The Witch of the Mountain - Part 2 of 3

2

The lecture hall emptied far too slowly, the murmur of chatter the only thing filling the prolonged silence. Irmak sat at one of the desks in the farthest row, her chin resting against her palm, staring at the chalkboard where her professor had just outlined the following week’s assignments. Several of her notes were laid neatly in a pile in front of her, ready to be packed into her leather bag, and that was that. She waited for her classmates, or the majority of them at least, to exit already so that she too could leave. But it took forever.

So, she shifted her gaze with a sigh. Outside, the dying sunlight slanted through the wall-length windows, catching the dust that floated into the warmth. At that moment, she daydreamed away, imagining a different course of life – one much different from the one she currently led. After all, she had always been somewhat of a dreamer, or a romantic if one could say that. Had she been a Disney princess, she’d be Belle. But daydreams were just that, dreams, and nothing else. Ghosts of the mind, in other words. Maybe she wanted to become a ghost too, live an invisible life far from the plain reality she lived through each and every day. She wanted more; worked harder than anyone else. Still, all she ever amounted to was being this sorry of a person she was.

In the backdrop, conversations about plans for the weekend took over and drowned out all other subjects. It wasn’t like she wanted to eavesdrop or something, only she heard everything by default – even from miles away – as though she was some sort of Wonder Woman. But she didn’t want to. Heck! she even tried not to! It did not work one bit.

She put her hand to rest and let her fingers drum over the desk, faster and faster, until she could no longer take it. Standing upright, she nimbly folded her notebooks and tucked her pens into her bag in a certain order only she knew, all while her mind wandered from the words on the board. She thought of home, of the familiar streets she had left behind two years ago to live in the dormitory, and a small knot of unease curled in her stomach.

“You’re coming, right?” Dilara’s booming voice reluctantly pulled her out of her thoughts. But she paid no attention to the blonde girl and kept packing her stuff. “Hey, do you even see me?”

“I told you, I’m going nowhere. Just hang out with—”

“Come on! You can’t just leave me hanging, can you? Pleeeaasse?”

 Irmak rolled her eyes, drawing a deep breath to steady her nerves.

Who’s Dilara, again? Her friend, or rather, the only person willing to talk to someone like her, an outsider from the rural parts of the country. Though not in the mood to entertain her, Irmak finally broke off and met the other’s pleading gaze. She was literally leaning against the desk, her bare legs crossed in a certain way to accentuate her shape, and her eyes sparkled with mischief, as they always did. Now that she thought it over, Dilara reminded her of a puppy, one that always needed attention. Or she would get all sulky. But Dilara was more than just that, she was what people would call a “hot girl”, the kind that turned heads just by existing.

“Come on! It’s Friday!” she insisted. “We’re going out for drinks to celebrate my birthday! You can’t just stay cooped up in your room like you always do.”

Irmak tugged her bag strap over her shoulder, ignoring her friend’s question, and started towards the exit. “You know I don’t like drinking, and it’s not like my allowance is—”

“It’s just one drink,” Dilara called, hurrying to catch up. “I promise – promise – it’ll be worth it! Besides, it’s on me! You won’t have to pay a penny! I swear!”

There was something in Dilara’s tone that made it impossible to refuse. Reluctantly, she nodded, letting Dilara steer her through the crowd of students and down the packed streets near their university. That silly girl even started dancing in the middle of the road as they crossed it to celebrate her hard-earned victory. Seeing her beam so widely, Irmak couldn’t help but smile, too. Dilara might be a “hot girl”, but she was definitely no “typical girl.”

By the time they arrived, the bar was packed, and the overwhelming mix of alcohol and sweat, together with the strong scent of perfume, made her regret her choices at once and wish she could disappear into the shadows and catch her breath. She wasn’t used to these kinds of places and felt sick already.

Dilara ordered some drinks not long afterwards, and Irmak sipped cautiously from hers, tasting the bitterness of the liquid without letting herself indulge too much. She preferred control, even here, even in the swirl of loud music. It was then that Bilal and Mehmet appeared, weaving through the crowd.

Bilal was one of Dilara’s many flings and was studying history at their university, while Mehmet was Irmak’s crush. When they approached and sat at their table, Dilara winked at her as soon as she sought her eyes, as if she had planned all this beforehand. She rolled her eyes in response. It wasn’t like she could flirt with Mehmet; he had a long-time girlfriend and was a decent guy. And for some reason, Dilara thought that was more of a reason as to why she had to steal Mehmet.

Although she felt out of place at first, as she drank more and more and the night deepened and music grew louder, they were laughing, sharing stories and joking around as though they were more than just acquaintances. Soon, she found herself drawn into the rhythm, tapping her foot to the beat, letting her body move without surrendering her thoughts entirely. From somewhere near the back of the bar, then, just out of reach, a shadow moved against the radiant light. Her gaze flicked towards it from where she stilled on the dancefloor, though she quickly dismissed it as a trick of her intoxicated mind. Yet there was a chill that ran along her spine, nonetheless. She tried to shake it off, focusing instead on Mehmet, who leaned in and brushed up against her, and then, suddenly, he wasn’t that decent guy she thought he was.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, his eyes settling on her lips. “Did anyone tell you that?”

