Jinn Behind Bars: A Prison Guard’s Story of the Unseen Inmates

Jinn Behind Bars: A Prison Guard’s Story of the Unseen Inmates

My name is Umar Farooq. I’ve served as a prison officer in three different facilities across Pakistan. I’ve seen drug lords cry, murderers plead, and innocent men rot behind bars.

But nothing — and I mean nothing — compares to what I experienced in Block-E of Central Jail, B*, Punjab**.

Let me take you back to 2011.

I had just transferred from Hyderabad to this jail. It was older, bigger, and strangely quieter than any other facility I’d served in.

One evening during training, a senior officer — Subedar Qadeer — pulled me aside and said:

> “There’s one block we don’t patrol alone. E-block. You’ll understand why soon.”

I thought he was exaggerating.

He wasn’t.

Block-E had six cells — small, dark, and always locked. But here’s the strange part:

They were always marked as ‘Occupied.’

Yet no one was ever seen going in or coming out.

One night, I checked the records. The prisoner list for E-block had names I couldn’t pronounce. Some didn’t even look like Urdu — more like ancient scripts.

I asked the clerk. He lowered his voice and said:

> “Sir, those are not regular prisoners. They’re not even from this world.”

I laughed.

He didn’t.

He pointed to a report from 1997. A guard had suffered a seizure outside Cell 4. When recovered, he said he saw a figure made of smoke with burning green eyes.

He died two weeks later in his sleep.

Still, I was skeptical.

Until the incident.

It was a humid night in July. The power had gone out in half the jail. I was stationed near E-block with two others. As we sat sipping chai, we heard it:

A soft growl. Not animal. Not human.

Then a clang — like metal bending.

We ran to the cells.

One door — Cell 3 — was slightly open.

Which was impossible. These locks were 4-inch iron bars.

Inside, it was dark. I flashed my torch… and I swear upon my late father’s soul:

There were footprints. But not normal ones — they were reversed.

The heel was in front. The toes pointed back.

The cell was icy cold, like winter had seeped into the walls.

From that night, I started noticing things:

Dogs refused to go near E-block. They’d bark facing the empty hallway.

Prisoners from neighboring cells would complain of whispers at night.

One inmate slashed his own arm and wrote: “They sit above us.”

Subedar Qadeer told me the story then.

Years ago, an alim had been brought in. He was also an exorcist. The government had secretly asked him to trap jinns that had been causing disturbances in remote areas. He used Quranic verses and special seals to lock them into consecrated cells.

E-block was never meant for humans.

We were told never to recite Ayat-ul-Kursi aloud near the block — not because it was disrespectful, but because it caused reactions.

Once, a young officer ignored this. He read loudly as a dare.

That night, his tongue swelled. He couldn’t speak for a week. When he recovered, he kept saying:

> “They told me never to do it again.”

We had rules in that prison that weren’t in any manual:

Don’t speak their names.

Don’t point toward their cells.

Don’t work alone at night.

And above all… never enter if the door is open.

In 2015, I was transferred out.

Before leaving, I visited E-block one last time.

The cells were all locked.

But I heard a soft whisper — as if from inside me.

“You’ll come back.”

To this day, I don’t know what was behind those iron doors.

And I don’t want to know.