Fifteen years had passed since my marriage to Nuha, and we hadn't been blessed with a child. We tried every possible means: medications, therapy sessions, prayers in the dead of night, doctors from home and abroad… but all doors remained closed.
One autumn evening, as we sat on the balcony contemplating the silence of the night, Nuha said to me in a sad tone:
"Abbad… have you ever thought about adoption?"
I looked at her, a mixture of fear and hope in my heart:
"Adoption? Do you mean taking a child from an orphanage?"
She nodded calmly:
"Perhaps this child is our destiny… and perhaps he is the long-awaited joy."After a heavy silence, I said:
"If it will make us feel like a family… then let's try."
Days later, we visited an old orphanage in a popular neighborhood in Cairo. The gate was made of rusty iron, and the sign was barely legible. We were greeted by a middle-aged employee named "Professor Jalal," who looked tired and burdened by worries.
Jalal took us on a tour among the children, and the sight was painful. Children in the prime of their youth, running and playing with broken toys, laughing despite the pain. And among all those faces… we saw him.
He was sitting in a corner of the garden, alone, not participating in play, not looking at anyone. A small child, about seven years old, with golden hair and cold blue eyes like winter ice.
Nuha pointed to him and said:
"Who is this child? What's his name?"
Jalal replied, lowering his voice:
"His name is Iyad… a passerby found him inside a garbage bin near the metro station. No one came forward to look for him, and we know nothing of his origin."
I looked at the boy with pity and said:
"Why is he sitting by himself? Doesn't he socialize with the other children?"
Jalal sighed and said:
"The truth is… the children stay away from him. They say he scares them… even though he's quiet and well-behaved."
I approached him, sat beside him, and gently asked:
"Iyad… would you like to come home with us?"
He looked at me with a steady gaze and said with a calmness unsuited for his age:
"Will you truly love me?"
I smiled, and Nuha immediately answered:
"Yes, my little one, we will love you very much… as if you were our own son
In the first few days, everything seemed perfect. Iyad was unnaturally quiet. He went to bed early, made no fuss, didn't ask many questions like other children, and obeyed commands literally.
But soon, things began to go out of the ordinary.
One night, we were sitting in the living room, and suddenly he turned to me and said:
"Abbad… you're afraid of the dark, aren't you?"
Nuha and I exchanged surprised glances, and I said:
"And who told you that?"
He replied with a slight smile:
"I just… know."
Two days later, he told Nuha that she loved mint tea more than any other drink. She had never told him this before, nor had he seen her preparing it.
She later told me:
"I feel like Iyad… sees what cannot be seen."
Then the strange phenomena began.
We would hear light footsteps in the hallway at night, even though Iyad was asleep. Doors would open and close by themselves. And one morning, we found frightening drawings on the walls: monsters, one-eyed creatures, strange symbols like talismans.
I asked him one day:
"Iyad, did you draw these pictures on the wall?"
He replied calmly:
"No, my friends did."
I said anxiously:
"What friends? No one comes to the house."
He answered me:
"They visit me at night… they're like me, but they died a long time ago."
Nuha looked at me with eyes full of terror, so I said:
"Maybe he just has a vivid imagination…"
We took him to a psychiatrist named Dr. Wael, and after several sessions, he said:
"Perhaps Iyad is suffering from a psychological disorder, and he might have imaginary friends as a result of the trauma he experienced in his childhood."
But what I saw after that… was no illusion.
One night, I woke up to the sound of children's laughter. I got up and went towards Iyad's room. I slowly opened the door… and froze.
I saw him standing in the middle of the room, holding the spectral hands of two colorless children, their eyes glowing red. They were dancing around him, laughing, their bodies not touching the ground.
I screamed, violently pulled the door shut, and rushed back to the room.
I shook Nuha's shoulder and told her in a trembling voice:
"Nuha, Iyad… he's not normal, I saw dead children with him!"
She yawned and said:
"Perhaps you dreamt, Abbad… you've been stressed."
But I swear I was fully conscious.
A week later, Iyad developed a very high fever and was delirious, speaking in incomprehensible words. We took him to the hospital; he stayed there for three days and then returned… but he was never the same.
He started talking to himself loudly, sometimes shouting, and sometimes laughing for no reason. Then he began telling us things about the neighbors.
He once told us:
"The tenant in the apartment above you… cheats on his wife every night."
And on another day:
"The doorman… steals shoes from apartment entrances."
And days later, we heard that the man Iyad claimed was cheating… had died in a mysterious car accident.
As for the doorman, he was found dead in his room… with an indescribable look of terror on his face.
Doubts began to grow in my heart, and I became afraid to look into Iyad's eyes.
One night… I opened my eyes to find him standing at the foot of my bed.
I asked him in fright:
"What's wrong, Iyad?"
He looked at me with a cold stare and said in a voice that wasn't his:
"I am not Iyad… I am something else."
"What do you mean?"
"I was trapped in this body for many years. I waited for someone to love me… so I could return. And you did."
"Did what?!"
"You set me free… and now, you are mine."
I saw his eyes turn red, and his body stretched and changed. I got up screaming and woke Nuha, and we ran out of the house as we heard his demonic laughter… and the sound of shattering glass and slamming doors.
We spent the night at Nuha's parents' house in the opposite building. In the morning, we returned to our apartment with the neighbors, but Iyad had vanished. There was no trace of him anywhere.
We called the orphanage… the number was out of service.
We went to the address… we found only a residential building.
We asked the local residents, and they told us that the orphanage had been demolished five years ago.
Dear Reader,
Would you have adopted Iyad if you were in my place?
Would you have believed what I saw if I had told you before it happened?
Not every closed door is worth opening, and not everyone who needs love… deserves it.
Have you had a similar experience? Leave us a comment.
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