house of horrors 2

Friday and the Shadows of Destiny

On Friday morning, Malik stood before the calendar hanging on the wall, slowly reaching to tear off a new page, as if each day recorded a destiny waiting to be revealed. He held the paper between his fingers and gazed at it thoughtfully. The date was clearly written:

Friday, November 17, 2025

Beneath the date, the day's wisdom was inscribed in small but weighty letters, as if it were a message from time itself:

"It is said that he killed ninety-nine people and entered Paradise."

From behind him, Daniel approached quietly and stood beside him, observing the paper in Malik's hand. In a quiet but curious voice, he asked,

"Do you believe that?"

Malik looked at him steadily, his eyes piercing the horizon as if seeing beyond the letters and numbers themselves. He spoke in a calm voice filled with certainty:

"I believe in only one thing... that something controls this world, deciding life and death. Death... always falls upon the weak." Daniel paused for a moment, then asked hesitantly, "Do you mean those ghosts you saw before?"

Malik smiled sadly, as if his experience with shadows had taught him a great deal:

Perhaps they are... or perhaps a force greater than themselves.

Daniel stared at him, trying to grasp the depth of his meaning:

- You mean... God?

Malik responded with an enigmatic nod:

Perhaps it is... or perhaps not.

At that moment, Rovan and Dima emerged from behind them, standing quietly beside Malik and Daniel, exchanging glances of expectant anticipation. Malik turned towards the balcony, then stepped out of the chalet with measured, deliberate steps. Rovan and Dima followed him nonchalantly, and Daniel arrived last, leaving the chalet door open behind them.

Malik sat behind the wheel, his eyes scanning every movement on the road ahead. Daniel sat beside him, while Dima and Rovan occupied the back seats, silent, tense, waiting for whatever this new day might bring.

The sun began to rise, casting golden rays over the dusty road, heralding a new day-a day that might hold more exciting events, and perhaps dangers they had never faced before. In the background, Magda emerged from one of the rooms, slowly closing the door behind her. Her eyes followed the car as it drove out of the chalet, as if she were anxiously contemplating what fate the day might hold for them.

Silence enveloped the scene, the air heavy with anticipation and longing, and the night that had passed left only dark memories.

- Facing the Truth in Hisham's Public Library

Major General Hisham al-Mirghani stood inside a library, his eyes wide with anger and tension, his fingers unconsciously gripping the edge of the wooden desk. The air felt heavy, as if every corner of the room whispered secrets and shadows. His voice, broken and filled with rage, he asked, "How come no one hit him?"

Before him, the officer stood attentively, carefully holding the investigation logbook, trying to convey the truth without any rashness. His voice was calm but direct: "This is the doctor's report, sir. I interrogated the prisoners one by one... each individually, and they all confirmed the same thing: Murad al-Amri suddenly collapsed in his cell, and no one harmed him. Even the guard stationed at the cell door confirmed the same."

General Hisham took a deep breath, his brow furrowing, his voice charged with both anger and confusion: "What do you mean, Officer?"

The officer gave a faint smile, heavy with the weight of the truth, then said firmly: "It means... Murad was killed by jinn. Enough denying the truth we all know."

General Hisham clasped his hands tightly, his voice trembling between anger and shock: "What truth are you talking about, Officer? Are you accusing me?" The officer responded steadily, without taking a step back: "No, sir... but the jinn killed Murad inside the prison. The testimonies of more than fifteen people-none of whom have anything to do with the lies or Murad's death-confirm it." Gener

– Surveillance of the Minister's Villa

Malik and his companions sat in their usual spot in front of the minister's villa, hidden behind the new masks they wore each day, their faces and personas constantly changing. The week was drawing to a close, and Malik's seven-day plan to surveil the minister and his home was nearing its end. Yet, the atmosphere around the villa was eerily quiet, as if the place itself awaited something unseen.

The security guards stood steadily along the villa's perimeter fence, and the bodyguards paced tirelessly, their eyes scanning every movement, while the villa's doors remained firmly shut. No visitors approached, and no sound disturbed the apparent tranquility, as if everything had been meticulously arranged to maintain the illusion of perfect security.

One of the guards, noticing the car, glanced up at Malik, then turned to his colleague and said, "This car has been parked here since this morning."

His colleague smiled faintly, calmly observed the car, and replied, "I saw it here yesterday too." The first guard nodded optimistically, then spoke cautiously, "It's not them. These are different people. Look at their faces."

His colleague replied, "Actually... one of them was more handsome than these."

A short silence followed, then the guard decided to move. "I'll go over there and ask them why they're standing here."