Before she could withdraw, repulsed at having mistaken him for a good guy, he leaned in, his lips inches from hers when—she turned her flushed face away before they could touch lips. She retreated to their table without saying anything and was soon joined by Dilara and Bilal, who had just exited the bathroom after making out in one of the stalls. They were too caught up in one another that neither noticed the distorted look on Irmak’s face as Mehmet too sat down and downed a drink.

At one point, however, things took a drastic turn, one she did not see coming. It was Bilal who broke the ice, after noticing the rising tension that had suddenly fallen over their table for reasons he did not know.

“You guys know Professor Necmiye?”

“Yeah,” said Dilara, sipping from her drink. “What about her?”

“The bitch’s crazy!” he said. “She just assigned us a paper on local haunted towns or some shit. Fucking hag.”

“Haunted towns?” Dilara repeated. “What the fuck?”

“She wants us to prove that so-called “hauntings” are more about poverty, historical tragedy, and neglect than anything supernatural. Man, she’s a total nutjob! Like, how am I supposed to prove that, even?”

“I think it sounds fun, though. Better than our boring assignments on classical literature,” Dilara said, then turned to face Irmak with a glint in her eyes as a moment of acknowledgement passed between them. “Right, Irmak?”

“…Yeah, I guess so.”

“So?” she said, shifting her focus back to Bilal. “Have you found something, then? Maybe we can help.”

“Kind of. Apparently, there’s a village called Karakaya nearby, it’s said to be haunted. A total ghost town.”

The words hit Irmak like a punch to the gut, and her hand tightened around the glass, the cool liquid trembling against her fingers. Karakaya. She had not expected to hear that name, not here, not now.

Dilara’s eyes widened too as she turned to her, all excited.

“Hey, isn’t that… the place you told me about?”

Irmak hesitated. She could feel her heartbeat in her throat, the memories of the abandoned streets and corpses found all over the village. Finally, her voice came out but was quieter than she intended.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea—”

“She’s from that place, actually,” interrupted Dilara.

Bilal’s eyes went wide. “Oh, wow. Really?” he asked, leaning over the table to get closer to her. “Heard a lot about that place from a friend of mine. Are the rumours about the village true? Like, that the whole village had been found dead overnight?”

She paused, swallowing hard. The music, the lights, the laughter around her – all seemed to fade away in that moment and suffocate her. She took another sip from her glass, her hands trembling out of control, gathering enough courage to say the words that lingered on the tip of her tongue.

“…Hmm. But I do not want to—”

Bilal, “Well, if we’re all free this weekend, then why don’t we go see for ourselves? Find out if it’s really haunted or not?”

Dilara exchanged a glance with Irmak before responding.

“Sure! Why not?”

Mehmet, “Fine by me, too.”

The three of them then turned to face her, expecting her to say something. But just the thought of returning to that place twisted something in her gut and made the bile rise in her throat. She wanted to refuse, to retreat to her dorm and the safety of her solitude, but Dilara’s hand pressed gently against her shoulder.

“Please,” she said. “Come with us! We need someone who can take us there, after all. You’re the only one who knows. Right?”

“I-I can’t... I…”

Bilal, “Come on! What’s the worst that can happen?”

Irmak bit her lips. A lot of thoughts weighed her down and meddled with her senses, but in the end, she nodded and agreed to take them to Karakaya. Bilal was right. The soldiers had found the witch’s corpse in the well already, and the entire village had been a ghost town ever since. She had nothing to fear.

So… why did it feel like she couldn’t breathe?

The Witch of the Mountain - Part 1 of 3

1

That fateful night not only brought with it the hush of the undead waiting for Judgment Day still, but also unforgivable sins of the past, of the bygone yet to be paid. It was also that night that the village lay heavy under the guise of that pretentious silence, trapped beneath a force only a few truly understood with their senses. Hah! Even those abysmal stray dogs stopped barking for a change!

The derelict mosque had loomed high in the clear sky, casting the rural village located in the middle of nowhere into a deep and suffocating gloom, and out of that darkness a woman emerged though no one expected her. She walked down the centre of the road, her steps steady and gingerly – all alone yet not at the same time – her obscure face clouded with a sorrow so deep and gut-wrenching that it was nothing less of a sin to look into her misty, ancient eyes. It was as though she had fled something dreadful, as though she carried the weight of a vile curse upon her shoulders, one only a few had experienced – thank god.

Her hands, those wrinkly and fragile hands, were clenched together and trembling – mind, not from the biting cold but from fear in its purest form, somehow, anyhow. No one knew why, no one could say the reason without sounding mad, but one thing was certain: whatever horrors pursued her had driven her here, into the night, to this very town, just as an unknowing girl stirred from her slumber with a gasp, drenched in beads of cold sweat running along her brows and tiny neck.

This was the first time Irmak had ever seen the mysterious visitor, though she had heard rumours of her existence. You couldn’t exactly stop children from running their mouths, could you? But she didn’t know the strange lady would be there too, in that deep darkness, as sleep eluded her without as much as a warning and she found herself in front of the frosted, laced window. She loved to watch the world at night, watch life pass her by and reminisce of another time, one different from hers. Also, strangely enough, whenever darkness fell over their village, it was like it was breathing differently for some reason, pulling at her, drawing her into the depths of the secrets she had yet to uncover.

