"When the Sun Goes Down"
Story:
By day, Reverend Gideon stormed the pulpit like a man possessed by holy fire.
His sermons were loud, thunderous, and piercing.
He preached with veins bulging from his neck, sweat soaking his robes, eyes sharp as blades.
He called the congregation vipers.
Liars.
Sinners.
He told them God had no time for weak men or wanton women. That hell widened her mouth daily to swallow those who lived without repentance. People feared him, and somehow, that fear kept them coming.
They sat in trembling silence, afraid to miss a service, afraid to be named.
And always, at the peak of his fury, he'd raise a long bony finger and declare:
“REPENT… OR BURN!”
But when the sun dipped beneath the rooftops, Reverend Gideon removed his collar.
And the devil took over.
In the alleys of Temple Street, he was known by a different name: Skull. Wielding a bloodied crowbar and a vicious smile, Skull led a gang of street thugs who extorted shop owners, hijacked goods from traveling merchants, and ran a dark network of drugs and girls.
He never wore a mask.
Why would he?
The fear his sermons planted by day masked the stench of his crimes by night.
No one suspected. Or rather, no one dared.
But secrets rot in silence.
It was Sister Amaka who first caught a glimpse.
She was young, sharp-eyed, and recently orphaned. The church had taken her in.
One evening, she had followed Reverend Gideon, intending to ask him for help with her school fees.
What she saw instead was Skull smashing a young man’s head against a wall, barking orders, laughing like a hyena.
She ran. She hid. She wept.
The next morning, he was back in the pulpit, roaring about the wrath of God.
Sister Amaka told no one.
Not at first.
Until the day Gideon’s men murdered her cousin in cold blood during a robbery gone wrong.
She snapped.
At the Sunday service that followed, the church was packed.
Gideon was in rare form, promising fire and brimstone, condemning a world “filthy and full of demons.”
The crowd murmured amen after amen. Then Sister Amaka stood up. Her voice was soft, but it stung like acid.
“I have seen the demon. And he preaches from this pulpit.”
Gasps. Whispers.
She recounted everything—the alley, the blood, the drugs, the truth. Men looked at each other. Women shook their heads. But no one moved.
Gideon’s eyes gleamed, but his smile was gone.
“Lies,” he hissed.
“The Devil is using her!”
But Sister Amaka had brought proof. Photos. Audio. The name of a corrupt detective who could no longer be bribed.
The fall of Reverend Gideon was loud, public, and terrifying. But what shook the town even more was this: In his prison cell, as cameras rolled and reporters fired questions, he smiled and whispered:
“I only gave the people what they wanted—hellfire. I lived it so they could fear it.
Isn’t that… holy enough?”
Tagline:
He condemned them to hell by day… while building his kingdom in it by night.
Inspired by Matthew 7:15
Credit: Ebere Chukwu
Story:
By day, Reverend Gideon stormed the pulpit like a man possessed by holy fire.
His sermons were loud, thunderous, and piercing.
He preached with veins bulging from his neck, sweat soaking his robes, eyes sharp as blades.
He called the congregation vipers.
Liars.
Sinners.
He told them God had no time for weak men or wanton women. That hell widened her mouth daily to swallow those who lived without repentance. People feared him, and somehow, that fear kept them coming.
They sat in trembling silence, afraid to miss a service, afraid to be named.
And always, at the peak of his fury, he'd raise a long bony finger and declare:
“REPENT… OR BURN!”
But when the sun dipped beneath the rooftops, Reverend Gideon removed his collar.
And the devil took over.
In the alleys of Temple Street, he was known by a different name: Skull. Wielding a bloodied crowbar and a vicious smile, Skull led a gang of street thugs who extorted shop owners, hijacked goods from traveling merchants, and ran a dark network of drugs and girls.
He never wore a mask.
Why would he?
The fear his sermons planted by day masked the stench of his crimes by night.
No one suspected. Or rather, no one dared.
But secrets rot in silence.
It was Sister Amaka who first caught a glimpse.
She was young, sharp-eyed, and recently orphaned. The church had taken her in.
One evening, she had followed Reverend Gideon, intending to ask him for help with her school fees.
What she saw instead was Skull smashing a young man’s head against a wall, barking orders, laughing like a hyena.