But his colleague stopped him with a firm hand, warning, "Don't go near them... as long as they don't approach, there's no need to risk it. Let them stay where they are."

The atmosphere around the villa remained still, as if night hadn't yet fallen. The long shadows of the guards and the car intertwined on the ground, forming a web of mystery and suspense. Malik and his companions, inside their vehicle, behind their masks, watched every movement, every glance, every hesitation, enjoying the game of patience and observation they had imposed upon themselves. Meanwhile, deep inside the minister's villa, no one realized that unseen eyes were following every step, every breath, in deadly silence.

Inside the Minister's Villa

On a quiet morning inside the Minister's villa, Minister Fouad El-Shenawy sat in his large armchair in the spacious living room, surrounded by luxurious furniture and warm light streaming through the large windows. Beside him, his wife, Rania El-Wazir, silently sipped her morning coffee, while the Minister held a large tablet in his hand, catching up on the latest news.

Rania El-Wazir, in her late thirties, was a woman of striking presence and elegance, with long, glossy black hair and dark eyes that reflected intelligence and caution. Her sharp features conveyed strength and authority. She always dressed elegantly in muted tones, reflecting her commanding and dignified personality. Intelligent and decisive, she could read people and analyze their intentions, sometimes displaying an air of mystery and coolness, yet showing a limited warmth to those she had chosen, while concealing inner anxieties and familial worries, making her a complex, multifaceted character. Suddenly, the minister placed his coffee cup on the table and stared at the tablet with wide eyes, a faint smile playing on his lips-an expression impossible to decipher: was it joy or cynical amusement at what was happening? He set the tablet aside and looked at his wife. "Can you believe it?" he asked. "The new minister has been dismissed and imprisoned." Rania raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Why? He didn't even finish his term." The minister smiled dismissively and explained, "The press reported the news briefly... The Ministry of the Interior refused to announce the reasons until the investigations were complete, to maintain secrecy and protect the minister's reputation."

Rania let out a worried sigh. "I don't understand what's happening in the country."

The minister put the tablet down and spoke seriously. "Since the day I left the ministry, I've been trying to find a solution to any similar crimes that have occurred in the ministry's history... like those that happened during my tenure. I've found only one explanation... the jinn are involved in all these crimes." Rania trembled slightly in shock. "The jinn?" The minister, who would believe that someone like you, educated and accomplished, would blame the jinn for crimes?

The minister laughed derisively, and Rania laughed along with him mockingly. He continued:

"There was a famous journalist who documented strange crimes and featured them on her program... houses set on fire, girls possessed by jinn, suffering convulsions and nervous breakdowns, and eventually, some dying or having their skin deteriorate... all this happening without any human intervention. When these crimes multiplied across the country and the Ministry of the Interior couldn't catch the perpetrators, the minister was dismissed-although in a better way than I was... The Prime Minister called: 'Submit your resignation.'" Curious and worried, Rania asked,

"What was the name of this journalist's television program?" The minister smiled and said,

"I've downloaded all the episodes onto a tablet... you can watch them yourself." Rania arrived, her face a mixture of concern and surprise, and clutched the tablet in trembling hands. She opened one of the videos and stared at the screen, watching the horrifying scenes unfold. After a moment, she paused the video and looked at the minister, saying,

"Please allow me to take the tablet to my room... I want to watch these videos in peace." The minister nodded gently:

"Of course." "Take it." The atmosphere around them remained thick with tension, as if every scene in the videos reflected the hidden shadows that enveloped the villa, keeping the suspense and anticipation alive in the heart of anyone watching.

-- Rania Faces the Truth** Rania climbed the stairs hesitantly, clutching the tablet in trembling hands. Around her, **Zafar, Dagher, and Nafir** followed silently, like the shadows that surrounded her, but she barely noticed

The Damour's Cry

The darkness of night enveloped the city like a suffocating shroud, swallowing every glimmer of light and silencing every sound-except for the whispered breath of the wind weaving through the trees.

Outside the chalet stood the tall, imposing Damour, the very embodiment of the night's dominion. His eyes glowed a deep crimson, his face stripped of any discernible features, his chest rising and falling with the quiet rhythm of a predator awaiting its prey.

He raised his hand toward the sky, as if proclaiming the beginning of a blood ritual, then let it fall slowly-and the air itself seemed to tremble, as if the night had bowed to his command.

Inside, Magda sat before a busy table, her hands moving swiftly over the plaster molds, crafting new masks with anxious precision.

