Ahsan stared at the dark shape hovering above his mother.
It was small — no larger than a cat — but its presence was suffocating. The creature looked like an imp, a hunched little silhouette with torn wings and a body made of pure shadow. Black smoke drifted from it like breath in the cold. Its shape flickered, never staying still, as if it didn't entirely exist in this world.
It just floated there. Silent. Watching.
His mother didn't seem to notice. She stood by the door, smiling gently. "What is it, dear?" she asked, her tone warm and calm, as if nothing was wrong.
Ahsan blinked hard, his throat tightening. "Nothing, mama. I'll be there after I freshen up," he replied quickly, forcing a small smile.
As he left for the washroom, he told himself it wasn't real. It couldn't be real. The nightmare had shaken him so much that he was now seeing things that weren't there.
But then he saw his father.
The moment he stepped into the hallway, Ahsan froze. Floating above his father was another one — a larger creature, shaped like a man but made of the same absolute darkness. Its limbs were too long, its head tilted slightly as though it sensed him. Wisps of black smoke poured from its form, vanishing into thin air.
Ahsan's pulse quickened. He forced himself to keep walking, pretending not to see it. It's all in my head, he repeated silently. Just leftover fear. Hallucination.
He splashed cold water on his face, hoping to shake the visions away. The chill grounded him, if only for a moment.
When he joined his family at the breakfast table, the smell of food and the chatter of home almost made him forget. Almost.
Then he looked at his little sister.
And his blood ran cold.
Floating above her head was a behemoth — a monstrous, grotesque mass of shadow, easily the size of four grown people fused. Its form shifted and pulsed, stretching against the ceiling like a living nightmare.
Ahsan's fork slipped from his hand.
"Anything wrong, bro?" his sister asked, tilting her head, smiling innocently.
Ahsan flinched. "Wha—? I'm fine!" he blurted, forcing a laugh that cracked halfway through.
He stared down at his plate, trying to steady his trembling hands. The laughter and clinking of cutlery around the table sounded distant now, like echoes from another world.
He ate in silence, pretending everything was normal — while that towering shadow above his sister loomed, breathing, watching, and waiting.
Ahsan stepped outside, hoping the morning air would calm his nerves.
But it didn't.
If anything, it made things worse.
The street was alive with people — neighbors chatting, shopkeepers opening shutters, children running past with schoolbags bouncing against their backs. Ordinary scenes of ordinary life. But above each of them...
...hung something.
Some of the creatures were small — no bigger than birds, drifting lazily like smoke in the air. Others were huge, monstrous silhouettes, twisted and heavy, their eyes faintly glowing in the daylight. Some crouched on people's shoulders like parasites, while others hovered, silent and watchful, like grim shadows of their hosts.
Ahsan's stomach tightened. His legs felt weak.
He blinked rapidly, rubbed his eyes — but nothing changed. They were still there. All of them.
The world looked normal to everyone else, but to him it was crawling with unseen horrors.
He whispered to himself, "They're not real... they're not real..." But the words did nothing. The creatures didn't fade. They just stared back.
Panic clawed at his chest. He stumbled away from the crowd, turning down a narrow alley. The noise of the world faded behind him, leaving only the sound of his ragged breathing.
He sank to his knees, pressing his hands to his face. Hot tears slipped between his fingers. "What's happening to me?" he muttered. "Why can I see this?"
He punched the ground in frustration, the impact sending dust flying. When he lifted his hand again, something caught his eye — a piece of paper half-buried under the dirt.
Curious, he brushed it clean.
It was an old, weathered poster, its edges torn and yellowed with age. Faded letters stretched across it in bold, crooked handwriting:
EXORCIST FOR HIRE. Cleansing of spirits, demons, and other entities. Private consultations available."
Ahsan stared at it, his heartbeat echoing in his ears.
An exorcist?
Normally, he would have laughed. He'd never believed in ghosts, demons, or anything supernatural. People like that were frauds — scammers feeding on fear.
But right now, fear was all he had left.
He traced the address printed at the bottom of the poster. His eyes widened when he realized it wasn't far — barely a few meters from where he stood.
He looked toward the end of the alley.
And for the first time that morning, something like hope flickered through his fear.
Ahsan walked carefully through the streets, doing his best to avoid brushing too close to the dark creatures floating above people's heads. Each step felt heavier than the last. The more he saw them, the more real they seemed — as if the shadows had always been there, waiting for someone like him to notice.
After several uneasy minutes, he reached the address on the poster.
It was an old, weathered building, its walls cracked and faded, the paint peeling like dried skin. The structure looked forgotten, as though time itself had chosen to pass it by.
