The Quiet Darkness – Episode 6
The man, helpless and lost in a storm of fear and confusion, closed his eyes tightly and covered his face with both hands as he cried out,
"Please… don't kill me! Let me go… I—I haven't even married yet! I don't even have my little children!"
A voice echoed from in front of him,
"Oh, the father of your eight future children!"
The man stopped crying at once. The sound of that voice kindled a faint hope in his heart — perhaps it wasn't a ghost after all.
Slowly, he removed his trembling hands from his face. Sweat dripped down his forehead under the burning sunlight, but fear had already numbed the heat from his body.
Before him stood a shadowed figure, half-blinded by the sun. The light was so bright that he could only see a hazy silhouette, horns-like shapes rising from the person's head.
The small flame of hope inside him was instantly extinguished, replaced once again by terror and dread.
Just like before, he began screaming helplessly.
The figure bent down toward him and said,
"You fool, it's me — your uncle!"
Suddenly, the man's fear turned into overwhelming relief. Tears, still warm from his earlier panic, ran down his cheeks as he stood up quickly and threw his arms around his uncle.
Behind them, the female reporter watched the whole scene with clear irritation on her face. Beside her, the cameraman continued doing his job, recording every bit of this bizarre moment.
Without wasting time, they both walked toward the man and his uncle.
The uncle called out to someone nearby,
"Son, come here and take your brother home."
A fifteen-year-old boy appeared and guided the frightened man — who looked around twenty-nine but behaved like a ten-year-old — back inside the house.
The uncle looked to be about fifty. His hair was covered in soap foam, and the top of his head was almost bald, while the sides had foamy hair standing upright like horns. He had wrapped a blue towel around his waist and was bare-chested.
The female reporter gave him a disapproving look.
He understood instantly, looked at himself once, and laughed.
"Well," he said cheerfully, "I was taking a bath when I heard my nephew screaming. So I rushed out! My apologies for the trouble. You see, my nephew's mental state is just like that of a ten-year-old child — that's why he gets scared so easily. And on top of that, he watched a horror movie last night, so now he's acting like this."
He smiled politely and added,
"Please, wait here. I'll change quickly and come back. Don't go anywhere, alright? You see, ever since childhood, I've dreamed of being on TV!"
Before he could leave, the cameraman interrupted,
"Alright, go get dressed. We'll wait here. After all, we came to take your interview."
The uncle turned to leave but paused, looking back kindly.
"You both look exhausted. Come inside, please — have something cool to drink before we start."
The cameraman instantly agreed,
"You're absolutely right, sir. We really are tired."
Then he turned toward the reporter and said,
"So, shall we?"
Her face still carried irritation, but she followed, glaring briefly at him before walking behind the uncle. The cameraman followed her.
The house door was painted black, though the paint had peeled off in several spots, revealing rusted steel underneath.
Following the uncle inside, they stepped into a veranda. The floor was tiled, as were the walls. On the right side stood brown sofas lined neatly along the wall.
"Please, have a seat," the uncle said warmly.
The cameraman placed his camera on the floor near the sofa, adjusted it properly, and sat down beside the reporter.
The uncle called out loudly,
"Nimra! Nimra!"
A voice answered from inside,
"Yes, Father, coming!"
A few moments later, a girl appeared, drying her hands with the edge of her dupatta.
"Yes, Father, did you call me?"
The uncle gestured toward the guests.
"Meet them — they're my guests. I'll be giving them an interview shortly."
Nimra greeted politely,
"Assalamu Alaikum."
"Wa Alaikum Assalam," they both replied.
"Alright," the uncle said. "Go bring them some cold juice."
"Yes, Father, just a minute," she replied, and hurried away.
"I'll call Nimra's mother," the uncle added, heading toward another room.
The cameraman responded, "Sure."
The uncle entered a nearby room and shouted,
"Hey, wife! My guests are here — come out and meet them!"
A woman's voice replied from inside,
"What…?"
The uncle's voice grew louder,
"I said, my guests are here! Come and meet them!"
She replied sharply,
"I'm not deaf, you know! No need to shout like that!"
Hearing this, both the cameraman and the reporter burst out laughing.
Just then, Nimra returned with two glasses of orange juice.
She smiled awkwardly and said,
"My mother's hearing isn't as good as it used to be, but she refuses to admit it. We even bought her a hearing aid, but she won't wear it. She says ever since we 'stuck that machine' in her ear, she can only hear loud noises!"
From inside, the uncle shouted again,
"I'm going to finish my bath! You go sit with our guests!"
His wife's voice shot back, loud enough for everyone to hear,
"Yes, yes! As if your 'innocent' sons aren't mischievous enough — it's your clever niece who leads them into trouble!"
The reporter and cameraman couldn't help smiling again.
Nimra blushed and gave an embarrassed little smile in return.
Then the uncle yelled once more,
"Woman! And you say you're not deaf!"
His wife shouted back immediately,
"God forbid! Don't say such things — may Allah bless you with a long life!"
The uncle sighed loudly.
"Oh, for heaven's sake! You didn't even put your hearing aid on again!"
He looked around, spotted the small device on the side table near the bed, grabbed it, and gently placed it in her ear.
"Now can you hear me properly?" he asked loudly.
She glared at him.
"I told you, I'm not deaf — stop shouting!"
The uncle shook his head, half amused, half frustrated.
"Thank God she's not deaf," he muttered sarcastically.
Feeling embarrassed, Nimra got up and went to her mother.
"Please, Amma, come outside now," she said quietly.
"Why? What's going on?"
"Abba brought guests home. Please come meet them."
Her mother frowned. "He didn't tell me about any guests."
Nimra sighed. "He tried, Amma — you just didn't hear him."
Her mother shrugged. "Alright, alright. They must be thinking we're such strange people, leaving guests alone."
Nimra smiled. "Oh no, Amma. They're actually enjoying listening to you two."
Her mother chuckled. "Fine, let's go then."
They both came out and joined the guests.
"Assalamu Alaikum, how are you two?" she greeted warmly.
They both stood respectfully and replied, "Wa Alaikum Assalam. We're fine, thank you."
Her eyes fell on the camera placed on the floor.
"Oh dear, what's that?"
The cameraman smiled. "That's my camera, Aunty. I'm the cameraman."
Nimra added, "Amma, they're here to interview Abba."
Her mother frowned. "Interview? What's that supposed to mean?"
"Amma," Nimra explained, "they want to show Abba on TV."
Her mother blinked. "On TV? But why? What's so special about him?"
At that moment, the uncle returned, fully dressed.
He wore an old-fashioned shirt and pants, dark plastic sunglasses, and a cap — looking like a hero from an old movie.
"Ah, my dear wife," he announced proudly, "you haven't yet seen your husband's glory! These fine people came especially to interview me."
He clasped his hands together, gesturing dramatically toward the cameraman and reporter, urging them silently to agree.
His wife looked at them suspiciously.
"Is that true?" she asked.
They exchanged a helpless glance and nodded politely.