The Shadows of Islamabad
A Psychological Horror Novella
By Faraz Parvez
(Pseudonym of Professor Dr. Arshad Afzal)
Former Faculty Member, Umm Al-Qura University, Makkah, KSA
đ Category: Fiction & Literature
đ Published on: themindscope.net
Chapter 1: The Unsettling Delivery
The package arrived on a humid Tuesday afternoon, its brown paper wrapping slick with moisture from the monsoon rains. Zainab Khan, a 32-year-old journalist based in Islamabad, found it leaning against her apartment door. There was no return address, just her name scrawled in thick, black ink.
âOdd,â she muttered, turning the package over in her hands. The weight was unusualâlight but dense, as if it contained something alive. She hesitated, her journalistâs curiosity warring with a sudden, inexplicable dread.
Inside her modest apartment, she set the package on the kitchen table. The room was dim, the only light coming from the flickering bulb above. Zainab grabbed a pair of scissors and sliced through the tape with practiced precision.
The box contained a single item: a small, intricately-carved wooden doll. Its face was hauntingly realistic, with wide, empty eyes and a mouth frozen in a silent scream. The craftsmanship was exquisite, but there was something unsettling about itâa feeling that it was watching her.
A slip of paper fell out of the box. It read: âFor Zainab. Youâll understand soon.â
She laughed nervously, trying to shake off the unease. âItâs just a doll,â she told herself. But as she turned away, she could have sworn the dollâs eyes followed her.
Chapter 2: The Whispering Streets
That night, Zainab couldnât sleep. The doll sat on her dresser, its presence like a weight in the room. The rain outside grew heavier, clattering against the windows like tiny, insistent hands.
Around midnight, she heard it.
A whisper.
At first, she thought it was the wind. But as she listened, the sound grew clearerâa soft, rhythmic chant in a language she didnât recognize. It seemed to come from all around her, echoing in the walls, the floor, even inside her head.
She sat up, her heart pounding. The dollâs eyes glinted in the dim light, its expression somehow darker, more sinister.
âThis is ridiculous,â she muttered, grabbing the doll and shoving it into a drawer. She climbed back into bed, pulling the covers tightly around her. But the whispers didnât stop.
They continued until dawn, a relentless, maddening drone.
Chapter 3: The Neighborâs Visit
The next morning, Zainab was exhausted. Sheâd barely slept, and the whispers had left her with a splitting headache. She was brewing a strong cup of chai when there was a knock at the door.
It was her neighbor, Mrs. Akhtar, an elderly woman with kind eyes and a perpetual smile.
âBeta, are you okay?â the old woman asked, peering at her with concern. âYou look like you havenât slept.â
Zainab forced a smile. âJust a rough night.â
Mrs. Akhtar hesitated, then said, âI heard strange noises last night. Like⌠whispers. Coming from your apartment.â
Zainabâs blood ran cold. âYou heard them too?â
The old woman nodded, her expression grim. âBe careful, beta. Sometimes, things come into our lives that we donât understandâthings that shouldnât be here.â
Zainab wanted to ask what she meant, but Mrs. Akhtar had already turned and shuffled back to her apartment.
Chapter 4: The Hidden History
Determined to unravel the mystery, Zainab began researching the doll. She spent hours scouring the internet, looking for clues about its origins.
The break came when she stumbled upon an old article in a local newspaper. It described a series of bizarre events that had occurred in Islamabad in the 1980sâpeople reporting whispers in the night, nightmares, and, in some cases, unexplained deaths. The incidents were linked to a wooden doll, crafted by a reclusive artist who had vanished without a trace.
According to the article, the doll was said to be cursed, a vessel for a malevolent spirit that thrived on fear and despair.
âGreat,â Zainab muttered, leaning back in her chair. âIâve inherited a cursed doll.â
But as much as she wanted to dismiss it as superstition, the whispers and Mrs. Akhtarâs warning were hard to ignore.
