The Marid pact

The Warning

The morning sun barely pierced the heavy curtains as the Maulvi returned, his presence calm but his eyes grave. Mariam and Sameer welcomed him with desperate hope, while Sarah hovered anxiously in the hallway, listening to the low murmur of prayers from Aliyah’s room. The air in the house was thick with fear and anticipation.

Aliyah lay on her bed, her skin pale and clammy, her breaths shallow. The protective amulet the Maulvi had tied around her wrist seemed to burn against her skin, leaving a faint red mark. She stared at the ceiling, her eyes glassy, as if she were looking through the world and into something far beyond.

The Maulvi sat by her side, reciting verses from the Quran, his voice steady and unwavering. He sprinkled holy water around the room, the droplets hissing as they touched the floor. With every word, Aliyah seemed to tense, her body arching as if resisting an invisible force.

Sarah watched from the doorway, her heart pounding. She could see the struggle in her sister’s face—the way Aliyah’s lips moved silently, as if arguing with someone only she could hear. Mariam clutched Sarah’s hand, her knuckles white, whispering prayers under her breath.

After what felt like hours, the Maulvi finished his recitation. He turned to the family, his expression sombre. “This is no ordinary affliction,” he said quietly. “The presence that haunts her is powerful. It is a marid, an ancient jinn bound by a bargain made long ago.”

Sameer’s face crumpled with guilt. He confessed the truth—the desperate wish, the midnight bargain, the marid’s promise to claim a daughter on her eighteenth birthday. The Maulvi listened, nodding gravely.

“You must understand,” the Maulvi said, “a pact with a marid is not easily broken. The jinn will not leave without what it was promised. I have weakened its hold for now, but this will not last. The connection between Aliyah and the marid is strong—too strong for mere prayers to sever.”

Mariam wept, her tears falling onto Sarah’s hand. “Is there nothing we can do?” she pleaded.

The Maulvi hesitated, then spoke in a low, urgent tone. “There is only one way. The marid must be confronted. The bargain must be faced. Sometimes, a sacrifice must be made to protect what remains. Keep Aliyah surrounded by family. Do not let her be alone, especially at night. And if the marid comes, do not try to fight it with anger or violence. Faith, love, and unity are your only shield.”

He handed Sameer a slip of paper, inscribed with a powerful prayer—Ayat-ul-Kursi—urging the family to recite it together every night. “This will offer some protection. But be vigilant. The marid is cunning. It may try to trick you, to separate you. Do not let fear divide you.”

As the Maulvi left, the house felt colder, as if the shadows themselves had grown bolder. Aliyah slept fitfully, her dreams haunted by voices and visions of deep, swirling water. Sarah sat by her side, determined not to leave her alone, no matter how tired she felt.

That night, as the family gathered in Aliyah’s room, reciting the Maulvi’s prayer in trembling voices, a strange hush fell over the house. The air was thick with dread, but also with hope—a fragile hope that, together, they might withstand the darkness that had come to claim them.

But outside, in the moonlit garden, a shadow moved, watching, waiting. The marid’s patience was endless, its hunger undiminished. The final reckoning was drawing near.