Sometimes she imagined the shadows carried the shadows of the past, the unforgivable sins of those still alive and kicking, and that if she listened closely enough, she might see the vicious shadows look back at her and whisper something wild back – heck, she wanted that to be the case! But they never quite did, as if they pretended she wasn’t there, lurking in the murk, watching their every move. Nevertheless, she would find herself there, at the window, whenever the call to evening prayer rang and brought with it the darkness that soothed her soul so. But that night, the suffocating silence she otherwise despised so, gave way to something else – something else entirely.

The woman’s feet were bare and her whole body was soaked wet. Her hair clung to her face, caked with dirt, and foul droplets traced her arms as though she had been dragged straight from a river. There was a smell about her too, of damp soil and something faintly metallic. It was clear at first sight that something terrible had happened to her.

Irmak’s first thought was to wake up her parents, tell them that an elderly woman might be needing their help, but then she remembered that they would only scold her for being awake at this late hour. Thus, she dismissed the thought just as quickly as it crossed her mind. Still, she could not leave the woman in such a pitiful and poor state, could she?

She opened the front door just enough to peer out. The woman was there, motionless, as though she knew Irmak was watching her all along. With her heart in her mouth, Irmak then stepped into the garden and onto the narrow, bumpy road, where the woman lingered still until she raised her head ever so slightly. Irmak’s eyes narrowed as she took a good look at the woman, but her wet hair veiled her face and obscured all hints of what the strange visitor might look like.

“Hi,” she gingerly said, waving her hand awkwardly, “I’m Irmak. Do you… need help?”

The woman did not answer. She only stared at the girl, then slowly lifted her arm and pointed into the distance – towards the mountains.

“Is that where you want to go?”

The woman gave a nod.

“Do you want me to help you go there?”

The woman, once again, nodded and confirmed her.

Though hesitant, Irmak stepped forwards and supported the woman, helping her down the bumpy road with her small build. Together they walked into the night, farther and farther away from the heart of the village and closer to the mountains where no sane soul dared to linger in the wee hours.

The woman’s arm felt icy under the touch, and though the night was still, the woman’s hair seemed to stir with a breeze that wasn’t really there. Irmak tried to hum a tune under her breath, to calm her nerves and convince herself that everything was under control – the way she did whenever she was frightened – but the sound was meant to die in her throat eventually.

From time to time, she tried to speak and break the silence with her childish questions, but the woman never replied, and so they walked on in silence until they reached the fork where the mountain path began. Well there, Irmak hesitated for good. Her mother warned her never to take the mountain road, though she never explained why. She knew only what she overheard from the kids in the village, that once, long ago, a witch lived in the mountains and practised black magic, cursing the women so they could no longer conceive and bear children. No one knew why she bore such a grudge against the villagers as far as she knew, but Ahmet, the village fool, said he knew why.

When she was only a child, Ahmet had said, the imam of that time raped her and demanded later that she get rid of the foetus since he planned not to take her as his second wife. The unfortunate thing, however, loved her unborn child so much that she wanted to keep it despite the imam’s threats. And when the imam’s wife and family got wind of what had happened at last, they presumed that poor child had seduced her abuser and forcibly took the infant from her, ripped it straight from her tomb prematurely and buried her alive to save their face and honour.

From that day forth, the witch swore an oath of vengeance; she conspired with the djinn and vowed to bring ruin to the village. The men, terrified, dragged her into the mountains and savagely violated her, hoping to shatter her power and resolve. Even Ahmet, that fool, was forced to take part, though he did not want to at first, out of fear of what the men would do to him should he refuse. Like that, they thought they had defeated her and forever silenced her. And not long after this happened, the women once again began to bear children. Six babies were born in total. Irmak was one of those six babies. But aside from her, no one else survived early childhood. The children who lived in the village as of writing these arcane words leading nowhere came from other, nearby villages in the hopes of keeping the population from shrinking any further.

 People came to believe it was the witch’s doing that too, and so they found her and killed her. No one knew where they had left her body, though, since she was never reported missing by her family, who fled the village overnight that same day. However, people claimed they could hear her cries in the witching hour still, mourning her child who had been buried alive and whispered curses, colliding with the djinn.

Irmak pulled her arm free as these thoughts resurfaced from the deepest corners of her subconsciousness telling her to be careful and not to take a step further than she already had.

“I-I should go home now, it’s getting late.”

The woman spoke at last. Her voice was heavy with sorrow, just like how Irmak imagined it would be, and a chill shot down her spine.

“I am your mother, child. Don’t you recognise me?”

Her eyes narrowed, deep wrinkles forming. She didn’t know this woman, yet the words pierced her heart like a wound torn open for reasons she couldn’t understand. The way she said them… as though she truly believed those words…

“No.”

“Oh, my child… My sweet, sweet child…”

The woman cupped her face, and in her eyes, Irmak saw tears, saw a sorrow so deep it seemed endless. She knew, then. This was her. The witch. The woman who had been raped, who had lost her baby, and who had sworn vengeance against the villagers.

“You’re a witch,” she said, the words escaping her before she could hinder them. “Right?”

