The House That Wasn't Meant for Humans

I was never the superstitious type.

Tales of jinns, haunted houses, and cursed places? Just myths people used to scare children—or so I believed. That changed the night I took a wrong turn during a hiking trip in northern Pakistan.

It was just supposed to be a two-day retreat with friends. But on the second day, I wandered off the trail alone to get better photos of an old stone structure hidden deep in the forest. When I reached it, the sun was already setting, and my phone battery was at 3%.

The building looked ancient, yet oddly untouched. No moss. No cracks. Just clean, grey stones stacked perfectly, forming an archway leading into darkness.

A carved stone slab above the door read something in Arabic:
"La yadkhulu illa maznun."
I didn't understand it fully then. Later, I learned it meant:
"Only the possessed may enter."

I should have left.

But I was tired, my phone died, and the wind was chilling. I thought, “It’s just a ruin. I’ll rest inside for a bit.”
So, I stepped in.

That’s when the silence hit me.

Not the kind you get in nature—but an oppressive, unnatural stillness. No birds. No wind. Even my own footsteps seemed muted. Inside, the place looked… wrong. The walls were too smooth. No dust. No spiders. No signs of age.

There were three doors.

Each identical. Wooden. Closed. Carved with symbols I couldn’t read.

I chose the middle.


---

The moment I opened it, cold air rushed past me, and a low whisper filled my ears—like a hundred voices speaking at once, just beneath the threshold of hearing. My limbs went cold. My breath caught.

Inside was a room. Lit with a dim blue glow.

In the center: a round table with a mirror on it. Above the mirror: nothing. Yet, it reflected something—something moving, circling, watching.

Then the whispers grew louder.

"He is not one of us."
"He does not belong."
"He must pay."

My body refused to move. I watched, helpless, as the shadows in the room twisted. They formed a figure—tall, thin, face shrouded in darkness. It stepped toward me, and though it made no sound, I could feel the floor tremble.

Then a second figure emerged—a woman, draped in black, eyes like burning white fire. She raised a hand, and the first shadow recoiled, hissing.

“You’re not meant to be here,” she said. “Leave. Before they seal your soul.”

“I… I didn’t know,” I stammered.

“They don’t care. This is their sanctuary. A house of gathering. For jinn. Every hundred years, they meet here. Tonight… is that night.”

My heart dropped.

She touched my forehead. “You have seconds. Once the third door opens, you’re theirs.”

I turned to run, but the hallway was no longer there. Instead, I stood at the center of a massive, circular chamber. Dozens—no, hundreds—of jinns stood around me. Each different. Some fire, some smoke, some winged, others serpentine.

All watching.

I tried to speak, but my mouth made no sound.

Then, one of them stepped forward. Massive, crowned, made of red flame. His voice shook my bones. “You’ve broken the seal of the Middle Gate. That door belongs to the ‘Mirror Keeper.’ You have seen what no man must see.”

I collapsed.

Then the woman appeared again. She stood between me and the flame-being.

“He didn’t know. Let him go.”

“He must give something,” the being said. “Nothing leaves untouched.”

The woman turned to me. “Give a memory. One that matters.”

I didn't understand. Then pain shot through my head—a memory surged: my mother’s face, laughing, brushing my hair when I was a child.

“No!” I shouted.

But the being reached forward and touched my temple.

The memory vanished. Just… gone.

I couldn’t recall her face anymore.

“That is the price,” the jinn said. “Now go. And speak of this… and we will return.”


---

I woke up just outside the archway. Morning birds chirped. My phone was dead. The stone structure now looked broken, aged, lifeless. As if it had been abandoned for centuries.

When I returned to my friends, they said I’d been missing for two days. I didn’t tell them what happened. Who would believe me?

But every now and then, in dreams, I see a round mirror. And in it—a shadow, circling. Watching.

And the memory of my mother’s smile? It never came back.