He hesitated at the entrance, his heart pounding. Then, gathering what little courage he had left, he stepped inside.
The air was thick with dust, carrying the faint scent of old paper and incense. The stairway creaked under his feet as he climbed, floor by floor, until he reached the third floor.
Two doors stood at the end of the corridor. On one, a small rusted plate read:
EXORCIST FOR HIRE.
Ahsan swallowed hard. He took a long, steadying breath and knocked.
For a few seconds, there was only silence — then the door opened.
A young girl stood before him. She didn't look Bangladeshi — her features suggested she might be Malaysian or Thai, her skin smooth and lightly tanned, her black hair tied neatly behind her shoulders. She regarded him quietly with calm, unreadable eyes.
Ahsan hesitated. He wanted to speak but wasn't sure if she even understood Bangla. So instead, he simply held up the crumpled poster in his hand.
The girl glanced at it, nodded once, and gestured for him to enter.
Inside, the flat was nothing like the building's exterior. The hallway was bright, the air clean. The walls were lined with neat wooden shelves, a faint aroma of sandalwood lingering in the air. The space looked more like a doctor's clinic than a place dealing with spirits.
Ahsan followed her quietly until he reached the far end of the room, where a man sat casually on a chair, reading a manga.
He looked up.
The man was strikingly handsome — tall and slender, with pale skin that made his dark brown hair seem even deeper in contrast. His sharp blue eyes met Ahsan's with quiet curiosity. He wore a simple black T-shirt and trousers, giving him an effortless, grounded appearance. Despite his unusual features, something in his face still looked distinctly Bangladeshi.
He set the manga aside and said, in smooth Bangla, "How can I help you?"
Ahsan felt a wave of relief. At least they spoke the same language.
"I was looking for the exorcist..." he began.
The man stood and moved toward a desk in the corner, sitting behind it with practiced ease. "I'm the exorcist," he said simply. "Speak up."
Ahsan blinked, startled.
When he heard the word exorcist, he had imagined an old man with white hair, prayer beads, and sacred symbols — not someone who looked barely older than him.
This man looked like he was in his mid-twenties. Too young. Too calm. Too ordinary.
How could someone like him deal with the things Ahsan had seen?
The man spoke again, his voice calm and composed.
"How can I help you, young man?"
Ahsan hesitated, then took a step forward. "I'm seeing things that shouldn't be real," he said quietly.
The man didn't interrupt. He simply gestured for Ahsan to sit.
And Ahsan did — telling him everything. The strange creatures floating above people's heads, the nightmare that felt too real, waking up without a single wound. He described every detail of the night before, his voice trembling slightly as he spoke.
When he finished, silence hung heavy in the air.
The exorcist leaned back in his chair, deep in thought. Then he looked up and asked a single question.
"One question. Is your house right next to Fahmida Pharmacy?"
Ahsan blinked, stunned. "Yes... How do you know that?"
The man snapped his fingers softly, as if something had just clicked in his mind. "Everything is clear now," he said. "Let me explain from the beginning."
He stood, walked to a nearby shelf, and picked up a small glass orb. The light from the window refracted through it, scattering eerie patterns across the wall.
"You see," the man began, "the game you played was not a summoning game. It was a sacrifice ritual."
Ahsan's breath caught in his throat.
"Satanic groups often offer one of themselves to a demon," the exorcist continued. "The longer the ritual continues, the stronger the connection becomes. And when the sacrifice is complete, the demon grants one wish to the cult."
He turned his piercing blue eyes toward Ahsan.
"Your friend told you a flawed version of the ritual and thought it was a game."
Ahsan froze. His mind reeled as the pieces fell into place.
It wasn't a prank... it was real.
His friend had unknowingly turned them all into offerings.
"Why would someone willingly let themselves get eaten?" Ahsan finally asked, his voice weak.
The man replied in a low, steady tone,
"Blind devotion."
The words echoed in Ahsan's mind like a curse.
He finally began to understand what had happened — but there was still one thing that didn't make sense.
"I get the ritual and sacrifice stuff," he said cautiously, "but how did you know where I live?"
The man turned toward him and smiled faintly.
"I was on my morning walk," he said. "Suddenly, I felt a presence near me. A heavy one. I rushed to the source — and there it was, a demon outside your window."
Ahsan's heart stopped.
"I sliced off its limb when it tried to grab you," the exorcist continued casually, "and then I killed it. When I looked inside, I saw you lying there — intact, no wounds. So I left, assuming you'd be fine."
He sat back down behind his desk, crossing his arms.
"Of course," he added with a half-smile, "I didn't know it was you I saved until you walked into my office and told me about it."
