Jamila Who Did Not Exist

By: Abir Rifi

I used to live with my parents, younger sister, and paternal grandmother in one house. Every summer, we would travel to the countryside to spend several weeks at my uncle's home. I would await that journey with great anticipation, as it was my opportunity to escape the noise of the city and spend time among the fields and wide meadows.

I sometimes helped my uncle with farming chores; joining him in irrigation, harvesting, and herding livestock, and then returning in the evening exhausted, yet feeling a sense of peace I never found in the city.

One day, while I was standing near a well located at the edge of the village filling water jugs, I felt as though someone was watching me.

I raised my head and saw a girl sitting under an olive tree not far from me. She was looking at me in silence, and when her eyes met mine, I lowered my head and continued my work, pretending that I hadn't noticed her.

I carried the water and started back toward my uncle's house, but I was surprised to find her standing right in the middle of the path before me, a quiet smile upon her face.

She said:

— How are you, Osama? I hope you are enjoying your time in our village.

I stopped, astonished that she knew my name, but I didn't show it and answered her:

— And who wouldn't enjoy it in this beautiful village?

She said her name was Jamila, and the name truly suited her. She had calm features and gentle speech, and in her eyes was something strange that drew attention while simultaneously stirring unease.

I asked her:

— From which household are you?

She replied:

— I am the daughter of Abd al-Sami'.

I knew Abd al-Sami'; he was one of my uncle's neighbors, living in a house located not far from the farm. Therefore, I didn't doubt her words.

From that day on, our meetings followed one another. She would appear in the places I went—once near the fields, another time by the path leading to the well, and yet another beneath the olive trees.

At first, I thought they were merely coincidences, but I soon became almost certain that she was tracking my movements and knew the places I frequented.

That didn't bother me, for I had grown fond of her. With the passing days, I began to attach myself to her even more, to the point that I told her one day I would return the following summer and ask her father for her hand in marriage.

She smiled that day without answering, content to gaze at me for a long time.

I kept our relationship a secret, telling no one among my family members.

The Black Cat

On a moonlit night, I sat near the well at the edge of the village, far from the houses. I was actually waiting for Jamila; I had grown accustomed to seeing her there, and I wanted to tell her that we would be leaving the village in two days.

I didn't wait long before she emerged from among the trees, walking toward me with quiet steps.

She sat beside me, and we began to talk. Suddenly, I noticed a small cat standing a short distance away, staring at us.

I said to Jamila:

— Look, there is a kitten.

Jamila walked over to it and scooped it up in her arms. It was entirely black, with soft fur and shining blue eyes.

It looked tame and pretty, yet it never took its eyes off me for a single moment.

Jamila said, stroking its head:

— If we didn't already have cats at home, I would have taken it with me.

I joked:

— I don't care much for cats, but I will take it with me and look after it for your sake.

Jamila grew happy, a strange relief appearing on her face, and then she handed me the cat and said:

— I must go now.

She walked ahead of me while I followed, carrying the cat. When we reached Abd al-Sami's house, she stopped at the door, waved goodbye to me with her hand, and then went inside.

I saw her with my own eyes enter the house.

I returned to my uncle's house, placed the cat inside a cardboard box, and offered it some food. Afterward, I sat with my father, my uncle, and his family to have dinner.

My uncle informed us that the following night he would host a large feast, inviting all the villagers—a custom he practiced from time to time.

On the next morning, my uncle went out to invite the neighbors. I watched him knock on Abd al-Sami's door, and the man came out to him. My uncle invited him to attend along with his wife and children, and Abd al-Sami replied:

— God willing, we will all attend.

I felt immense happiness. Jamila would be present, and my mother would see her. When I later told my mother that I wanted to marry her, she would already have a prior impression of her.

I did not know that that night would upend everything.

A Daughter Nobody Knew

The villagers began flocking to my uncle's house after sunset. The men sat in a separate gathering space, while the women congregated on the other side of the house.

I stood near the door watching the arrivals, waiting for Jamila to appear.

After a while, I saw Abd al-Sami arriving accompanied by his wife and two children: a boy of about seven years old and a little girl of roughly ten.

But Jamila was not with them.

I waited a little longer, believing she would come alone, but she did not show up.

I approached Abd al-Sami's son and asked him in a low voice:

— Why didn't your sister come with you?

He looked at me in bewilderment and pointed to the little girl:

— She did come, she's right over there playing with your sister.

