The Jinn's Widow on the Mountain Road

I was driving home alone after a long business trip. The road wound through tall mountains cloaked in darkness, and storm clouds had gathered above like a warning. I thought if I sped up, I might reach home before midnight.

But fate had other plans.

Thunder rumbled like a beast above the peaks. Lightning danced through the sky. A light drizzle began tapping against my windshield, soon turning into steady rain. I was in the middle of nowhere when suddenly, my car sputtered and stopped. I turned the ignition — nothing. Checked the fuel gauge — empty. My heart dropped.

The silence of the mountains, broken only by rain and wind, suddenly carried a new sound — the faint cry of a baby.

At first, I thought it was my imagination. But then I heard it again, louder. A child’s desperate cry. I stepped out of the car cautiously, rain soaking my shirt, shoes slipping on the wet ground. I walked down toward the source of the sound — but saw nothing. No baby. No movement. Just empty woods and shadows.

I returned to my car, confused and shaken. As I closed the door, the cry echoed again, closer this time. My hands trembled as I locked the doors and rolled up the windows. My breath fogged the glass. I could feel my heartbeat in my throat.

And then… I saw her.

A woman stood by the road, just a few feet away. She wore a faded shawl, held a small child in her arms, and in her other hand, strangely, a bottle of Pepsi. Her face was hidden, turned away. She stepped toward my car and gently knocked on the window.

I didn’t move.

She knocked again.

Gathering my courage, I rolled the window down a little. Rain blew in as I asked, “What do you want?”

Her voice was soft but chilling. “What’s the problem?”

“I... I ran out of fuel,” I stammered.

She was silent for a moment. Then she said something that froze my soul:

“Tonight, I won’t let you live. I’m a jinn’s widow. My husband died, and now I’ve gone mad.”

My body went numb. My mind blank. I could feel myself slipping — on the verge of fainting.

She whispered, “Look at me.”

Tears filled my eyes. I pressed my hands together in desperation and begged, “Please, don’t hurt me. I have a wife and kids at home. They’re alone. I beg you, for God’s sake — please.”

She tilted her head. “There’s fear in your eyes,” she said softly. “And tonight, something inside me wants to help you.”

Without another word, she moved to the back of the car and began pushing it.

I felt the car jolt. The wheels turned. The engine still dead — yet the vehicle moved as though someone had filled it with fuel. The woman, thin and calm, pushed my car up the mountain road for almost half an hour, her child still in her arms.

We reached the summit.

From there, the road sloped down. The car started rolling on its own. I looked back — she was gone.

I drove without stopping, the car coasting smoothly downhill until the lights of the city finally appeared. I reached a petrol station, filled the tank, and sat there for a long time, staring into the rain.

Her face haunted me.

Her words echoed in my ears.

When I finally reached home, my wife hugged me, but I didn’t speak. For a week, I had a high fever. Nightmares came every time I closed my eyes — her voice, her shadow, her sad, twisted smile.

Doctors came. Medicines were given. Slowly, after two weeks, I returned to my normal life.

But that night… that woman…

Was she a ghost?

A spirit?

A mad jinn’s wife?

Or was she something else entirely?

I never found out.

All I know is: something not human helped me that night.

And I pray I never meet her again.