Ahsan took a deep breath, his voice trembling slightly.
"What about the creatures I saw above my family?" he asked. "They won't... hurt them, right?"
The man looked at him for a moment, then smiled reassuringly. "No, no. They're not connected to the ritual you performed," he said, his tone calm and steady. "What you saw are Djinns—spiritual entities that dwell with every human being. Each person has one by their side at all times."
Ahsan frowned. "Always?"
The exorcist nodded. "Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. They whisper to us, influence us—pushing our thoughts toward greed, anger, envy... sin. The more a person gives in to those impulses, the larger and stronger their Djinn becomes."
He leaned back in his chair, his blue eyes narrowing slightly as if studying Ahsan. "Older people usually have smaller ones because they've learned to control themselves. Like your mother, for instance."
Ahsan swallowed hard, remembering the small winged imp hovering quietly above her.
"And your sister," the man continued, "is young, full of emotion, and mistakes. Naturally, her Djinn appears larger. But don't worry—these beings rarely cause direct harm. They feed on influence, not blood."
Ahsan exhaled, feeling the weight on his chest ease just a little. His family was safe.
But one question still burned in his mind.
He looked down at his leg—the same leg that had been torn apart in that nightmare.
"My leg..." he whispered. "It was bitten off last night. I felt it—the pain, the blood. But when I woke up, it was fine. Not even a mark. How is that possible?"
The room fell silent again. The exorcist's expression darkened slightly, as though the answer was something Ahsan might not want to hear.
The exorcist leaned forward, his tone suddenly heavier.
"Remember when I said I sliced the limb of the demon?" he began. "Well, you see, a demon's body isn't like ours. When one of its parts is cut off, it doesn't die—it acts on its own to survive. Each piece has its own mind, its own will. So when the limb was severed, it tried to find a host... and it found you. It latched onto your open wound."
Ahsan felt a cold chill crawl down his spine.
The man continued, his eyes sharp but calm. "You might not see it, but I can. Wait—let me show you. Pull up your pants for a second."
Ahsan hesitated, then obeyed. The man took a strange concave glass dome from the desk and placed it gently over Ahsan's leg.
The sight made Ahsan's stomach twist. Under the glass, his skin rippled unnaturally. A black, twitching mass moved beneath the flesh—writhing like it was alive.
Ahsan's voice trembled. "Oh God... will I die?"
The man placed a steady hand on his shoulder. "Calm down," he said firmly. "It won't harm you—for now. Since it's fused with your body, it needs you to survive. But if you act recklessly, if you let it feed on strong emotion—fear, anger—it'll grow. It'll spread."
Ahsan clenched his fists, his mind spinning. "Then how are you going to fix this?"
"I'll find the best way to treat it," the man replied. "But until then, you need to stay cautious. And one more thing..." He reached into a drawer and handed Ahsan a sleek pair of dark glasses.
"Wear these whenever you go outside," the man said. "They'll block your vision of Djinns and lesser demons. But you'll still see powerful spirits and higher entities. It'll help you focus."
Ahsan slipped the glasses on—and gasped. The Djinn hovering above the man's head had vanished.
"It... it actually worked," he whispered.
The man smiled faintly, the kind of smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Good. Now you can walk among them without losing your mind."
Ahsan stood up to leave. He thanked the man and the girl, his voice quieter than before. Just as he reached the door, the man called out to him.
"One last thing," the man said, his tone carrying a shadow of warning. "Try to stay indoors after sunset. Otherworldly beings are stronger in the dark. And... try not to look out your window. Not that it'll harm you," he added, pausing for a second, "you just won't like what you see."
Ahsan nodded, unsure how to respond. He gave a polite smile and stepped out, the door clicking shut behind him.
That night, the warning echoed in his mind. Try not to look out your window.
He sat on his bed, staring at the glass pane glowing faintly under the moonlight. He told himself not to do it. Not to give in. But curiosity—it always wins.
He slowly turned and looked outside.
And froze.
The night sky was alive—crawling, swarming, writhing. Millions of dark shapes filled the air, drifting and lunging like a storm of shadows given life. Some fought viciously, tearing each other apart. Others feasted on smaller, weaker things. The streets below were alive with them—creatures lurking near lampposts, circling humans who walked unaware.
His breath caught in his throat. His entire body trembled.
With shaking hands, he fumbled for the glasses the man had given him and slipped them on.
But when he looked again, only a few had vanished. The sky was still thick with horrors.
Ahsan's knees buckled. He sank to the floor, his heart pounding as he whispered to himself,
"What kind of hell have I stepped into...?"