Back in 2012, I made a decision that still haunts me to this day. My name is Ali, I’m 28 now, and I’ve always loved nature—especially the calm and quiet of rural areas. I used to visit them all the time with my family and friends. But one afternoon, I decided I needed solitude.
There was a small farm not too far from our house. It sat beside a river I’d always found beautiful, and I thought it would be the perfect place to get away from everything. So I went alone.
The day was peaceful—exactly what I needed. But on my way back, I got this strange idea: instead of taking the regular route, why not walk through the valley nearby? It looked calm, untouched, quiet. I figured I’d enjoy the scenery on my way home.
But I shouldn’t have gone down there.
As I reached the edge of the valley, I paused. Something caught my attention—my own reflection in the water. I stared at it for a moment… and that’s when everything shifted.
Suddenly, my whole body felt numb. Like I had lost control of my limbs. My head started pounding, and I felt this overwhelming urge to sleep. It wasn’t normal tiredness—it was like something was forcing me to shut down. My body gave in. I collapsed right there by the water and fell into the deepest sleep I’ve ever experienced.
And I had no choice in the matter.
I don’t know how much time passed before I woke up. But when I did, I was a mess. My clothes were filthy, covered in dirt and dust. My arms and legs were scratched up badly, and I had no idea how I’d gotten those wounds. I didn’t remember anything. Not a single moment from the time I fell asleep.
Panic hit me hard. I remembered my family—especially my father. He’s a strict man, and I knew he’d be furious if I showed up late, looking like this. I rushed to the river and tried to clean myself up as best I could. My clothes were still damp and dirty, but I didn’t have time to care.
When I finally got home, my father was standing outside waiting for me.
He looked me over carefully, as if trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Then, without warning, he asked me a few casual questions… and dropped the subject completely.
That should have been a relief.
But something about his reaction felt wrong. Almost like he knew something… and didn’t want to say it.
That night, I went to bed thinking I had avoided any real consequences.
I had no idea that this was only the beginning.
In the days that followed, I thought I had moved on from what happened in the valley. Life returned to normal… or at least, it seemed like it had.
But then the changes started.
At first, it was small things. I’d ask someone for something—anything—and they’d agree without hesitation. Not just agree, but go out of their way to fulfill whatever I wanted. I figured I was just getting lucky.
But it kept happening.
Over time, it became routine. I’d make requests—some of them unreasonable—and people would still say yes. No pushback, no second thoughts. It didn’t matter if it was a stranger, a friend, or someone in my own family. It was like I had some kind of influence over people… like they couldn’t resist agreeing with me.
And then, later—hours or even days after the fact—they’d come back to me confused. They’d ask why they said yes. Why they went along with something they normally never would’ve agreed to. They’d swear they didn’t even remember making the decision.
It wasn’t just once. It wasn’t a coincidence. It kept happening. Again. And again. And again.
That’s when I started to feel it.
There was something inside me. A presence, maybe. An energy I couldn’t describe. It didn’t speak to me… not yet. But I knew it was there. I could feel it in every conversation. People would look at me, start talking, and it was like their minds fogged over. Like their free will dissolved the moment I opened my mouth.
I should have been disturbed. I should have told someone.
Instead… I got used to it.
But the real danger came when the people closest to me started noticing it too.
At first, it was just awkward silences. Then it turned into whispers. Suspicion. Avoidance.
Even my own family started to pull away from me.
It was like they saw something in me they couldn’t explain. Something they were afraid of. People I had grown up with—people who knew I had nothing to do with sorcery or superstition—began acting like I was cursed. Like I was dabbling in dark things.
But I wasn’t. I had never touched any of that.
Still, the rumors began. They said I had a veil over me. That I was using some kind of black magic. That I had changed.
And honestly… they weren’t wrong.
Something had changed.
Six years passed like that.
By 2018, things had settled into a strange kind of routine. I was still isolated. People still acted cautiously around me. But I had stopped questioning it. I had learned to live with the silence, the distance.
Then one day, my family surprised me.
They told me they had found someone for me to marry.
I didn’t expect it. Honestly, I wasn’t sure I was ready. But when they introduced me to the girl… I was stunned. She was kind, respectful, beautiful—everything I had ever hoped for. There wasn’t a single reason to say no.
So I said yes.
The moment I agreed, something shifted in my head.
A sharp, stabbing pain erupted behind my eyes. It was the same headache I had felt that day in the valley—the one that knocked me unconscious. Except this time, I didn’t collapse. I stayed awake. And I heard something else.
Whispers.
Voices.
They weren’t speaking Arabic… or English… or any language I could recognize. It was like they were pressing in on me from all sides, speaking in tongues my brain couldn’t decode. They didn’t sound human.
I didn’t tell anyone. After a few days, the whispers faded. Life returned to normal again. I convinced myself it was just stress—or maybe some buried memory from that valley incident trying to resurface.
I should have trusted my instincts.
Two weeks later, my family asked if I still wanted to go through with the marriage. I told them I did.
They said the girl’s family had asked her the same thing—and she had also agreed.
I was relieved. Even happy. For the first time in years, I allowed myself to feel excited.
That night, I went to bed early. I laid there, imagining a better future. A clean slate.
And then I heard it.
Clear. Loud. And filled with venom.
“I will burn them all.”
It was a woman’s voice. Cold. Confident. Cruel.
I shot up in bed, heart racing.
Was I dreaming? Was it stress? Delusion?
I told myself that it had to be in my head. That it wasn’t real. That everything was going to be fine.
But just a few hours later, in the middle of the night… a fire broke out in my fiancée’s home.
Her father was badly burned. It was a miracle the whole family didn’t die.
And all I could think about was that voice.