The woman lowered her head, shame shadowing her face. Painful memories seemed to weigh her down and take over her bleak mind. Then she looked up again and met Irmak’s quizzical gaze.

“Forgive me, my child,” she said, her voice breaking. “You are not her. Go back to your family now. Don’t look back and… promise me to never walk out at night again.”

The woman then turned towards the mountain path and walked away, leaving Irmak no chance to reply. Instead, she stood watching until the woman vanished into the dark, then returned home as she had been told.

By dawn, before the first light touched the sky, soldiers came with sudden, grim news: the entire village had been poisoned, and no one survived except Irmak and her family. Doors hung open, meals sat unfinished, and bodies lay where they had fallen, some in beds, some in the streets, faces twisted as though they had seen Shaitan himself. Irmak clung to her mother’s skirt as the soldiers told them what had happened, and her small heart hammered out of control as he thought back on her encounter with the witch.

Years later, long after she and her family fled that cursed place, Irmak heard the truth of what really happened that night. Apparently, the soldiers had found the source of the poisoning and wrote off the macabre case as an accident caused by a rotten corpse that had been found in the well the villagers used for drinking water. But there was no update on whose corpse it was or why it had been inside the well – or for how long…

The incident affected her in more than one way. Even as a grown woman, she would wake some nights with her face wet from tears she did not remember shedding. In her dreams, she walked again on that mountain path, always with the woman at her side, always hearing those same swords on repeat: “Oh, my child… My sweet, sweet child…” And when the wind howled and whistled in those harrowing moments, she could hear the djinn echoing those same words from the mountain path she had left behind in her past but never truly escaped. 

Neve Emek: Room 102 - Part 14 of ?

14

The wood beneath me was on the verge of collapsing but held strangely enough. I carried on, one step after another, until my body leaned forwards into the descent, the handrail beneath my sticky palm rough. Halfway down, however, I realised the sound of my own footsteps had changed, as though the stairs were covered in fabric. Even the smell of dust and moisture thickened abruptly, laced with something rotten to the core and eerily sweet, like liquefied flesh broken down by critter.

At the bottom, the stairwell opened into a narrow hallway. I knew instantly that this place should not exist. It was simply too wide for the building’s foundation. But here it was, nonetheless. I pressed on despite this insight, ducking slightly, the key to room 102 still clenched in my fist, though it was useless now.

Right then, the light at the far end swayed as if caught by something that had yet to reach me. When I reached the source of light at last, an old oil lamp hung on a hook with its glass cracked, the flame inside burning with no visible fuel. And next to it, mounted into the wall, was a covered mirror, almost identical to the one I had seen in the caretaker’s hut, but definitely older.

I pulled the cover down, catching my reflection briefly, but did not linger. What I saw was a slightly distorted reflection of what I was supposed to look like, only I couldn’t name what was wrong with it, only sense it. But there was no time to study why that was the case, because somewhere up ahead in the narrow corridor, something shifted and caught my attention.

A scrape, like bare feet dragging over stone.

I froze.

It was the creature again. Coming closer.

But I couldn’t discern from which direction it was coming. All I knew was that time was running low and that I had nowhere else to go. As I mentioned, I couldn’t tell whether the creature was behind me or in front of me, whether it was descending that strange stairwell or somewhere farther ahead in the corridor before me. And so, I moved – and that, quickly yet cautiously.

Deeper.

And deeper…

Until the corridor narrowed to the point my shoulders brushed against the walls and I had to bend my knees to get through the place. Even then, I couldn’t tell whether the creature was getting closer or farther away. It was just there, constantly in the background, driving me up the wall and forcing me to press on.

Moments later, the space opened into a chamber. Abruptly. Giving me no time to explore my confusion and bewilderment at how this was even possible. I no longer had to duck my head either; the ceiling had now become vaulted and high, and at the centre was the figure. I backed away on instinct, my breath catching in my dry throat, as I shivered beyond control.

But the creature did not move. Neither did it hiss nor growl; instead, it just observed me as I observed it.

Until then.

In my attempts to flee, to return to the narrow corridor, my feet caught something. I couldn’t see what it was, nor was I interested. My only focus was the creature, which twitched suddenly and raised its head towards me.

Then… the dragging resumed.

I couldn’t move, though. My feet were locked in place as though an unseen force had pinned me against the floor. Still, I tried. I fought back to take control of my limbs and flee. Yet all I could do was watch in horror as the creature drew closer, the blade scraping against the floor, tracing a path on the hard surface.

I blinked hard and stopped breathing, bracing for whatever was coming my way, certain that the end had come. But it didn’t. Just like all the other times the creature came for my head – playing games with me, teasing me as if I were a toy for it to play tricks on and mess with. When I opened my eyes again, I was alone. But not only that. I stood once more in the corridor outside room 102, in the right wing of the building, where the plate over the guestroom now hung upside down, crimson liquid spilling downwards.

Blood. Fresh blood. Not mine.

I staggered back as the realisation hit me. Whose blood was this?

Then I heard it again, that sound, and my frantic eyes snapped towards the other end of the corridor, where the walls seemed to stretch and close in around me, tilting on its axis, until the contours of the creature came into existence. Shit! Instinctively, my hand reached for the door, the one that should have led me back into room 102, but when I tried the handle, it opened up into another hallway – one I did not recognise.