I said:

— I don't mean Maryam, I mean your older sister.

His bewilderment increased, and he said:

— I don't have an older sister. Maryam is my only sister.

I felt a chill run through my body.

I asked him:

— And Jamila? Isn't she your sister?

He furrowed his brow and said:

— Who is Jamila? I have no one except one sister, whose name is Maryam.

I kept staring at him in disbelief. I had seen Jamila enter their house with my own eyes; how could he say she did not exist?

I asked him once more:

— And who stayed behind in the house when you came here?

He answered with certainty:

— No one stayed behind. We locked the door and all came.

I stepped away from him feeling as though the earth were trembling beneath my feet. The child was speaking honestly, and he did not seem to be joking or hiding anything.

I entered the kitchen, trying to process what I had heard. I found my grandmother eating her dinner, for she never liked staying up late. I remembered the small cat, so I took some bread and leftover food and placed it before it.

The cat ate with fierce voracity, as though it hadn't eaten in days.

I watched it devour the food, then remembered Jamila and her enigmatic smile, and a tight constriction gripped my chest.

My uncle called out to me to sit with the guests, so I left the cat and returned to the gathering.

After the feast ended, the villagers departed one after another, and then everyone went off to sleep. As for me, I tossed and turned in my bed for long hours, incapable of closing my eyes.

I did not fall asleep until close to four in the morning.

And when I slept, the nightmare was waiting for me.

The Black Door

In my dream, I saw a massive black door standing amidst endless darkness. I was standing before it, waiting for it to open, even though something within me was screaming, warning me against drawing near.

The door began to open slowly, and from behind it emanated strange voices and overlapping whispers.

There was nothing behind it except dense darkness.

Then Jamila emerged from within, extending her hand toward me as she said:

— Come, Osama.

I wanted to step toward her, but someone grabbed me from behind and began dragging me away from the door.

I turned around and saw my grandmother.

She was gripping my clothes tightly and saying:

— Go back, my son, do not enter through this door.

I felt angry with her in the dream and asked her to let me go, but she kept trying to pull me away. Suddenly, she vanished from before me.

I turned back toward the door, only to find Jamila still standing inside, extending her hand to me and inviting me to enter.

I took a step, then another, until I was about to cross the threshold.

At that exact moment, the call to prayer rang out.

Jamila disappeared, and the black door and darkness faded away around me.

I opened my eyes in terror, finding that the dawn call to prayer was indeed rising from the village mosque. My heart was beating violently, and my body was drenched in sweat.

I got up and washed my face, then found my family members preparing to return to the city. I changed my clothes, took my bag and the cat's box, and placed them in my father's car.

After breakfast, we bid farewell to my uncle and set off.

What Appeared on the Chair

The road was long and tiring. When we reached our house, I carried the cat up to my room and placed the box on a chair near my bed.

I changed my clothes, then lay down to rest from the weariness of travel.

I drifted off to sleep quickly, only to find myself drowning in a sea of blood. I tried to swim and get out, but something kept pulling me toward the depths.

I woke up with difficulty, as though ascending from a deep pit.

The room was covered in a dense fog resembling smoke. Through it, I saw the figure of a person sitting on the chair opposite my bed.

I closed my eyes, then opened them anew.

There was nothing upon the chair except the black cat, sitting quietly and staring at me with its blue eyes.

I told myself that I was still under the influence of the nightmare, and that fatigue and lack of sleep had caused me to hallucinate things that did not exist.

My mother knocked on the door and asked me to get up for lunch. The hour had already passed five in the afternoon.

I washed my face, ate my food, and then went out to meet my friends whom I hadn't seen in over a month. I did not return home until after ten at night.

I ate dinner with my family, then entered my room and fell asleep from sheer exhaustion, forgetting to give the cat its food.

In the middle of the night, I felt something gripping my hand tightly.

I screamed and opened my eyes, only to see the cat biting my hand. Blood was flowing profusely, and the pain was severe.

I shoved it away, struck it, and then kicked it far off. I wrapped my hand in a piece of cloth, but my anger did not subside. I grabbed the cat, opened the window, and hurled it outside.

I went back to bed, and no sooner had I calmed down a little than I remembered I hadn't fed it all day.

I felt a pang of regret.

It had been hungry, and perhaps it bit me because of hunger. I got up and looked out the window, but I didn't see it. I went downstairs to search for it, but found no trace of it.

