Every Woman I Love Leaves Because Of Bertha Ghost

It was around 2006. I was sixteen, living with my mom and younger sister while my dad worked in a distant town. Mom frequently traveled to see him, and during those times, she would send us to stay with my aunt. Sometimes she would be away for weeks, other times for months.

Aunt Bertha, my mom’s older sister, was a single mother with children of her own. She was a vibrant and caring person who treated us like her own. To be honest, we often had more food and entertainment at her house than we did at home. Occasionally, even after Mom returned, we would continue living with Aunt Bertha because it was enjoyable.

One night, she woke me from the floor where all the kids were sleeping and led me to her bedroom. She pushed me onto her bed and sat on me, explaining what was about to happen. When I saw the shock on my face, she placed a finger to her lips and told me to watch and listen.

She spoke a lot—some of it frightening, some promises of what she would do for me if I complied, and some just sweet nothings. But the words that stuck with me were, “You’re a beautiful boy. I have to teach you this early so that when you grow up, you’ll know how to do it.”

She was bigger and stronger than I was, and since the house was hers, I felt powerless. I watched her as she did what she wanted. When she got up, I noticed blood. I thought I was hurt or that I had hurt her. She said, “Do you know what this blood means? It’s a covenant. If you tell anyone, there will be bloodshed, and I can assure you it won’t be mine this time.”

She took me to the bathroom, washed me, and cleaned herself with a white towel. We returned to the bedroom together, and she wrapped her arm around me as she fell asleep. I lay there, disoriented, my heart racing throughout the night. I cried a little and slept fitfully until morning.

From that day on, I became very shy around her, unable to meet her gaze. When she spoke to me, I would look down at my feet. She began to treat me with more affection, buying things I had mentioned needing to my mom. Even after Mom returned and I was back home, Aunt Bertha would visit with treats and sometimes give me money.

That night wasn’t the last time it happened. I can recall various places where it occurred and how she encouraged me to take charge. I knew what we were doing wasn’t normal. Eventually, no matter how she touched me, I couldn’t respond. I would plead with her to stop, but she persisted until there was a slight reaction, and she would use it like that.

Then we finished school, and Mom decided to move us to live with Dad. Everything stopped once we moved in with him. I couldn’t tell anyone. In university, I tried to confide in my best friend, but I knew he would find it amusing and say foolish things, so I kept it to myself.

I never stopped thinking about it, especially the first time. The blood. How she took me to the bathroom and washed it off with scented soap. I wondered where the blood came from and why it was there. Eventually, I concluded that she must have been on her menstrual cycle when it first happened. The thought made me nauseous, and even now, when I dwell on it, I feel sick.

A few months after my graduation, we learned that Aunt Bertha had passed away from an illness that had troubled her for months. I had no idea she was sick; I hadn’t heard from her or even her name since we left town.

Her death hit me like a bolt of lightning. I couldn’t cry, but I felt a heaviness whenever I thought of her. At her funeral, seeing her body lying there finally brought the tears. I cried, vomited, cried again. I was angry with her for not living long enough to answer my questions. I was frustrated that I would carry that burden alone without any closure.

I thought that growing older would help me bury that memory and replace it with something new, but it didn’t work. Recently, I noticed a pattern in my life that made me believe something was wrong with me.

My relationships never last. I can be deeply in love with a woman, and she with me, but a few months later, she disappears without explanation. When I ask what’s wrong, they all say, “It’s not you; it’s me. You’re a good person, but…”

Every woman I’ve dated has said this before leaving. Here’s where it gets eerie: whenever I start a new relationship, I dream about Aunt Bertha. After waking from those dreams, my relationship begins to crumble. They stop calling and don’t answer my calls like they used to. They find reasons to walk away.

Sometimes, in my dreams, Bertha is dressed in white, walking hand in hand with me, asking if I’ve missed her. Other times, she appears laughing or very angry, discussing things I don’t understand or confronting me about issues I’ve never faced. I wake up, and my relationship is over.

Since I recognized this pattern, I’ve only dated one woman. That relationship lasted six months, even though it was long-distance, with us seeing each other only once or twice a month. While I was with her, I had a dream about Bertha. Upon waking, I looked at my girlfriend and whispered, “This is where you leave me.”

The cracks began to show a week later. I didn’t fight it; I just watched her leave like shadows stretching across walls before disappearing. I told myself, “It’s the covenant at work. I know.” Because tell me, why am I thirty-six and attractive but unable to maintain a relationship? I may not have everything, but I have enough to eat and a little to spend on someone I love. So why can’t I keep a relationship?

Prayer comes to mind. My heart urges me to seek a man of God and confess. I feel that the longer I keep this secret, the tighter the covenant’s grip will be on me. I know this, yet I do nothing. I make excuses, telling myself that pastors will exploit my situation and waste my money. I’ve even considered seeking help from a shrine, but I haven’t brought myself to do it.

Maybe this is all part of the covenant. Perhaps my reluctance to take action is part of it too, but one day, I will.

—Andy

This story you just read was sent to us by someone just like you. We know you have a story too. Email it to us at editors@etechx.co.ke. You can also drop your number, and we will call you to share your story.