Hidden Secrets
February 15, 2019
The fourth day in Miraj Al-Ghaib Estate dawned bleak and cold, the winter sun barely piercing the heavy clouds that hung over the ancient mansion. Laura moved through the house, her footsteps echoing in the oppressive silence. She couldn't shake the feeling that the walls were closing in on her, their whispers growing louder with each passing hour.
Thomas had immersed himself in the study, poring over the estate's history with a fervor that bordered on obsession. Laura decided to explore the house, hoping to find something that might explain the strange occurrences they had experienced.
In the dimly lit attic, she found a dusty trunk hidden behind old furniture and forgotten belongings. It creaked open, revealing a collection of old diaries and documents. Laura's heart raced as she carefully lifted them out, wiping away the dust to reveal the delicate, handwritten entries.
The first diary belonged to Laila Al-Farouq, the wife of Hassan Al-Farouq, the estate's original owner.
Laura's eyes scanned the pages, the elegant script painting a picture of a once-happy family slowly descending into darkness.
February 10, 1730
Hassan has been spending more time in the study, surrounded by those cursed artifacts. He speaks of a djinn named Khayal, bound to our family by ancient pacts. I fear what he is becoming, and what he is bringing into our home.
Laura shivered, the chill in the attic growing more intense. She turned the page, her breath catching as she read further.
March 15, 1731
Strange things are happening in the house. Whispers in the night, shadows that move on their own. Hassan dismisses my fears, but I know there is something here, something dark and malevolent. The children are frightened, and I cannot protect them from what Hassan has unleashed.
As Laura read, the oppressive feeling of being watched grew stronger. She glanced around the attic, half-expecting to see a shadowy figure lurking in the corners. But there was nothing, only the silence and the weight of the past pressing down on her.
The next diary belonged to Amira Al-Farouq, Hassan and Laila’s eldest daughter. Her entries were more fragmented, filled with fear and confusion.
April 20, 1743
Father speaks to shadows now. I hear him at night, his voice low and urgent. He tells us not to worry, but I see the terror in Mother's eyes. She knows what he has done, and it is tearing our family apart.
Laura’s hands trembled as she turned the pages. The entries became more frantic, detailing the disappearance of Amira and the tragic death of her brother Ibrahim.
June 30, 1743
Amira is gone. Vanished without a trace. Mother says it is the djinn, taking what Father promised. I cannot bear to think of what might happen to us. The house feels alive, watching our every move. I fear we are all doomed.
Laura felt a cold sweat break out on her forehead. The horrors described in these diaries mirrored the strange occurrences they were experiencing. The whispers, the moving shadows, the oppressive feeling of being watched—it was all there, written by hands long dead.
She closed the diaries and carefully placed them back in the trunk. As she stood, she noticed a small, ornate box at the bottom of the trunk. Opening it, she found a collection of old photographs and letters, each one adding another piece to the puzzle.
Back in the study, Thomas’s obsession with the estate’s history had reached a fever pitch. He hardly acknowledged Laura as she entered, his eyes fixed on an old map of the property.
“Thomas, I found something,” Laura began, holding out the diaries.
Thomas barely glanced at them. “Not now, Laura. Can’t you see I’m busy?”
“But Thomas, these diaries—they talk about a curse, about a djinn named Khayal. The things happening to us—they happened before.”
Thomas snatched the diaries from her, skimming the pages. His brow furrowed, and then he laughed, a harsh, dismissive sound. “These are written in Arabic, Laura. Since when did you learn to read Arabic?”
Laura blinked, taking the diaries back and looking at the pages. The elegant script was still there, perfectly readable to her in English. Confusion swept over her. “But… they’re in English.”
Thomas shook his head, his eyes narrowing. “You’re seeing things. These are written in Arabic, and unless you’ve been taking lessons I don’t know about, there’s no way you could have read them. Focus on what’s important.”
He handed the diaries back, his eyes cold and dismissive. “I need you to make sure the children are working. They’ve been slacking off. Especially Emily.”
Laura nodded, her heart heavy. She knew better than to argue. She left the study, her mind racing with what she had read. How had she been able to read the diaries if they were in Arabic? The thought chilled her, adding another layer of dread to the growing fear.
As the day wore on, Thomas’s control became more overt and violent. He ordered Emily to scrub the floors until they shone, berating her for every perceived flaw. Sam was tasked with cataloging the artifacts, each mistake met with harsh words and thinly veiled threats.
“Faster, Sam. If you can’t do it right, you’ll do it again. And again, until you get it right,” Thomas snarled, his eyes glinting with a manic intensity.
Emily’s hands were raw and bleeding from the scrubbing, but she dared not complain. Sam’s back ached from lifting heavy boxes, but he continued without pause, the fear of his father’s wrath driving him on.
Laura watched, her heart breaking. She wanted to intervene, but Thomas’s control was absolute. The house seemed to echo his authority, the walls closing in around them, the whispers growing louder and more insistent.
As night fell, the supernatural occurrences intensified. The temperature dropped suddenly, the chill seeping into their bones. Shadows moved in the corners of their vision, disappearing when they turned to look.
Emily and Sam huddled together in their room, the whispers filling the silence. “Mom, I’m scared,” Emily whispered, her voice trembling.
Laura hugged her daughter tightly, trying to ignore the whispers that seemed to come from the very walls. “It’s okay, sweetheart. We’ll figure this out. I promise.”
But as she lay in bed that night, listening to the house creak and groan, Laura couldn’t shake the feeling that they were not alone in the house.
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