He Said I Was His—But I Never Knew Him | Short Mystery Story 

“He asked if I was safe … I froze … I didn’t know who he was … But he knew everything about me. I had never met him. Confused, I wanted to run away but I had nowhere to flee.”

His eyes were steady, piercing. Calm, yet too calm, as though he had been rehearsing for this moment. He stood in the shadows near my doorway, his voice smooth, almost soothing—but behind it, something dark lingered.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said, with a smile that didn’t match the heaviness in the air. “I only want to know you. I want … us.”

My heart pounded so loudly I thought he would hear it. Who was this man? Why did he know my name? Why did he speak as if my life had already been scripted into his?

I remembered the words of the Psalmist:

“Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.” (Psalm 23:4)

But fear did not release me.

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The Invitation I Couldn’t Refuse

He pressed gently, “I know where you’ve been. I know your prayers. I know your secrets.”

How? I had never seen him before. Yet he spoke about things only the Eternal should know.

Then he whispered, “I can protect you. But only if you let me love you.”

Love? His voice trembled as if he longed for it desperately. But something inside me screamed—this wasn’t love. This was possession.

I thought of the warning from Yeshua:

“Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ravenous wolves.” (Matthew 7:15)

And yet … a strange force pulled at me, clouding my mind. My legs felt too heavy to run. My lips too frozen to speak.

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The Double Life

Days turned into weeks, and I found myself entangled in his world. He pursued me with charm and intensity. But behind his smile, shadows flickered.

One evening, I followed him. I shouldn’t have. But something inside me pushed to uncover what he was hiding. That’s when I saw him …

Not as the gentle man who brought flowers and whispered promises—but cloaked in another identity. Surrounded by candles, symbols, and people chanting in a language older than Babylon. His face was cold, his eyes empty.

The man who claimed he wanted love lived a double life. By day he was affectionate, persuasive, tender. But by night … he was devoted to powers that mocked the Living Elohim.

The prophet Isaiah’s words thundered in my mind:

“Woe to those who call evil good, and good evil; who put darkness for light, and light for darkness.” (Isaiah 5:20)

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The Psychological Torture

From that night onward, the torment began. He whispered into my dreams. His face appeared when I closed my eyes. My thoughts twisted, my emotions tangled. He told me that I was bound to him, that I had no choice but to stay.

Sometimes I would hear his voice though he was nowhere near. Other times, I would find strange marks on my doorposts, powders scattered across my doorstep, and the unsettling sound of chanting outside my window.

I remembered Yeshua’s words:

“The thief does not come except to steal, and to kill, and to destroy. I have come that they may have life, and have it more abundantly.” (John 10:10)

But I was living the thief’s shadow, unable to break free.

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Face to Face With the Occult

One stormy night, I confronted him.

“Why me?” I cried. “Why are you doing this?”

His eyes grew dark. His voice, deeper than before, answered:

“Because you are the chosen one to awaken me. You are mine.”

“No!” I shouted. “I belong to the Elohim of Israel! I belong to Yeshua, the Son of David, who cast out demons and rebuked the storm!”

His laughter chilled my bones. “Do you really think He can save you from me?”

Lightning cracked across the sky. I remembered when the disciples had been terrified on the sea, and Yeshua rebuked the winds:

“Why are you fearful, O you of little faith?” Then He arose and rebuked the winds and the sea, and there was a great calm. (Matthew 8:26)

But my storm was far from calm.

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The Cliffhanger

That night, the air itself seemed to war around me. I could feel the unseen forces pressing, as though invisible hands were tightening around my spirit. My knees buckled as he whispered ancient words, summoning powers I could not see.

But I fell to the ground and cried, “Shema Yisrael, Adonai Eloheinu, Adonai Echad!”

And then … silence.

I lifted my eyes. He was gone. But the darkness wasn’t. It still hovered in the room, heavy and suffocating.

That’s when I realized—this wasn’t over. This was only the beginning.