The Enigma of Chitterpari

Chapter 13 - "A Dance with a Demon"

The rain pounded against the windows, a constant rhythm matching the tension in the dimly lit room. The scent of incense thick, smokey, and sharp with a woody edge clung to the air, filling their lungs. Ali's hands trembled as he fastened the last knot around Hamza's wrists, the rope digging into his skin. Hamza's sobs echoed, the sound raw and broken, but he kept insisting,
"G-guys ! I-I'm fine... I'm f-fine... Please, just let me go."
Ali glanced at the others present in the room, all of them silent, their faces etched with fear and doubt. The flickering candlelight made their shadows dance against the bare walls. It was only now that Ali realised the room was completely empty, save for the bed and the overwhelming presence of the unknown.
The door creaked, and they all turned. Aswad stepped in, his face grave, the holy book resting in his hand. His eyes scanned the room, meeting each of theirs before settling on Hamza, who was shaking violently now, pulling at the ropes.
"Whatever you hear," Aswad's voice was low but firm, "whatever happens... and I warn you whatever happens ... do not open this door. Not for anyone."
Hamza thrashed harder, his voice cracking, "I'm fine! Goddamnit Please! You don't have to do this!"
Daniyal took a step forward, hesitating. "But..."
"No!" Aswad's tone was sharp, cutting through the air. "You don't understand what's at stake here. It's for your well-being that you leave this room,
Now!"
The gravity in his words was unmistakable. Daniyal stood frozen for a moment before reluctantly moving toward the door.

As they filed out into the adjacent room, Aswad turned to Danish, his expression more severe. "You should leave too, my child, It's not safe for you either."
Danish shook his head, his voice quiet but resolute. "I'm your student. I need to learn, to understand how this works."
Aswad stepped closer, his gaze piercing. "This isn't an ordinary jinn possession, Danish. It's more than that. More dangerous than you know."
"But how will I ever understand if you keep pushing me away?" Danish's voice rose, his frustration bubbling over. "You keep saying it's dangerous, but you never explain."
Aswad's eyes flickered with a mix of anger and concern. "You think this is a lesson? This is a life-or-death situation! You don't get it, child."
"I'm not a child anymore!" Danish shot back, stepping closer, fists clenched.
"I'm not afraid!"
"Fear isn't your enemy here," Aswad growled.
"You have no idea what's coming," Aswad hissed, his voice dropping low, menacing.
A silence fell between them, heavier than the storm outside. Danish, his confidence faltering, finally gave a small nod and joined the others. The door closed with a soft click, leaving Aswad alone with Hamza. The sound of Hamza's sobbing, faint but persistent, seeped through the walls.
The group sat in silence, the air thick with unspoken fear.

As Aswad began to recite, his voice low and steady, the ancient words slithered into the air like a slow, creeping fog, thickening the atmosphere. Each syllable seemed to pull the room deeper into an abyss, and with it, the temperature dropped sharply, the air now biting cold. Hamza's body convulsed violently against the ropes, the bed creaked under the strain, groaning and shifting as though it might collapse at any moment, its wooden frame bending unnaturally. The flickering candlelight cast eerie, elongated shadows that danced across the room.
Abdullah, turned to Danish. "So, Is Aswad your father?"
Danish shook his head, his eyes dark with memory. "No," he said quietly, almost as if the admission carried a weight he hadn't acknowledged before. "He's not my father... He found me when I was a child, wandering alone. I don't even remember where I came from. He... took me in. Raised me. Taught me everything I know about faith, about things beyond this world." His voice grew quieter. "He's the only family I've ever had."
The air in the room thickened, pressing down like a suffocating weight. Every breath felt heavy, tinged with something rotten, as if the room itself were decaying from the inside. Aswad's voice, once steady, had risen to a fever pitch, each verse slicing through the air with brutal sharpness, his words now sounding almost unholy, like something never meant to be spoken by human lips. The walls seemed to shiver under the force of his recitation, trembling as though they, too, were afraid of what was unfolding.