I returned to my room, persuading myself that it wasn't dead and that it had fled somewhere nearby.

The Wound That Disappeared

In the morning, I entered the kitchen and found my mother preparing breakfast.

I said to her:

— Do you have any medicine for wounds? The cat bit me yesterday until blood flowed from my hand.

My mother grew angry and said:

— I told you from the very beginning that I did not approve of bringing it into the house. Show me your hand, and then take it out of the house immediately.

She went to fetch the medicine, while I began unwrapping the cloth tied around my hand.

I froze in place.

My hand was completely unblemished.

No wound, no scratch, not even the slightest trace of a bite.

I looked at the piece of cloth, then at my hand. I was certain that blood had been pouring from it the previous night, and that the pain had been real.

My mother returned with the medicine and said:

— Show me the wound.

I didn't know what to say, so I smiled, trying to hide my confusion, and said:

— I was just joking with you, Mom, there's nothing there.

She snapped at me:

— Do you think I have time to waste on your silly jokes? You know I don't like this kind of humor.

I apologized to her and sat down to eat breakfast, but my mind was somewhere else entirely.

Had the bite been a dream?

And if it was a dream, who had wrapped the cloth around my hand?

The Woman by the Window

The daytime passed in apparent tranquility. After sunset, my mother asked me to accompany them to my maternal uncle's house, as he had invited us for dinner.

I excused myself on the grounds that I was tired, so everyone went out and I remained alone in the house.

I ate a light dinner, then entered my room and turned off the light. As soon as I laid my head on the pillow, I heard the door of the room open slowly.

I tried to get up, but I couldn't move my body.

I closed my eyes and continued to listen. I heard no footsteps nor any other sound. After moments, I poked my head out from under the covers and opened my eyes.

There was a shadow standing near the window.

It looked like the figure of a tall woman, and she was sobbing bitterly.

I tried to reach my hand toward the light switch, but my hands and feet were paralyzed, as though invisible cords were binding me to the bed.

I screamed at the top of my lungs, but the woman said:

— Hush, no one will hear you.

Her voice was familiar.

I asked her, trembling:

— Who are you?

She stopped crying and said:

— I am the mother of the one you killed. And what you did was a grave mistake, and you will pay dearly for it. I am leaving now, but I will not part from you until you receive the punishment you deserve.

The woman vanished abruptly, and at that exact moment, the room's light switched on by itself.

I remained frozen in my bed, trying to comprehend her words.

I had never killed a human being in my life.

Then I remembered the cat.

I remembered how I threw it out the window, and I recalled Jamila's words when I picked it up near the well. At that point, the threads began connecting in my head.

Jamila was not Abd al-Sami's daughter.

She wasn't from the village folks at all, and perhaps she wasn't even human.

As for the woman who appeared near my window, her voice was very close to Jamila's, but it sounded harsher and more mature, as though the speaker were an older woman.

I also remembered the cat's bite whose trace had vanished, and the black door I had seen in the dream.

I was certain that all these things were linked to one another.

The Palace Amidst the Forest

Ever since that night, my life was no longer normal.

By day, I was absent-minded, incapable of concentration, drowning in endless, conflicting thoughts. As for the night, I would hear footsteps moving in the hallway, scratching sounds above the window, and muffled weeping coming from the corners of the room.

Then I began seeing the same dream almost every night.

A man of deeply darkened complexion would appear before me. I was never able to see his features clearly, but he was massive in build, and his voice was harsh, striking terror into the heart.

He would command me to walk with him, and I would find myself traversing a dark forest that moonlight could not reach. At the end of the path, an abandoned palace would appear, surrounded by twisted trees, boasting a massive iron gate guarded by an unnaturally tall creature.

The guard would open the door for us, and then they would take me into dark corridors from whose depths shrieks and clanking chains echoed.

Every time I woke up, I would feel pain in my body or find small scratches that vanished after hours.

My condition continued to deteriorate, until I woke up one morning unable to move my legs and one of my arms normally.

When my mother saw me, she broke down in tears. As for my father, he summoned a man known in our region for spiritual healing (Ruqyah).

The healer entered my room, asked my parents to step outside and close the door, and then sat beside me, asking me to recount everything that had happened since our travel to the countryside.

I told him about Jamila, the cat, the black door, the woman who appeared near the window, and the man who took me every night to the palace.

