went to the Aakucho hospital accompanied by Don Herminio. Ephrain was in the bed on the second floor, hooked up to machines thin as a skeleton, unrecognizable as the powerful man he had once been when he saw me enter, his eyes filled with rage, "You came to mock me. You came to see how the great Ephra Cardas is dying." He said in a weak voice, yet one filled with bitterness. I approached his bed and took his hand. He tried to pull it away, but lacked the strength. I came to tell you that Jesus loves you, Ephra, and that there is still time for you to be free, just as I was set free. He let out a bitter laugh that turned into a violent fit of coughing. Free.

From 23 Years of Witchcraft to Freedom in Christ

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