The House of Horror

Chapter 24 _ Will The Nightmare Come True?

-A Semi-Official Investigation

Investigator Mohammed slumped heavily in his chair, the lamp casting long, hazy shadows of smoke across his desk. Opposite him, journalist Susan leaned forward, her eyes sharp and anxious.

"What do you know about the tower?" he asked, his voice low but penetrating.

Susan's lips tightened bitterly. "That cursed tower," she whispered. "Nour was murdered there—and Nasser was executed. I saw it with my own eyes at the trial. Shortly after, Nabil, the man who reported Nasser for her murder, turned up dead. And now... Mira. Another body, in the same place. Can't you see? If you summon Malik and Sophia for questioning, I'm sure doors will open—doors to truths we haven't even touched yet. And the tower's security guards... they must know more than they've revealed. They've been handing over edited footage, pretending nothing happened. And there's Daniel, Nabil's son, the lawyer's heir. And Dr. Ziad, who lives right next door to Malik, apartments 30... and 31. All the leads point to that same cursed building." Mohammed pushed his chair back, the wood slamming against the tiled floor. He clenched his jaw. "I'll go to Malik first," he muttered. "As for those guards, I'll accuse them of obstructing justice and destroying evidence. Their tapes show nothing."

He strode toward the door, determination burning in his steps.

"Wait!" Susan's voice rang out.

He stopped abruptly, his hand hovering over the doorknob. Then he turned slowly.

"Malik isn't in his apartment," she said firmly. "I went there myself. The apartment was empty."

For a moment, the room fell silent, thick and heavy. Then Mohammed exhaled sharply, crushed the unlit cigarette between his fingers, and returned to his chair. He lit it with a quick flick of his lighter.

-What the jinn want: blood, s*x, and we enjoy both.

In Dima's apartment, loud music played, mingling with ragged breaths. Malik drew closer, his eyes gleaming with a savage hunger—not love, but insatiable desire.

Dima surrendered to him with feverish passion, as if his embrace could save her from the emptiness gnawing at her inside, from the anxiety that consumed her night after night.

Their bodies intertwined in a frenzied heat, but beneath the ecstasy lay something darker;

a feeling that she was nothing more than a plaything in the hands of a demonic force, every touch of Malik carrying desire and control.

She knew she was sinking with him into a dark abyss, yet she clung to him even more tightly, as if yearning for a sweet, poisonous death.

The scene was like a forbidden ritual—an intoxicating fusion of pleasure and sin, of morbid passion and ravenous obsession.

And in both their eyes flickered that lurking evil, transforming the act into something far more than mere physical desire... into a battle between escape and surrender, between false love and the demon within.

—Do nightmares come true like dreams?

Night fell heavily on Hussein's villa, enveloping it in layers of silence and mystery. The spacious ground-floor living room stretched out like a grand hall, its walls adorned with dark carvings. In its center hung a massive golden chandelier, casting amber-tinted beams that shimmered on the gilded furniture. The sofas and chairs, upholstered in sumptuous fabrics, appeared opulent, yet emanated an unsettling coolness. The large windows, draped with heavy curtains, allowed only thin strands of moonlight to filter through, adding to the eerie stillness.

Despite the grandeur, the air held a subtle nausea, as if the villa itself harbored a secret. Shadows trembled at the stairwell, where the dim light barely revealed the ascending steps, while in the living room, the faint glow illuminated faces enough to betray their tension and suspicion.

Hussein descended the stairs slowly, burdened by an unseen weight, followed by Sophia and Amal. Downstairs, Miranda stood frozen in the middle of the living room, waiting as if bracing herself for an inevitable revelation.

Hussein's voice broke the silence, hoarse and uncertain:

What did that young man say?

"Nothing," Miranda replied coolly, though her tone was tinged with anxiety. "He's just left."

"He'll be back tomorrow," Amal spoke sharply, her voice laced with bitterness.

"He must be killed," Sophia interrupted, her voice low and merciless.

The words struck the room like a thunderbolt. Hussein and Amal turned to her at once, trembling. Sophia stood on the steps, bathed in the dim light, her quiet defiance making her suggestion all the more terrifying.

Hussein stepped forward and sat heavily on a gilded chair in the center of the living room. The others followed, taking their seats in tense silence.

"Minutes before Sid died... I was asleep in my bed," he spoke haltingly. I dreamt I was fighting him, that I grabbed a sharp knife... and killed him. Then I woke up to Miranda's screams, and we found Sid already dead.

He lowered his head, then raised it again, his voice trembling.

That means I'm sick. I must have killed him while sleepwalking. This illness is called sleepwalking... I didn't know I had it. That's why I buried Sid in the garden.

Miranda shook her head insistently.

No, Hussein Bey... you didn't kill him.

Hussein turned to her with a sharp, suspicious look.

What do you mean?

Her words came slowly and deliberately.

The villa door was locked when I entered my room. And when I woke up, it was still locked the same way. I opened it myself. No one went in or out.

Silence filled the room, the ticking of the large clock echoing above their ragged breaths.

Hussein murmured, puzzled.

Then how do you explain what I saw in my dream? Was it just a dream? Or did I kill him... in my sleep? Miranda's voice dropped to a whisper.

"I think there's... a spirit haunting this villa. I saw its shadow in my room... and I saw it again at Sid's burial."

Hussein rubbed his tired face, his voice weak.

"Even Sid, before he died, said he saw the shadows."

Amal shuddered, turning to Miranda.

"I'm afraid you could be next."

But Miranda's eyes burned with a strange certainty.

"No, I know how to stop them."

Sophia nodded, her voice cold but convincing. "She's right. The doors move by themselves and creak... Sid died with no one by his side... it all proves it."

Hussein hesitated, then said slowly, "I think it must be..." Amal leaned forward, her eyes wide. "Malik?"

He nodded, his face grim. "Malik left in his car."