He listened in silence, then began reciting the Quran. As the recitation continued, I felt a heavy weight gradually lifting from my chest.

He wrote something on a piece of paper and soaked it in water, then gave me a bottle of water he had recited over, instructing me to drink from it before sleeping.

After that, he handed me a small Mushaf (Quran) and said:

— Do not let this Mushaf leave your side, except when you enter the bathroom. Keep it close to you at all times, and I will return in two days with another healer, for your condition requires follow-up.

Before he left, I heard his voice telling my father that my condition was severe.

I tried to move my legs after he left, and they moved slowly. I managed to stand, but my hand remained heavy and rigid.

My mother rejoiced when she saw me walking.

I told her I wanted to bathe, so she prepared the bathroom for me. I left my clothes and the Mushaf in the adjoining room and went inside.

Upon finishing, I returned to my room. The hour had passed ten at night. I drank from the water the healer had given me, then lay down in my bed and slept.

However, I forgot the Mushaf in the other room.

The Black Dog

I felt someone shaking me violently.

I opened my eyes and saw the dark man standing before me.

He said in his harsh voice:

— Get up, the time for your departure has come.

I realized I wouldn't be able to resist him. I wished the Mushaf had been beside me, but I had left it far away.

In a single moment, I found myself with him before the iron gate of the palace, darkness surrounding us from every side.

The tall guard appeared and opened the gate. We entered a pitch-black place where a person could scarcely see their own hand.

We walked through narrow corridors until we reached a hall where I saw a man being tortured by two strange creatures.

When they noticed my presence, they loosed a massive black dog toward me—an animal the likes of whose size I had never seen in my life.

The dog lunged at me, and I fled with all the strength I possessed. I could hear its breath behind me, feeling that it drew closer with every step.

I tried to scream, but my voice wouldn't come out.

I kept running until a deep well appeared before me. I had no time to think; the dog was only a few steps away from me.

I jumped inside the well.

And no sooner had I reached its bottom than I woke from my sleep.

I was panting, my heart threatening to burst from my chest. When I touched my face, I found bleeding scratches on it, along with small wounds on my hands.

I tried to get up to wash away the blood, but I collapsed onto the floor.

I looked at my legs and found them twisted and rigid in a frightening manner. I tried to move them, but they refused to respond.

I screamed with all the power I could muster.

My parents rushed in. When they saw my legs, my mother collapsed in tears. My father carried me back to bed, then went out to summon the healer.

The Final Confrontation

The healer returned shortly after, accompanied by another healer.

The first began reciting the Quran, while the second took to sprinkling the corners of the room with the water he had recited over.

I felt the room spinning around me, and then I lost consciousness of everything.

I do not know how much time passed before I opened my eyes.

The two men were still reading, but I saw something they did not see.

Jamila was clinging to the ceiling of the room.

She was no longer the quiet, pretty girl I had known in the village. Her face was pale, her eyes wide in a terrifying manner, and her limbs moved in a non-human way.

She began descending from the ceiling down the wall with an agility resembling a spider's movement.

She reached the floor, then stood before the door of the room and stared at me for a long time.

She did not speak, but her gaze was filled with anger and menace.

After moments, she vanished in the blink of an eye.

At that exact moment, I felt a profound relief coursing through my body, as though a heavy burden that had remained squatting upon my chest was suddenly lifted away.

The recitation stopped, and the healer looked at me, saying:

— Praise be to God for your safety, my son. Your torment has ended, and the jinn has departed.

I looked at my legs and found they had returned to their natural state. I moved them, then sat up on the bed in disbelief.

The healer said:

— But you must be cautious. She may try to return if you neglect yourself.

I asked him fearfully:

— And how do I protect myself from her? She tortured me greatly.

He smiled and said:

— Guard your five prayers without delay, adhere to the morning and evening remembrances (Adhkar), read whatever is accessible to you of the Quran every day, and increase your supplications. For God alone is the Protector from every evil.

I followed his advice and maintained what he asked of me.

With the passing of days, my psychological state improved, and I returned to my studies and normal life. Even my relationship with my family became better than it had been.

More than five years have now passed since that incident, and I have never seen Jamila again, nor has the dark man returned to take me to that palace.

Yet still, whenever I see a black cat with blue eyes, I remember that night by the well and ask myself:

Did I truly kill the cat when I threw it out the window?

Or was it never a cat to begin with?

Author: Abir Rifi

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