Cemetery Guard and Jinn Consolation

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I used to work as a grave digger in the village cemetery since my childhood, a profession I inherited from my father and grandfather. It wasn’t an ordinary job, but it taught me patience and acceptance of God’s will. Throughout my life, I saw countless dead faces—some resting peacefully, others marked by the terror of their final moments. But that night… it was the beginning of a curse that has not ended to this day.

On a dark winter night, they knocked on my door before dawn. A man with strange features was holding something wrapped in a white cloth. He whispered to me: “This is an infant… he just died. We want to bury him quickly, without any announcement or communal prayer.”

I was surprised by his request, but I didn’t argue much. I went out with him, and the wind was howling through the cemetery as if the earth itself was groaning. When I opened the small grave and laid down the body, I noticed the infant’s face was unnaturally pale, with his eyes half-open, as if he were staring at me. My heart tightened, but I remembered my father’s words: *“Do not look too long into the face of the dead, for some gazes will stay with you for the rest of your life.”*

I covered the grave with soil quickly and completed the burial, but something deep inside me whispered that this child was not ordinary.

The following night, I passed by the grave and found bright white roses blooming on it—though no one had planted them. It was a strange sight, for the ground was cold and barren, and no flower could possibly grow overnight. As I drew closer, I smelled a fragrant scent—unlike any perfume made by human hands.

And from that night on, I began to hear the sounds of crying and moaning whenever I sat by my window overlooking the cemetery. My wife slept peacefully, while I remained awake, shivering, reciting prayers, and trying to convince myself that it was nothing more than an illusion.

After a few days, I began to see from my window four women who came every Friday night. They wore black garments, their faces hidden behind thick black veils. They floated around the infant’s grave, chanting mysterious words in a language I couldn’t understand. Sometimes their voices turned into sorrowful ululations, and other times into long wails that pierced the silence of the night.

And one night, I heard one of them say: *“This is a covenant, and whoever breaks it will be cursed, along with their descendants.”*

My legs trembled, and I realized that no matter how hard I tried to escape, I had become part of something far greater than myself.

I couldn’t bear to remain a bystander. I grabbed my Qur’an and went out to them. Standing a few meters away, I began reciting verses. They stopped circling and all looked at me at once. I felt as if my gaze was sinking into the darkness of their eyes, but I held onto the recitation.

One of them approached, lifting her veil slightly, revealing a pale white face streaked with blue veins, and eyes glowing red like embers. She spoke in a voice that seemed to rise from the depths of the earth: *“Gravedigger… you are not a stranger to this covenant. You are the one who buried the body, and now you are part of the secret.”*

I screamed, “What secret?! This is an innocent child, and I buried him according to the law.” The other replied, “That infant was not of your world alone. He was placed among you as a trust, a covenant that will extend to your descendants.”

Suddenly, from beneath the soil, the sound of a living infant crying erupted. Its screams pierced the night so sharply that my wife heard them from inside the house, screaming my name in terror.

Among the women appeared an old lady known in the village as “Yamna,” a mysterious woman said to know the secrets of the jinn. She approached and said to me: *“Be patient, Hussein… you have done no wrong, but you have been tested. A door will open for you that has not opened for others; you will see what no human eye has seen. If you remain steadfast, you will witness God’s mercy, but if you falter… woe to you and your family.”*

Then the gathering vanished like smoke, leaving me alone in the cemetery, trembling, with the sound of crying still ringing in my ears.

Since that night, my home has never been the same. My wife began having recurring nightmares, hearing the sounds of children crying at dawn. Doors would open and close on their own, and the water in the kitchen jars would suddenly turn murky, as if tinged with blood.

I tried to hide the matter from others, but I grew weaker day by day. My wife began feeling a strange heaviness in her belly, even though she was not yet pregnant. She said to me in a trembling voice:
“Hussein… I feel something moving inside me, but the doctors say there’s nothing.”

It was then that I realized what had happened in the cemetery was beginning to seep into our home.

A few months later, my wife collapsed to the ground, screaming in excruciating pain. I brought the midwife, only to be shocked—she was in labor! How? There had been no visible pregnancy, and not enough time had passed.

The midwife screamed, “Hussein, this is strange… the child is coming, but I see no blood and no pain as with a normal birth!”

My wife gave birth to an extremely pale infant, with eyes that seemed to know the world before even opening his mouth. The moment I saw him, I felt as if I was seeing him for the second time… he was the same child I had buried in the cemetery!

My wife fainted, while the infant gave me a piercing look—and smiled!

The following night, the four women appeared at my doorstep. No one else saw them, but their voices filled my ears. One of them said: *“He has been born again. This is a covenant between our world and yours. We have chosen you, Hussein, to be the guardian.”*

I screamed in panic, “What guardian?! This is my home, my wife, and my child—what do you want from us?!” The old woman Yamna replied, “That child is not yours alone; he is the son of both worlds. If you neglect him, you are doomed, but if you protect him, doors will open for you that have never opened for anyone else.”

I felt the ground spinning beneath me, and the infant’s crying grew intense—but it was no ordinary cry; it sounded like a mix between a child’s scream and the murmuring of an old man.

Days passed, and I was trapped in endless confusion. The infant was growing at an unnatural rate—within a week, he looked like a one-month-old child, and within a month, he seemed a year old. His eyes never left me, as if he could read my thoughts.

Every night, I hear a voice within me saying: “*“The covenant is now in your blood… and in the blood of your descendants.”*

I would recite the Qur’an and weep, yet deep inside, I knew that what was happening was beyond my power.

And so, my true trial began. It was no longer merely about burying an infant—it had become a mysterious covenant that bound my fate and the fate of my descendants to another world.

The infant my wife gave birth to was no ordinary child; he was the same one I had buried with my own hands, returned to life in a way no mind could comprehend. And with each passing day, as he grew, my certainty deepened that the secret would eventually be fully revealed… but the price would be immense.

And I had no choice but to wait… and to wait for what was even more dreadful.