"The Battle Between Light and Darkness: A Haunting Journey of Grief and Redemption"

In winter, the beats of my heart stopped in terror at those phrases my mind heard that didn’t reach the confines of my ears. In the world of matter, their impact shook my being and fear was etched on my face. Yes, terror—the deadly terror that spills over me every day in the valley of sorrow, striking me from time to time, again and again, each one stronger than the other in a way that makes me feel that whoever hears those phrases is flogging me with a voice of words that strike my body in a different place each time. I am almost ready to rip my heart out from between my ribs and turn into a corpse, but alas, my soul has been seized. The murmurs of words are more impactful on my mind and heart, continuously indifferent to my human weakness and forgetting that I am human. It tortures me with words that resemble crying more than speaking, sobbing with pain and sadness like I have never seen in this world. But, wait... for I do not consider myself part of this world; the world is life, and I live in the realm of death--and my soul will float after death, unfettered by the pending affairs of this world—between this world and the next with no meaning in drifting.

My heart throbbed hard when the phrases began to clarify and infiltrate my material being (I hate you, I hate your innate stupidity imbued in your essence, and I will torture you with a torture that will last until the end of time, and nothing will save you from me, not even your closest ones; nothing will save you. I will torment you until the end of your life and beyond, through ages and eons, your body will remain tormented until the end of your days, and then your soul until the Day of Judgment... I will crush your being and your feelings until you cry "Have mercy on me," and I will not have mercy on you. Know that you do not know me, but I know you well; I am a creature responsible for torturing beings like you until they awaken from their human existence and begin facing the miserable life they live toward better lives and higher meanings that lead them through its roads and dark corners)......

The heat of my body increased, and the heat of my room intensified to the point where I felt extreme suffocation in my whole body, and the weeping, pained voice began: "Have mercy on me from my torment; I want relief. Fire, fire, fire burns my memories and pulls me to the right and to the left from the pain of memories from the suffering of my moans from the mistreatment by those like me, from the poor treatment of the tormentors who neither hear nor want anything but my death in pain and sadness without actual death, for I am, in essence, dead. Remember me, remember me, remember me... for I am the sad devil.....

Part Two ("No matter how much you torture me")

I caught my breath from an overwhelming wave, and I was almost dying from fear when I woke to the voice of the dream that the devil touched me with. I overcame my fear as I easily recalled this painful dream. The psychological theories on the difficulty of remembering dreams entirely held no water, and it felt like the whole world had not been created and perished even before I existed; I found myself inside the dream. Yes, I dreamed of what would happen. My mother began screaming at me, "Your father is dead!" and I started crying, not understanding the reality that the devil had predicted in my dream. My father died, leaving me nothing in this world but the remnants of a possessed girl whose father died under mysterious circumstances. He died when his heart burned. I looked at myself in the mirror, indifferent to the events happening around me regarding this world; I had lost consciousness of the world, but not completely. My eyes were open, and my legs could carry me on the ground, but my tongue was tied, and it seemed to me that I would live in a new world like none other that no one had ever told you about before. I could see the past, present, and future simultaneously, and I was filled with horror, yet I did not issue a silent sigh that lost its articulation. Everyone gathered around me—some denying what was happening to me and others collapsing from the shock of my father’s death. I hardly recognized them, and maybe I knew them, but I did not remember their names; this is my brother, this is my sister, this is my mother, and all of them—I do not remember their names. But wait, there were two men standing behind everyone; they were my father and another person whose features seemed similar to the one I had dreamed of—indeed, it was him, and the deadly horror began......

They were speaking: "You married my daughter, and I will keep your soul in this world in bliss and comfort." It seemed to me that this was a trick played on me by this fiery creature controlling the affairs of my life. That trick did not deceive me, for my faith is strong, for the soul is a command from God; this is precisely what I understood. It was a trick aimed at stirring my feelings toward my father and pushing me to plead with the devil to make him speak to me and for me to speak to him. Suddenly, the creature looked at me in anger, as if it read my thoughts, and the room began to disappear and the light faded away, and darkness enveloped me, making me awaken from sleep to find myself on the same day of my father’s death. My mother entered, saying, "Your father is dead," and each time, they wore different clothes and the days repeated until I finally woke up one time, finding myself weeping with great intensity over what was happening to me, and I found my father beside me standing. I embraced him tightly and said to him, "The devil has afflicted me with deception and torment," and suddenly he looked at me in fear, denying, "Do not say this, do not say such words ever." Thus, I began to understand that he was not my father. I said to him in fear, "No matter how much you torture me, I will not respond to you, no matter how much you torture me. No matter how much you torture me."

King of Jinn

The spirits are soldiers trained; those that are familiar come together, and those that are unfamiliar differ. Let's see...

One cold night in the severely cold winter of January, our story began... One of the drivers was heading to his residence in one of the remote areas of the province, alone, beneath the darkness of a night that had no dawn, as is said in colloquial terms, except for the headlights of his car on an unpaved, rough road. A strange feeling of fear was wrestling with his Bedouin bravery, which is unmatched, so he hurried to end it by turning on the new radio he had purchased but had not yet tried. At first glance, the situation appeared terrifying as the radio's volume increased dramatically, and the driver reduced the sound, beginning to relax in that relaxation that precedes hardship, calming his heart, this calm that precedes the storm....

It seemed for a moment that the matter had ended and that he would return home safely...

But as soon as the radio transmission ended, a strange whistling sound began to emerge, but the driver liked it, so he decided to continue listening, oblivious to what might happen, when suddenly, the car's headlights turned off, and the vehicle began to wobble on the rough road and was about to flip over if not for the driver’s agility in dealing with these situations, and he stopped the car with difficulty before crashing or dying. Suddenly, the headlights came back on, and the driver took a breath as if he had reached his last refuge...

He started to turn on the engine, but it wouldn’t start, and fear echoed in his heart—the same whistle echoing in his ears from the radio, which had gone silent after it started on its own. What further astonished the driver was that he heard a voice calling him. Yes, calling him from some place he did not expect. It was from the radio speaking to him, telling him, "Go from here, go from here, it’s me, the King of Jinn. I wanted to inform you that your son is in danger, so hurry to him before it’s too late." The voice began to fade until it disappeared, and the car's headlights started to work, and the engine began to turn. When the driver returned home, he found his son suffering from the after-effects of a scorpion sting that had been treated by his sister's husband, who lived with them in the same home. As is customary among the poor children of the desert, they lived in groups—an ancient tradition passed down through many generations and cultures. But as soon as he returned, his son started screaming, "Father! Father!" So, he asked his sister's husband why he was screaming like this. He said that as soon as the scorpion stung him and he fainted, he began to scream and could only calm down upon hearing the sound of the Quran from me...