But that realisation did not stop me. All I wanted to do was to get away from the creature, find a place it could not enter and pursue me, though I knew this was easier said than done. I had gone in circles, deeper and deeper underground, and yet not once did I retrace my steps back to the entrance. The building kept rearranging itself. Every step I took led me closer to my doom, trapping me inside a maze with no escape in sight.

The light above flickered eerily as I sprinted down the hallway, then gradually steadied as I too was forced to slow down – at a crossroads at the forking corridor before me. This was new. I had not been here before. Progress. Sure, but where did these corridors lead? Down again or… to the exit?

I turned left, hoping for a miracle, only to find myself back at the forking corridor. So, I turned right this time. Even this one looped back to the forking corridor, leading nowhere. That was when I took a moment to calm my frantic heart and the panic rising in my chest, scanning my surroundings to find a way out of this place. But there was no escape. No exit.

My whole body shook out of control, my determination faltering as did the strength in my legs. And I… ran. I didn’t even care which way was right anymore. I just ran wherever my feet took me. By the third loop, the left hallway seemed to slope, subtly at first, then more aggressively, descending. And then… a door appeared where there had been none. It stood at the very end; there was a number carved on the plate above it. I gulped hard and stepped back. Room 102? How could this be? Was I losing my mind, or had everything that had happened up to this point been nothing but a hallucination?

The door clicked open as soon as I thrust the key in, giving way easily. Too easily to my liking.

This wasn’t the room I saw through the gap in the wall. It was more cramped, narrower, and suffocating in a way far too difficult to describe with plain words. All I could rely on was my instincts, instincts that told me something beyond what my mind was capable of comprehending had taken place here. It wasn’t just the blood all over the walls and floor that caused such thoughts to appear; it was also the photographs that were pinned all over the place.

Black-and-white at first, then the more recent ones coloured. Every one of them was of the burial ground yet taken in different years; some showed the paths winding between the gravestones, others the façade of the main building itself, and yet others showed the foot of the forest where there was a hidden passage connecting the main building and the adjacent forest.

But that wasn’t what caused my breath to quicken and my hands to shake uncontrollably. In nearly all of them, one figure appeared – sometimes blurred, sometimes half in frame. The creature. But she hadn’t always been a monster. Not in the black-and-white photographs.

I frowned. “Khāle?”

As the images progressed in time, she too did; her hair retained some life, a dark sheen against the washed-out greens of the grass. Her posture, though tired, was upright, her hands folded over that ledger I found in the fake room 102. But with each successive photograph, she seemed less alive; her shoulders kept hunching lower and lower, and a shadow seemed to settle into the hollows beneath her eyes. Her skin grew pallid too, almost waxen in the print. By the sixth photograph, the corners of her mouth drooped, and her gaze had begun to lose focus; she was no longer focusing on the camera, no longer seeing the world it captured. By the time I examined the last few prints, colour had all but drained from her form, and her arms dangled as though weighed by something invisible, barely skin and bones, fingers curling unnaturally.

My frown deepened as I reached the last photograph taken of her, and I staggered back. She stood beside that shallow grave I saw, the one that had vanished the day after my arrival at the property. No longer human but a monster, the exact copy of the hybrid creature that pursued me. But it wasn’t this insight that caused me to take a closer look at the print.

Fire.

In the background, smoke was visible, as were what looked like flames coming through from the heart of the village itself. I turned the photograph over. There was no date on it. But it had to be a recent image, one taken several years after her disappearance. And the fire—

A sudden cold draught passed through the room right then, stirring the curves of the photographs, and the bulb overhead swayed in cadence to something I couldn’t see, reacting to something out of my reach, out of my understanding.

Then… the door flew open.

I whipped around, and the photograph slipped from my grasp just as the words of god recited through the door like a visible gust of wind, bringing me to my knees and overwhelming my senses.

Surah Al-Ma’idah 5:20-5: 24:

“And remember when Moses said to his people, “O my people! Remember Allah’s favours upon you when He raised prophets from among you, made you sovereign, and gave you what He had never given anyone in the world. O  my people! Enter the Holy Land which Allah has destined for you to enter. And do not turn back or else you will become losers.”

My trembling hands shot to my ears, trying to take cover from the voice ringing in my ears, causing them to bleed. But the voice did not cease, did not show mercy, forcing me to listen to its revelation.

“They replied, “O Moses! There is an enormously powerful people there, so we will never be able to enter it until they leave. If they do, then we will enter!” Two God-fearing men who had been blessed by Allah said, “Surprise them through the gate. If you do, you will certainly prevail. Put your trust in Allah if you are truly believers.”

Through the open door, cockroaches once again infested the floor and walls, creeping closer and taking over the chamber. I spun in place like a madman, ears covered still and eyes bloodshot, breath shallow. They were everywhere! They were—

“Yet they said, “O Moses! Still we will never enter as long as they remain there. So go, both you and your Lord, and fight; we are staying right here!”

The voice repeated, booming, louder.

“Yet they said, “O Moses! Still we will never enter as long as they remain there. So go, both you and your Lord, and fight; we are staying right here!”

