The Ghost Deck

Even in broad daylight, shadows lurk with malevolent intent. The warmth of the sun did little to dispel the unsettling feeling that clung to the air, as if reality itself had a dark, hidden layer. It was said that in some places, darkness isn’t just an absence of light but a living entity, thriving and waiting for the right moment to strike. In such realms, the barriers between day and night, light and dark, are meaningless, and the horrors that hide in the shadows are not constrained by any temporal boundaries. These entities exist beyond the normal flow of time, their terror ready to engulf anyone at any moment, no matter how safe they might feel.

Satish, a laborer who toiled endlessly for a large construction company, was no stranger to the harsh and unforgiving nature of his life. His existence was a constant battle against the drudgery and exploitation that marked his days. Despite his grueling work and the oppressive weight of his meager circumstances, Satish found brief solace in the simple routine of his job and the camaraderie of his fellow laborers. On this particular day, the sun was high, and the warm weather promised a rare respite. As the workday drew to a close, Satish and his colleagues decided to indulge in a small pleasure—a card game beneath the sprawling banyan tree that offered a deceptive sense of safety and comfort.

The banyan tree stood as a sentinel over their moment of reprieve, its dense canopy providing a cool, shadowed refuge. The makeshift table of wooden planks was soon covered with cards and laughter filled the air, a stark contrast to the relentless demands of their daily lives. Satish, always eager for a brief escape from the drudgery, was lively and animated. The game provided a temporary shield against their struggles, a bubble of normalcy in an otherwise harsh world. For a fleeting moment, the men felt as if they were truly free from their burdens, their laughter masking a creeping sense of unease that they chose to ignore.

But the atmosphere of carefree joy was abruptly shattered when Satish's laughter turned into a horrifying scream. Without warning, he collapsed to the ground with a sickening thud. The once-joyful gathering was instantly transformed into a scene of panic and terror. Satish’s body convulsed violently, his limbs jerking uncontrollably. His mouth foamed and his eyes, wide and bloodshot, seemed to stare into an abyss that none of his friends could comprehend. The sight was so terrifying that it seemed to distort the very fabric of reality around them, the air growing thick with dread and confusion.

In a desperate bid to help their stricken friend, his companions tried everything they could think of—pouring water over him, shouting for him to wake up, and trying to hold him still. But their efforts were in vain. Satish’s convulsions worsened, and a sense of helplessness gripped them. Realizing that their attempts were futile, they decided to rush him to the local doctor, hoping that medical intervention might reveal a cause and offer a solution. Yet, upon their arrival, the doctor’s examination was inconclusive. He found no physical ailment to explain Satish’s condition and suggested that it might be a temporary episode, though the ominous nature of the situation remained unresolved.

As the severity of the situation became apparent, one of the onlookers, familiar with local legends and tales of the supernatural, proposed a chilling explanation: possession. He suggested seeking out a Raqi, a traditional Islamic healer reputed for dealing with spiritual disturbances. With no other recourse, they followed the advice and hurried to the Raqi’s modest home, their desperation mounting with each passing moment. The Raqi’s dwelling was steeped in an eerie silence that seemed to amplify their fear, the shadows within hinting at the dark forces they were about to confront.

Upon examining Satish, the Raqi began performing a series of ancient rituals with a sense of urgency. The air in the room grew heavy, charged with an almost palpable sense of otherworldly tension. The Raqi chanted prayers in a low, rhythmic cadence, his voice weaving through the darkened room like a lifeline in a storm of supernatural fury. The atmosphere grew colder, and the very walls seemed to pulse with an unseen force, as if the room itself was holding its breath in anticipation of the exorcism’s outcome.

As the Raqi engaged in a tense dialogue with the malevolent spirit, the entity’s voice revealed its fury. "It isn’t me who troubles him. He troubles me," it declared with a voice that seemed to echo from another realm. The spirit had been drawn to Satish’s reckless behavior during the card game. Satish’s loud and careless taunts had piqued the spirit’s curiosity, and his subsequent disregard for the entity’s presence had provoked it into a rage. The ghost’s anger was not merely a reaction but a deliberate act of vengeance, fueled by neglect and disrespect.

The exorcism reached a fever pitch as the Raqi’s chants grew more intense, his rituals a desperate attempt to pacify the spirit’s wrath. The room reverberated with the Raqi’s urgent prayers, each incantation a struggle against the encroaching malevolence. The special concoction administered by the Raqi seemed to take effect gradually, the room’s oppressive tension lifting as Satish’s convulsions began to subside. Slowly, he regained consciousness, though his eyes remained haunted, reflecting the terror of the ordeal he had just endured.

With the exorcism complete, relief mingled with profound gratitude as Satish and his companions thanked the Raqi. Yet, the shadow of the experience lingered, a stark reminder of the thin veil separating their world from the unknown. The simple pleasure of their card game had been violently interrupted by a force that defied comprehension, forever altering their perception of reality. As they left the Raqi’s home, the chilling reminder of their brush with the supernatural stayed with them, a constant, unsettling echo of the terror that could invade their lives at any moment.

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