Those Red Eyes

I had never seen a bird like this before. Its entire body was covered in black feathers, and its red eyes filled me with such terror that I started running. The recitation of Ayat al-Kursi ran continuously on my tongue, and my eyes were brimming with tears.

It was December, and the winter had reached its peak. Everything around was blanketed in white, and snow still fell like cotton. Occasionally, the branches of the deodar trees cracked and creaked, breaking the deep silence that sent shivers down the soul.

We were sitting around the blazing fire in the wide mud room, with Grandma at the center. Her eyes were fixed on the burning logs as she recounted stories from the past. After a while, she cleared her throat and began the story of a day when, due to water scarcity, Sanober Apa and I would go fetch water at Sehri. Sanober Apa was much older than me, and she would come to collect water either just before or right after the Azan, tapping the pots against our house wall to wake me. Since my bed was by the wall, I would get up immediately, carry my pot, and step outside.

Darkness surrounded us, and the piercing cries of jackals sent chills through the heart. Carrying water was a long journey, as houses were few and far between. Even the slightest rustle in the bushes made my heart leap. Sanober Apa had strong nerves, but I was extremely timid. Still, fetching water was necessary, as we had an elderly mother-in-law and three children to care for. My husband worked far from home, often returning only after months.

I always walked behind Sanober Apa. Sometimes, I felt that someone else was following me, hearing the echo of footsteps clearly. Sanober Apa would always warn, “Never follow anything behind you. Even if you hear something, do not look back.” I took her advice to heart, closing my eyes tightly whenever I heard footsteps and reciting Ayat al-Kursi in my mind.

After a long journey, when I wanted to rest, it felt as though someone was sitting right beside me. Turning my neck, all I saw was darkness. This was our daily routine. One day, I heard tapping on the wall and immediately picked up my pot, but deep darkness made me freeze—it felt like midnight. I ran outside but found no trace of Sanober Apa. Believing she wasn’t far, I stepped onto the path toward her. The jackals’ cries stopped me momentarily, but I ran on.

When I reached the spot, a shiver ran through me—Sanober Apa was nowhere to be seen. I was standing slightly above the water well, where it seemed that water buckets were being poured over me one after another. I didn’t go down but sat atop the overturned bucket. Yet the sound of water persisted, filling me with strange, fearful thoughts.

Suddenly, I felt someone behind me, and chills ran down my body. Trembling, I turned around—but saw no one. Complete silence fell. My astonishment peaked when, above me on a thick branch, a bizarre bird was perched, staring at me. Its body was covered in black feathers, and its glowing red eyes terrified me. I ran in sheer panic, reciting Ayat al-Kursi, tears streaming down my face.

I didn’t stop even for a minute. By the time I reached home and reached for the door, Sanober Apa emerged with the water pots. I tried to open the door but lost my balance and fainted.

When I woke, everyone was around me, including the household of Sanober Apa. I called for water, and they rushed to help. Gradually, I recovered and learned that I had been unconscious for four days. When I recounted the incident, Sanober Apa was astonished. She said that if what I described was true, it was a miracle that I had returned safely. I thanked God, though even today, a shiver runs through me whenever I hear the sound of water or imagine that strange, black-feathered bird with red eyes.