The blood trickled from my ears, seeping through my clenched fingers, just as a groan escaped from my lips, and I collapsed on both knees.

The voice repeated still.

“Yet they said, “O Moses! Still we will never enter as long as they remain there. So go, both you and your Lord, and fight; we are staying right here!”

I banged my head on the floorboards, to the beat of the voice telling me things I wasn’t ready to listen to. Over and over. Until blood soaked my face and an indentation appeared on my forehead. Even then, I kept banging my head to the floor, unable to stop the voice ringing in my ears – within me.

“Yet they said, “O Moses! Still we will never enter as long as they remain there. So go, both you and your Lord, and fight—”

The door slammed shut.

I fell sideways to the floor, passing out.

And the blood pooled beneath my unconscious body.

Neve Emek: Room 102 - Part 13 of ?

13

The main hall smelled of rot as always, as I set foot past the doorway and started for the signs painted onto the peeling walls. Most of the lettering had faded, but I could still make out some of the numbers and arrows that once must have guided visitors through the place. Room 102, from what I could tell, should have been on the ground floor of the right wing, and so I advanced.

I had no doubt in my mind at that point that the key I found did not open the chamber in the wall. There were no doors to that room. Thus, I memorised my current position as well as the exact corridor Room 102 should be located in. Bad idea, I know. But the uncertainty of it all, coupled with my sleep deprivation, led to this reckless decision.

Each corridor I entered, however, looped back on itself in a way that made no sense. In my mind, I knew exactly where to go, which turns to take to find the right wing. But whenever I followed the map etched in my head, the building found a way to confuse me. It was almost as if it didn’t want me to find it, that room. But I didn’t give up, and so the building eventually caved in.

When I found the double-panelled door marked with a battered plate that read Right Wing – Level 1, my first thought was that I had beaten the odds and won against this place trying to stop me. However, I didn’t once question why it was trying to stop me. In hindsight, I understood. Perhaps my grandfather himself was trying to protect me. But I didn’t know that at the time, and so I pressed on.

The handle gave under my gentle grip, but only slightly, to my surprise – as well as dismay. A steel bar had been fixed across from the other side, firmly bolted to make sure no one entered. Or left. Beyond the doors, through the tainted glasses, I could make out the faint glow of the emergency lamps, as well as an accessible passage, albeit unusually tight and narrow from the look of it. Next to the handle hung a rusted keypad box, which was cracked open, but seemed functional with four blinking red lights pulsing on and off. Was the keypad connected to the steel bar?

I pressed the keys randomly at first, wishing upon the stars for a miracle, starting with the digits I remembered from the caretaker’s hut. But, once again, my memory failed me, and the double doors remained shut. I tried to push the door open a few times after that, frustrated, then threw in the towel. Dejected, to say the least. After what felt like ages going in circles, I had finally managed to find a passage to the right wing, and this was what I got in return? Yeah, fuck me.

I returned to the entrance, tracing my way to the blueprint map of the building in search of another route leading to the right wing. That was when I noticed something missing – perhaps another passage. The markings looped around the bolted glass-panelled doors and seemed to lead… nowhere. Or rather, that was as far as the blueprint revealed. But from what I could recall, I did notice a door smaller than the others while navigating the building moments earlier. Judging by its position and by what the blueprint suggested, it could be the mysterious passage. The question was whether I dared follow it into the unknown.

I took my chances, however slim.

The smaller door stood at the end of a narrow service corridor. The colour had dulled to a yellowish shade, and the handle was worn smooth by the passage of time. When I turned the handle, it yielded without resistance, spilling into a passage so tight it forced me to turn sideways to enter.

The corridor beyond sloped slightly downwards, or rather, enough that I only noticed it after several steps, and the air plummeted and grew cooler within seconds. Even the walls pressed closer it seemed to me, lined with exposed piping that leaked a foul-smelling liquid as I squeezed through. I tried to keep track of my turns, calculating the distance by instinct, but the building refused to make sense of itself. Once again, the passage curved where it should have been straight, forked where no fork was marked, and doubled back in ways that left me uncertain whether I was moving forwards or merely circling deeper into its interior.

At last, the ceiling lowered, forcing me to duck, and the floor beneath my feet changed from stone to concrete. A metal door waited at the end of the passage. When I pushed it open, the space beyond confirmed what I already feared at that point. The passage did not lead to – or through – the right wing after all, but to another place somewhere beneath it. It might have been a storage room or perhaps the basement. It was difficult to tell at first, but as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, the truth became clearer. This was the basement, or at least a section of it. My suspicion was further confirmed when I caught a glimpse of a faded sign mounted on one of the walls: Basement Level 1 – Staff Only.

Beyond the storage boxes and service shelves, another corridor opened along the far wall, narrower and more poorly lit, as if it had been added much later to the construction of the basement. I followed it cautiously, well aware that I was moving farther away from the main building and deeper into the underground basement. Still, this insight did nothing to stop me.

I had to find out where the basement ended, where it led to.

The passage sloped downwards more noticeably now, interrupted by short flights of concrete stairs that descended in uneven intervals. Deeper and deeper. I passed several junctions that led nowhere as well, sealed doors with no markings, and alcoves filled with equipment whose purpose I could not guess even if I so wanted. None of it appeared on the blueprint I had studied, nor did they look remotely modern.

