Hypochondriac Prayers


"So how have you two managed to stay together for so long," I ask the leaders of the Broeng Cult.

"Well, I would always come down with some terrible illness. Just my luck I suppose," Melissa starts in lovingly on her tale. "Bird flue, Spanish Flu, COVID, I had all of that. But Jesse here, he always prayed away my ailments."

"A gift from the 6 Gods. They blessed my tongue and my hands. My words and my touch will heal those on the verge of death. I have brought my sweet love Melissa back a many of times," Jesse starts in the outlandish Southern drawl he speaks in.

I've researched Jesse, he grew up in California, moved to Utah, and finally here in Montana where he started his cult. At no point would he develop that drawl. Still he chooses to use it alongside his exaggerated preacher voice. It helps to keep his followers glued to his sermon. Still, I couldn't help but admit that there was something devilish in his blue eyes that drew me in. Not that I'd fall victim to his scam like others.

"What about the ones you couldn't heal," I ask bringing an end to his rant.

"I couldn't heal," he looks at me as if offended him.

"I'm sorry to offend you," I quickly apologize.

"The only people I could not heal are those that have been bathed in the blood of Satan. Those who did not wish to be healed. Ask any of my followers. I have healed them from a great many things. Polio, cancer, broken bones, I am a master. And it is clear you are not a true believer," Jesse continues.

"He really is a healer," Melissa interrupts.

I quickly end the interview and suggest we do a followup at a later date. I make it out of the commune as quickly as I can. Despite the wandering eyes looking at me, I make it out as quick as I can. Despite the eyes watching me, no one follows. I know this whole religion is a shame. Getting hypochondriacs to turn over their money to the so called prophet. Still, everyone inside those gates believes every word of it.

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