My name is Omar. I was born in a small Egyptian village called Kafr Al-Arab. My father was a gravedigger; whenever someone in the village passed away, he’d go to prepare the grave before the body arrived. As I grew older, I started helping him with the digging. At the same time, he worked as the caretaker of that cemetery. It was massive, but completely isolated from the village, sitting about three kilometers away. If we ever needed to buy groceries, it meant a two-hour round trip on foot. We basically lived completely cut off in the middle of nowhere.
I lost my mother during childbirth, and after she passed, my father refused to ever remarry. He dedicated his entire life to raising me and making sure I got an education. I am 29 now. My father passed away about six years ago, and I no longer live in Kafr Al-Arab. I moved to Cairo, finished my studies, and fortunately, I am now a successful engineer.
Looking back, when I was a kid helping my dad, he never let me want for anything. He bought me books and whatever else I needed. But deep down, he hated the idea of me helping him with his work. He’d always tell me, "Just focus on your studies, leave this to me." But I couldn't bear sitting around in comfort while he was out there breaking his back, so I’d force my way along to help him anyway. Our house was built right against the cemetery walls. My father used to go out into the graveyard late at night and wouldn't come back until 3:00 or 4:00 AM. He’d sleep for maybe two or three hours and then get right back up. I remember telling him, "Dad, you're going to destroy your health. You’ve lost so much weight and you're getting older. You need to take care of yourself, sleep more, and eat properly. This isn't right." But his answer was always the same: "I just want you to be okay."
Five years later, I passed my high school exams and had to move to Cairo for university. My father gave me money and rented a place just for me so I could focus entirely on my classes. We were a poor family, far from well-off, but my father never once said "no" to anything I asked for. He was a deeply mysterious, quiet man. If you asked him a question, he’d give you a one-word answer and never engage in actual discussions.
While studying in Cairo, I took every single opportunity to visit the village and see him because I loved him dearly. But nothing had changed about his routine—out in the cemetery all night, back at dawn to sleep for an hour or two, and then right back to digging graves.
About two years into my studies, I had a nightmare about him. He came to me and said, "Don't ever come back to this village. Stay where you are." He looked terrifying in the dream—he was just a skeleton, completely devoid of flesh. Even though his face was just a skull, I knew instantly it was him. I felt his presence, though I couldn't even process his voice out of sheer terror.
I woke up panicked and immediately called a local grocery store owner in the village named Mahfouz. Whenever I needed to get a message to my dad or talk to him, I’d call Mahfouz, and he’d pass the word along. My father didn't own a phone and refused to have one, calling it "an invention of the devil." It was 3:00 AM when I called, and I doubted he’d pick up since it was so late. To my shock, he answered. I knew his shop only opened at 7:00 AM and closed by 8:00 PM, but he picked up the phone.
"Hello," he said. I replied, "Salam, it's Omar. I want to check on my dad." He caught me off guard: "Your dad haven't shown up here in three months." I asked him what he meant, and he said, "It’s completely unlike him, but it's been a long time since I last saw him." When I asked if he knew why, he said, "I have no idea. I don't go near that area anymore." I pressed him for an explanation, and he confessed that the place had become cursed. He told me about recent strange occurrences: a guy riding his bicycle fell into a well and drowned, and a woman suddenly lost her mind and started talking to herself. The villagers were whispering that the area was haunted by jinn. I got angry and asked why he hadn't told me sooner. He snapped back, "What was I supposed to say? You only call me to pass messages to your father, and he does the same when he wants to speak to you. That's the extent of our relationship."
I felt a knot in my stomach; he was definitely hiding something. I hung up, packed my bags, and headed out into the night to catch a train. The earliest train left at 5:30 AM. After a grueling seven-hour journey, I arrived just as darkness was falling—it was winter, so the days were short.
Walking down that road, a path I had known since childhood, an intense fear gripped me. My heart was pounding out of my chest. When I reached the house, I knocked, but there was no answer. I started shouting for my dad, but then it hit me—this was the exact time he’d be out wandering the cemetery.
I went over to the graveyard. It was enclosed by a massive wall with a heavy iron gate, which was locked shut. Our house shared a wall with that gate. I tried using my key on the house door, but it wouldn't turn. My dad must have changed the locks.
Growing up there, I used to play around the perimeter and knew a hidden gap in the structure that led straight into the cemetery—a spot my dad had strictly forbidden me from using. I crept through that secret entrance and began navigating the graves, looking for him. Suddenly, I spotted a faint glimmer of light in a far corner. Keeping my eyes on the light, I navigated the familiar paths and crept closer.
The Occult Secret
What I saw stopped my breath. It was my father, accompanied by two women. They were pulling a corpse out of a grave and cutting off its hand. They didn't notice me; they seemed to be in a trance. As I stepped closer, my father slowly turned his head toward me. He looked exactly like the terrifying figure from my nightmare—except this time, his eyes were completely white, devoid of any color.
My heart nearly stopped. I dropped my bag and bolted back toward the house. This time, the inner door was unlocked. I burst inside, and everything looked completely normal. A few moments later, my father walked in, looking like his usual self.
He looked at me calmly and said, "Son, forget everything you saw tonight. Tomorrow morning, go back and never return. Even if you hear that I’ve died, do not think about coming back here. If you do, you will regret it for the rest of your life. You walked away safe today because I sacrificed a great deal to keep you protected. Do not ask me about any of this, because I will not answer. There is wealth registered in your name that will sustain you for the rest of your days. Go, you are blessed, and no harm will touch you as long as you stay away from this place."
The next morning, I traveled back to Cairo, completely numb. Not long after, I received news of his death. A lawyer contacted me regarding an inheritance my father had left behind. To my absolute shock, the inheritance made me a millionaire. Today, I am a prominent engineer.
This story is entirely true. I kept it buried deep in my heart for years, but I needed to finally let it out to find some peace.
— The End —
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