Eventually, the ceiling rose again, and the walls widened just enough to suggest I was no longer beneath the main structure as I suspected. That was the strangest of it all, though. How could I have ventured outside the main building by descending deeper?

Then, the passage curved abruptly, ending at a heavy utility door streaked with peeling paint and water damage. When I opened it, cold air rushed in, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of soil and wet leaves. I frowned. Wait. Was I actually outside? But it didn’t make sense! I could swear I was going deeper, that the corridor kept sloping downwards, so how did I end up outside?

Though conflicted and visibly confused, I cracked the door open and stepped out, only to find myself surrounded by dense thickets and uprooted, gnarly trees. My first thought was: “Where am I?” Then I scanned the forested area until my eyes landed on the trail leading out of the woods, towards the burial ground and the main building looming in the distance through the wilted treetops, though its outline was unfamiliar from this angle.

Only then did I realise that I was standing at the edge of the burial ground, near the adjacent woods I had noticed upon my arrival, now several days ago. The damp soil beneath my feet was uneven, and the trail was swallowed by moss and roots. But my bewilderment did not last long. From this location and angle, I could see straight into the caretaker’s hut through the thickets, where the door gaped wide, much to my surprise.

My feet moved before my mind caught up, and before long, I found myself back inside the hut, at the entranceway where the antique desk awaited me. I did not wait a second, did not take the risk of being caught by whatever thing I had encountered the last time, and rummaged through the drawers until I at last found the paper with the digits. 2907.

I had to remember it. I had to—

Somewhere down the hallway, a door opened. The one that had been locked before. But I didn’t linger enough to see what came next; instead, I retraced my steps back to the mysterious passing, through the basement, past the dripping walls, back to the sealed keypad door.

For a moment, nothing happened. Nothing at all. Nothing that would suggest the steel bar had dislodged and the glass-panelled doors unlocked. So long in fact that beads of cold sweat trickled from my brows and along my bare neck from the stress and anticipation.

Then… the bar on the other side gave a shift, and the doors opened inwards, revealing yet another pitch-black corridor. It took me a moment to adjust to the dark and enter. I didn’t know what to expect once I passed the threshold of whatever this was and… I was afraid. Though I wasn’t sure why that was the case. Was it the fear of the unknown taking hold of me, or something else entirely? I couldn’t tell, and that uncertainty made me hesitate.

Besides, why had this part of the building been sealed off? To this extent, too? Also, why did the caretaker keep the code to the keypad in the open drawer and not the one locked? It was almost as though he wanted me to find this place, to unlock whatever the doors were designed to keep in. But what could be more dangerous than the creature that had haunted me in the left wing? I dared not speculate. But there was no going back now. Whether it was the caretaker’s intention or the twist of fate, I had to follow this through to the end and find out.

The part of the building was warmer than the basement, but definitely not brighter. I reached into my pocket and turned on my phone’s flashlight. The corridor was similar to the ones in the left wing, and nothing stood out to me. At first, that is. It was only when I passed the first few doors that I noticed something – let’s say – rather bizarre.

They were all odd numbered, the doors I mean.  Room 102 wasn’t and couldn’t be here. But this was the right wing, wasn’t it? I briefly looked away. Did I read the blueprint wrong? Right then, the caretaker’s words repeated in my mind on cue, telling me not to get lost in the maze, that this place was alive. But instead of returning or giving up, I advanced. Venturing deeper and farther than I should.

When I encountered yet another glass-panelled door leading to who knows where, a scratched sign on the wall caught my eye. It read: Rooms 100–110↓. Down? The only way forwards was straight ahead, through another corridor. Maybe the corridor led… down? I didn’t like this at all; now completely drained and annoyed by constantly moving downwards, where the air was stale and the temperature colder. Down, down, down. When did this ever end?

For each step I took, although I knew it shouldn’t be possible – not physically – it felt as though I had never left the underground basement. And I was only going deeper. No, wrong wording, the building took me deeper into its interior, to places not shown in the blueprint, not revealed in any signs on any walls. Where was it taking me? Or perhaps I was… Was I lost? Did I stray away too much, like the caretaker warned me not to, and was now—

A rattle.

Behind me, somewhere I had already passed.

No, something opening. A door? Or… the creature?

A shiver shot up my spine at the thought. Did it follow me to the left wing? Shit. I had to move! Now! Before it caught up!

Pushing through the door, I entered a broader corridor lined with doors. Even numbered. Thankfully! In a hurry and definitely not in the mood to get my head turned into mush by that thing, I ran my fingers over the nearest plate with the number 100 and tried to open it. It remained shut. I swore under my breath, my heart galloping out of control, my hands turning sticky with sweat from the panic rising within.

And the din, or whatever the heck it was, drew closer.

Only closer.

I tried another door, my movements more fumbled, more desperate. I wasn’t even looking for room 102 at this point; I just wanted a shelter, somewhere that could keep the creature at bay. And as though I wasn’t panicked enough, I realised belatedly that where the door to room 102 should be was a wall – just like back in the left wing. It was then that I pointed the beam of the flashlight further down and realised to my horror that I was no longer in the right wing. I was on the left. And beside the space was the guestroom. But I couldn’t even process the bewilderment, the impossibility of it, before the familiar scraping sound reached me.