Chapter 5: The Visit to the Old Town
The artist, according to the article, had lived in Islamabadâs Old Townâa labyrinth of narrow streets and crumbling buildings. Zainab decided to visit, hoping to find someone who might know more about the doll.
The Old Town was a different world, frozen in time. She wandered the streets, asking about the artist, but most people either didnât remember or refused to talk.
Finally, she found an old man sitting outside a dilapidated shop. His eyes were cloudy with cataracts, but he perked up when she mentioned the doll.
âAh, the Dollmaker,â he said, his voice trembling with age. âHe was a strange man. Some say he made deals with dark forces to bring his creations to life.â
âWhat happened to him?â Zainab asked.
The old man shook his head. âHe disappeared. But his creations⌠theyâre still out there. Be careful, child. Once the doll chooses you, it doesnât let go.â
Chapter 6: The Growing Darkness
That night, the whispers returned, louder and more insistent than before. Zainab tried to ignore them, but they seemed to crawl under her skin, filling her with a deep, gnawing dread.
She opened the drawer where sheâd hidden the doll. Its eyes seemed to glow in the darkness, its expression almost⌠smug.
âWhat do you want from me?â she whispered, her voice trembling.
The whispers stopped, replaced by a single, chilling word:
âEverything.â
Chapter 7: The Descent into Madness
Over the next few days, Zainabâs life unraveled. She saw thingsâshadows moving in the corner of her eye, figures standing in the rain outside her window. The whispers became a constant presence, drowning out her thoughts until she could barely think.
She stopped going to work, stopped answering her phone. Her apartment became a prison, the doll its silent, malevolent warden.
One night, she broke. She grabbed the doll and hurled it across the room. It hit the wall with a sickening crack, but when she picked it up, there was no damage. The dollâs face seemed to twist into a cruel smile.
âLeave me alone!â she screamed, tears streaming down her face.
The whispers grew louder, filling the room until she couldnât breathe.
Chapter 8: The Final Confrontation
In desperation, Zainab returned to the Old Town. She found the old man still sitting outside the shop.
âHelp me,â she begged, showing him the doll. âHow do I get rid of it?â
The old man looked at her with pity. âThe Dollmakerâs creations cannot be destroyed. But there is one way to break the curse.â
âHow?â
âYou must find the source of the whispers. Confront the spirit that binds it.â
That night, Zainab followed the whispers to an abandoned building on the outskirts of Islamabad. The air was thick with the scent of decay, and the walls seemed to pulse with a dark energy.
Inside, she found a room filled with wooden dolls, their eyes gleaming in the darkness. At the center was the Dollmakerâor what was left of him. His body was withered and twisted, his hands still carving a new doll.
âYouâve come,â he rasped, his voice echoing with the whispers.
âLet me go,â Zainab pleaded.
The Dollmaker smiled. âYou are mine now. Just like the others.â
But Zainab wasnât ready to give up. She grabbed a piece of broken wood and drove it into the Dollmakerâs chest. He let out a howl of rage, his body crumbling to dust.
The whispers stopped.
Epilogue: The Silence
Zainab returned to her apartment, exhausted but free. The doll was gone, and the whispers had finally stopped. But as she lay in bed, she couldnât shake the feeling that something was still watching her.
On her dresser, a tiny, wooden hand reached out from the shadows.
đ A Weekend Treat for Our Readers
Dear readers,
The Shadows of Islamabad is offered as a weekend literary giftâa tale meant to unsettle, intrigue, and linger long after the final line.
For more original fiction, psychological horror, geopolitics, mysticism, education, and deep-thinking essays, visit:
đ www.themindscope.net
âď¸ Author Credentials
Faraz Parvez
(Pseudonym of Professor Dr. Arshad Afzal)
Former Faculty Member, Umm Al-Qura University, Makkah, KSA
đ Published exclusively on themindscope.net
