Sheikh Rahmatullah prepared immediately.
Salt.
Water.
Verses.
They gathered in the living room.
Imran sat calmly in the center, legs crossed like he was about to pray.
But his shadow prayed differently.
Backward.
The sheikh began reciting loudly. The air shook, windows vibrating.
Imran screamed.
Not in pain.
In anger.
The walls bled dust.
Zoya held Ammi while Ayaan poured water around the circle.
The jinn roared through Imran's throat:
"I am older than your fear!"
Suddenly, the ceiling cracked.
Black smoke poured downward.
Faces formed in it—old tenants, forgotten people, screaming silently.
The house was feeding the jinn.
The sheikh fell to his knees.
Blood dripped from his nose.
Imran stood.
The circle broke itself.
The jinn whispered:
"You cleanse houses.
I build them."
The lights went out.
Someone screamed.
And the house locked all doors again.