She ran. She hid. She wept.
The next morning, he was back in the pulpit, roaring about the wrath of God.
Sister Amaka told no one.
Not at first.
Until the day Gideon’s men murdered her cousin in cold blood during a robbery gone wrong.
She snapped.
At the Sunday service that followed, the church was packed.
Gideon was in rare form, promising fire and brimstone, condemning a world “filthy and full of demons.”
The crowd murmured amen after amen. Then Sister Amaka stood up. Her voice was soft, but it stung like acid.
“I have seen the demon. And he preaches from this pulpit.”
Gasps. Whispers.
She recounted everything—the alley, the blood, the drugs, the truth. Men looked at each other. Women shook their heads. But no one moved.
Gideon’s eyes gleamed, but his smile was gone.
“Lies,” he hissed.
“The Devil is using her!”
But Sister Amaka had brought proof. Photos. Audio. The name of a corrupt detective who could no longer be bribed.
The fall of Reverend Gideon was loud, public, and terrifying. But what shook the town even more was this: In his prison cell, as cameras rolled and reporters fired questions, he smiled and whispered:
“I only gave the people what they wanted—hellfire. I lived it so they could fear it.
Isn’t that… holy enough?”
Tagline:
He condemned them to hell by day… while building his kingdom in it by night.
Inspired by Matthew 7:15
Credit: Ebere Chukwu
"When the Sun Goes Down"
Story:
By day, Reverend Gideon stormed the pulpit like a man possessed by holy fire.
His sermons were loud, thunderous, and piercing.
He preached with veins bulging from his neck, sweat soaking his robes, eyes sharp as blades.
He called the congregation vipers.
Liars.
Sinners.
He told them God had no time for weak men or wanton women. That hell widened her mouth daily to swallow those who lived without repentance. People feared him, and somehow, that fear kept them coming.
They sat in trembling silence, afraid to miss a service, afraid to be named.
And always, at the peak of his fury, he'd raise a long bony finger and declare:
“REPENT… OR BURN!”
But when the sun dipped beneath the rooftops, Reverend Gideon removed his collar.
And the devil took over.
In the alleys of Temple Street, he was known by a different name: Skull. Wielding a bloodied crowbar and a vicious smile, Skull led a gang of street thugs who extorted shop owners, hijacked goods from traveling merchants, and ran a dark network of drugs and girls.
He never wore a mask.
Why would he?
The fear his sermons planted by day masked the stench of his crimes by night.
No one suspected. Or rather, no one dared.
But secrets rot in silence.
It was Sister Amaka who first caught a glimpse.
She was young, sharp-eyed, and recently orphaned. The church had taken her in.
One evening, she had followed Reverend Gideon, intending to ask him for help with her school fees.
What she saw instead was Skull smashing a young man’s head against a wall, barking orders, laughing like a hyena.
She ran. She hid. She wept.
The next morning, he was back in the pulpit, roaring about the wrath of God.
Sister Amaka told no one.
Not at first.
Until the day Gideon’s men murdered her cousin in cold blood during a robbery gone wrong.
She snapped.
At the Sunday service that followed, the church was packed.
Gideon was in rare form, promising fire and brimstone, condemning a world “filthy and full of demons.”
The crowd murmured amen after amen. Then Sister Amaka stood up. Her voice was soft, but it stung like acid.
“I have seen the demon. And he preaches from this pulpit.”
Gasps. Whispers.
She recounted everything—the alley, the blood, the drugs, the truth. Men looked at each other. Women shook their heads. But no one moved.
Gideon’s eyes gleamed, but his smile was gone.
“Lies,” he hissed.
“The Devil is using her!”
But Sister Amaka had brought proof. Photos. Audio. The name of a corrupt detective who could no longer be bribed.
The fall of Reverend Gideon was loud, public, and terrifying. But what shook the town even more was this: In his prison cell, as cameras rolled and reporters fired questions, he smiled and whispered:
“I only gave the people what they wanted—hellfire. I lived it so they could fear it.
Isn’t that… holy enough?”
Tagline:
He condemned them to hell by day… while building his kingdom in it by night.
Inspired by Matthew 7:15
Credit: Ebere Chukwu
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