Beside her stood Lara, helping her tie the strings and polish the edges, her eyes darting nervously toward the door every few seconds, as if she sensed something unseen pressing closer from the outside. In Malik's locked room, the darkness was heavier than air.

The murdered bodies lay scattered across the floor-some stiff and pale, others still faintly warm-their wounds bleeding slow streams of blood that glistened in the dim light. Then suddenly, the blood began to stir, slipping from the bodies in thin red threads, drawn by an invisible force.

The convulsing bodies didn't move-one arm raised, another leg twitching upwards-not with life, but with something dark that was puppetry from within the shadows.

Outside, Damour stirred a strange, transparent goblet that shimmered faintly with a crimson mist.

Gradually, blood filled the glass-siphoned through the air from within the chalet itself, as if the walls themselves were bleeding toward him.

When the goblet was blessed with the essence of life, Damour raised it to his enormous mouth and drained it in one savage gulp. A roar erupted from the depths-a sound so painless it split the night, shaking the earth and rattling the chalet's windows in their frames.

Inside, Magda froze. The mask slipped from her trembling hands, crashing to the floor along with her tools. The table shook.

Lara's face paled as she gasped, her voice breaking:

"What the hell is going on?"

They exchanged a terrified glance.

Cautiously, hesitantly, they approached the door-each step screaming like a shriek from the wooden floorboards.

Magda reached out with a trembling hand and opened the door.

A blast of cold air rushed in, carrying with it the metallic smell of blood and smoke.

At first, they saw only the headlights of Malik's car pulling into a stop in front of the chalet.

The doors were open. Malik got out, closely followed by Daniel, Rovan, and Dima-their faces grim, their eyes scanning the darkness for the source of that bone-chilling scream. Magda and Lara stepped aside to let them in.

The four entered silently, and Rovan closed the door behind them-sealing the night, and whatever horror it held, inside with them.

Faces Behind Masks

Silence enveloped the room like a heavy curtain, muffling even their breathing. The air was thick with an eerie tension, a sharp hum of unease that seemed to echo between the walls.

The whole city was buzzing with talk of Murad al-Amri's mysterious murder in prison, and of the minister who had been dismissed under suspicious circumstances just months after his appointment. In the midst of that uneasy night, Malik and his companions sat inside the chalet, holding a private meeting behind closed doors as the wind whipped against the windows-as if to remind them that the outside world was no longer safe.

Malik sat in the center of the room on a slightly reclined wooden chair, his back straight, his voice quiet but sharp as a blade.

Beside him sat Daniel, his eyes fixed on the laptop screen glowing before them.

Across from them sat Rovan and Dima, their faces hidden behind vivid, unsettling masks. On the contrary, Magda and Lara exchanged anxious glances, as if they knew that whatever Malik was about to say could change their destinies entirely.

Malik spoke in a deliberately low voice that carried the weight of command:

"After a full week of surveillance of the minister's villa, it seems the best way forward is to impersonate regular visitors. It won't arouse suspicion, and it will open the door for us from within."

He turned to Magda, his eyes steady, his voice firm:

"Have you finished making all the masks for the people who visit the villa?"

Magda nodded, her confidence barely masking the exhaustion etched on her face.

"Yes, Malik. I made them all... and prepared every detail-the wigs, the colored contact lenses, even the clothes to match theirs. Lara and I cleaned and arranged everything."

A faint smile curved Malik's lips, almost imperceptible. "Well done. It's almost time. Today's Saturday-almost five in the morning. We have a few hours left before the real show begins. Let's take off our masks for a while... and enjoy what's left of the quiet night."

Rovanne gave a tired smile, raising her hands to her face.

"I missed my real face."

Malik's gaze sharpened, cutting through her words like a scalpel.

"No, Rovanne... you missed your old vulnerability."

She hesitated, then slowly peeled off the mask. Her real face appeared-beautiful but burdened with invisible scars. She looked up at him and said quietly, almost defiantly,

"Would you like a glass of champagne with me?"

An uneasy silence filled the room, followed by the soft tugging of masks being removed one by one. The group exchanged brief glances-worn faces, broken eyes, and strained, hollow laughter.

Daniel unscrewed a bottle of liquor; The drink was poured into their glasses in a slow, deliberate, thick, red stream in the dim light-like the danger itself taking shape. They raised their glasses in silence-not in celebration, but in quiet resignation.

Soft music drifted from a small speaker in the corner. A lamp shone through the discarded masks on the table-faces waiting to be reborn.

And in that final moment of Saturday night... they drank, wordless and heavy-hearted, as the curtain slowly fell on a scene where humans hid behind masks-and no one could tell who was real... and who was just another face of the coming horror.