The voice that promised fire.
I tried to shake it off. I told myself the fire was just a coincidence. A tragic, random accident.
But the voice didn’t stop.
That same night, as I laid in bed trying to calm my nerves, I heard her again.
“Break up with her… or I will ruin your life.”
The voice wasn’t angry. It was calm. Cold. As if she already knew I wouldn’t listen.
She repeated the threat over and over again. Whispering it into the silence of my room until I couldn’t sleep.
Still, I didn’t tell anyone. I didn’t believe in that kind of thing. I wasn’t the kind of person who ran to a sheikh or blamed unseen spirits. I just… ignored it.
Three days later, everything in my life collapsed.
It started slowly—raised voices, miscommunications, bad moods. Then it exploded.
Screaming. Fights. Doors slamming. My father—who had always been the foundation of our home—completely lost control. He kicked me out of the house. Said I was the problem. That everything had gone to hell since the marriage was announced.
And he wasn’t the only one.
Friends stopped answering my calls. Cousins ignored me. Wherever I went, people looked at me like I was the cause of something evil. Like they couldn’t stand to be near me.
No one would let me stay with them. I had no place to go.
I slept on the street. Not just one night—two full days, wandering with no food, no help, no answers.
When I finally came back home, desperate and exhausted, the voice returned.
This time… she didn’t threaten my peace. She didn’t threaten my marriage.
She threatened blood.
“Stay away from her… or I will kill your family.”
That was it. The last line.
This wasn’t just in my head. I couldn’t pretend anymore.
Something had followed me out of that valley.
And now it wanted everything I loved.
I couldn’t stay silent anymore.
That final threat — to kill my family — shook me to my core. I knew this wasn’t stress. It wasn’t imagination. It wasn’t a psychological breakdown.
This was something else.
I went straight to my father and told him everything. The truth I had been holding in for years.
I told him about the valley. About the numbness. About the sleep that had no explanation. I told him about the strange power I seemed to have over people. The voice. The fire. The threats. Every single word.
And when I told him that something had promised to kill him — and everyone in our family — if I didn’t obey… I saw the fear in his face.
For a long moment, he didn’t say anything.
Then he looked at me and said, “I believe you.”
He said the recent chaos in our house hadn’t made sense. That everything felt wrong — but with no clear cause. No reason for the anger. No logic behind the madness. Now, it all fit.
That night, my father sat with me and began reciting verses from the Qur’an.
And by morning, he took me to a Sheikh.
We told the Sheikh everything. He listened carefully, asked some questions, then began the ruqyah — the spiritual cleansing.
He placed his hand on my shoulder and started to recite.
And that was the last thing I remembered.
The pressure hit me instantly — a weight inside my head, like something was trying to burst out. My vision blurred. My body went numb.
And I passed out cold.
When I came to, my entire family was standing around me, pale and terrified.
They told me what happened after I blacked out.
The moment the Sheikh began his recitation, I started speaking in a voice that wasn’t mine.
A deep, eerie voice — feminine… but monstrous. She kept repeating the same sentence, again and again:
“I won’t leave my husband! I won’t leave!”
The Sheikh said it without hesitation: I was possessed. A female jinn had attached herself to me. And not just any attachment — this one was in love with me. Deeply. Obsessively.
He gave me two instructions:
One — listen to the Qur’an daily.
Two — get married as soon as possible. The marriage, he explained, would help weaken her grip.
So I did everything he said.
I listened to Qur’an every day. I prayed. I fasted. I stayed away from anything suspicious. And by the end of 2018, I got married.
For a moment, I believed I had won. That the nightmare was over.
I was wrong.
From the very first day of marriage, I couldn’t look at my wife.
Not because I didn’t want to… but because every time I looked at her, she appeared in a different form. A horrific, monstrous face. Deformed. Grotesque.
It wasn’t her. I knew that. But that’s what my eyes saw.
Still, I tried. For 13 days, I forced myself to act normal.
On the 14th day, I made a decision.
No matter what I saw, no matter how she looked… we would consummate the marriage that night. I couldn’t let this go on. I couldn’t live in fear anymore.
But when I entered our bedroom… she wasn’t there.
I looked around. Checked the hallway. Nothing.
So I went downstairs to ask my family, who lived in the same house.
“Where is my wife?” I asked.
They looked confused. One of them said, “Didn’t you just come home with her? You told us you were taking her to visit her parents.”
I froze.
“I… I haven’t seen her all day.”
That was the moment I realized—something was terribly, terribly wrong.
I rushed back upstairs, heart racing, thoughts spiraling.
Where was she?
My mind was spinning so fast, I didn’t even realize I had left my phone in the room. I opened the bedroom door to grab it.
And that’s when I heard it.
A laugh.
A woman’s laugh — sharp, mocking, filled with satisfaction.
Then… her voice.
“I got rid of her.
And now… I’ll save you from me as well.”
And just like that… silence.
The voice that had haunted me for so long vanished.
Gone. As if it had never existed.
But the horror wasn’t over.
Moments later, my phone rang. It was my wife’s family.
I wish I hadn’t answered.
On the other end of the line came the worst words I’ve ever heard in my life:
She was dead.
She had died suddenly — from an electric shock.
That call shattered me. I went cold. Paralyzed.
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even cry.
I stood there in silence, staring into nothing, as the weight of what I’d just heard crushed me from the inside out.
I didn’t tell my family. I couldn’t. I didn’t know how to form the words.
By the next morning, they found out anyway.
There was crying. Screaming. Questions I couldn’t answer.
But deep down, I already knew the truth.
From that day on… the voice never returned.
The strange power I once had — gone.
The whispers. The influence. The nightmares.
All of it… gone.
But with it… so was my happiness.