But I didn’t seek refuge in the guestroom like the last time. Instead, I fixed my eyes on the space before me, pacing it carefully, fully convinced that a door had to be hidden somewhere inside the wall, a secret entrance to room 102. Thus, I set my shoulders against the wall where I suspected a door should be, drew in a deep breath, and forced my weight into the wooden surface, shoving repeatedly against it until my muscles trembled and ached. Then I heard it. A reluctant creak, something breaking apart. It worked. It worked! Inch by inch, the wall shifted as I shoved against it, slowly at first, then more visibly.

When the hidden door finally gave way, a cold draft seeped from the crack, carrying a faint, metallic odour that set my nerves on edge. A crooked smile then tugged at my lips, one laced with disbelief. I had found it. At last. But my excitement was short-lived.

Enter the creature.

Wide, rictus grin. The eye of the Khamsa locked onto me, unblinking. Its movements were stiff but as certain as could be – getting closer and closer. The blade scraped along the floor beside it, scraping against the floor, ready to slice my head off in a macabre act staged solely for its own grim satisfaction. What was this thing’s deal, anyway? Did it want me to pursue the truth of whatever this place hid, or did it want to claim my head? I couldn’t figure out which was the case, and so I reached for the key in my pocket and thrust it into the keyhole instead.

The door clicked open, and darkness stretched beyond the doorway, deeper than it should, swallowing the dim light from the corridor. I hesitated for a fraction of a second, then I stepped through, letting the uncertainty behind me fall away, if only for a moment, acutely aware that whatever lay ahead might not be what I expected. The moment I did so, something inside me stirred, and the alarm bells in my bleak mind rang. The proportions of the room didn’t make sense. Not at all. From the gap, it looked normal, yet the space itself stretched far deeper than the corridor behind me, almost as if it had been hollowed out on purpose.

My hand flew to the handle as soon as the first wave of startlement passed and made sure the door remained locked, which it did. I wasn’t even sure whether the creature tried to barge in or simply left me alone at that point. But I did not dwell on this. Instead, I let my gaze settle on the familiar bed I had watched numerous times through the gap, imagining the creature sitting there and watching my every move. The thought alone was enough to curdle my blood.

I advanced.

Against the far wall, a desk arrested me. I did not recall seeing it through the gap in the hole, which confused me, but I shook off the doubts as soon as they crossed my mind. Instead, I approached it.

There was some stuff on the desk, papers written entirely in Hebrew and what looked like a ledger book with a cracked spine. When I opened it, the handwriting inside was hurried and inconsistent. But it wasn’t the rushed handwriting that unsettled me most; it was the repetition of a timestamp scrawled in the margins: 6:12. Over and over, at every single page. Then it hit me. A reference to the bible, the Old Testament? I barely looked away when my eyes unwittingly drifted to the unmade bed, where an indentation appeared before me, one that I could swear wasn’t there earlier. I set the bedsheet aside, revealing the stained mattress. And there, covered in what I could only describe as dry blood, was a copy of the Old Testament.

I turned the thin pages until I found what I was looking for.

Deuteronomy 6:12:

“Be careful that you do not forget the Lord, who brought you out of Egypt, out of the land of slavery.” The entire passage was meant for the descendants of Abraham, instructing them to love God with everything they had, follow His rules, and teach it to their children, and through that faithfulness, find the land promised.

It reminded me of another passage in the Qur’an my grandfather used to recite on his deathbed, dreaming of a world where Palestine was no longer occupied, where no child went to bed hungry and scared for tomorrow. I could hear it still, his soothing voice, the flood of tears he shed, as the words of his god comforted him where comfort was no more – only pain and agony.

Surah Al-Baqarah 2:40–2:42:

“O children of Israel! Remember My favours upon you. Fulfil your covenant and I will fulfil Mine, and stand in awe of Me alone. Believe in My revelations which confirm your Scriptures. Do not be the first to deny them or trade them for a fleeting gain. And be mindful of Me. Do not mix truth with falsehood or hide the truth knowingly.”

And then… another surah pressed in, letting itself be known, resurfacing deep down from my subconsciousness. Surah Al-Ma’idah—

Something cracked behind me.

I whipped around.

There, where moments before there had been only a wall, a door had appeared out of thin air. Slightly ajar, beckoning me to draw closer and explore it. I put away the Old Testament and reluctantly stepped closer, compelled and wary at the same time. Every instinct screamed at me to run, yet some menacing curiosity pulled me forwards.

I held my breath and pushed the door open.

Beyond was not another room, not even a corridor as I hoped, but a stairwell that descended at a sharper angle than what felt normal. Going downwards. Again. I took the first of several steps down against my will, trying to catch anything remotely that could tell me where the strange stairs led, but saw nothing but a faint light burning somewhere, like the glow of an oil lamp.

My throat tightened, and that, for good reasons. When was this nightmare going to end? I kept going down, deeper and deeper into the unknown, and yet I found myself going in circles where there should have been none. And yet, this place wasn’t just a labyrinth; it was as alive as I were this second, showing me only the things it wanted me to see.

Nothing more, nothing less…

I descended.