The atmosphere inside the apartment had thickened again. The silence wasn’t peaceful; it was haunted. Harris sat on the edge of his bed, shivering not from cold, but fear. Abraar stood by the door, hesitant, but this time… ready to talk.
Harris looked up.
“Abraar… I need answers. Now.”
Abraar walked closer and took a deep breath.
“You’re right. You deserve to know everything. It didn’t start with you. Not even with Altaf.”
He paused. “This apartment… this curse… it began with Ziyaad.”
Harris frowned.
“Ziyaad? The owner?”
Abraar nodded, guilt lining his face.
“Years ago, he lived here. He was obsessed with power. He learned black magic. He believed he could control beings from another world. So he… did something horrific.”
Harris’s breath caught in his throat.
“What did he do?”
Abraar’s eyes darkened.
“He brought a homeless man into this very room. Fed him. Made him trust him. And then… he hanged him right from that fan. The rope you see now… it’s the same one.”
Harris stood up, horrified.
“What the hell?!”
Abraar continued, his voice low.
“The hanging wasn’t murder. It was a ritual. He wanted to summon a jinn… one that would serve him. But something went wrong. The jinn didn’t just appear. It possessed the dead man’s body. The rope became its anchor. Anyone who touched it… became its prey.”
“So it started there…” Harris whispered.
“Yes. And Ziyaad realized too late. The jinn couldn’t be controlled. It didn’t obey—it fed on fear, pain, and souls. It gave Ziyaad what he wanted for a while—wealth, status, fear—but then…”
“But then it turned on him?” Harris asked.
Abraar nodded.
“Ziyaad fled. Left the apartment vacant for years. Then came Altaf. A student, quiet, innocent. He rented this place… and the rope welcomed him.”
Harris felt sick.
“So… what happened to Altaf?”
Abraar looked down.
“He was never found. People assumed he died. But—”
A sudden creak came from the hallway.
And a voice spoke.
“—I never died.”
Both men froze.
From the dark hallway, a figure stepped forward. Wet hair. Pale skin. Eyes full of trauma… and strength.
“Altaf…” Harris whispered.
Abraar’s eyes welled up.
“I… I thought you were—”
“Gone?” Altaf said with a faint smile. “I ran. I ran like hell. That night, the rope tightened around my soul. But I survived. And since then, I’ve dedicated my life to understanding spirits.”
Abraar whispered, “You became a paranormal investigator…”
“Yes. And I’ve come back to finish what I started.”
He held out his hand—an ancient talisman shimmered in his palm.
“The jinn speaks to me now. Through this. He doesn’t want Harris. He wants revenge.”
“On who?” Harris asked, stunned.
“Ziyaad,” Altaf growled. “The one who created this curse.”
“But Ziyaad’s gone,” Abraar muttered.
“No. He still visits the building secretly. He owns it, after all. And I know where he is right now.”
Altaf turned to Harris.
“I need your help. I need you to text Ziyaad. Tell him you’re leaving. That the place is safe. Lure him in.”
Harris nodded. “Done.”
Within an hour, Ziyaad arrived, smug, dressed in his usual expensive suit.
“So, you’re finally giving up?” he asked Harris with a grin.
“No,” a new voice spoke from behind.
Ziyaad turned.
His eyes widened.
“Altaf?! No… you—”
“I lived, Ziyaad. Lived through hell. Now it’s your turn.”
Ziyaad stepped back, but the room had changed.
The air thickened. The fan above began to turn—without power.
The rope swung… once… twice…
Suddenly, the jinn's voice echoed through the walls.
“You promised me souls, Ziyaad. But gave me chains. Now… I take yours.”
The rope lashed out on its own—like a serpent. Ziyaad screamed as it wrapped around his throat.
“NO—PLEASE—”
Altaf raised the talisman, whispering something in an ancient tongue. The lights flickered. The air exploded with static.
With a final scream, Ziyaad was yanked upward—his body slammed against the ceiling.
Then silence.
The fan stopped spinning. The rope dangled… empty.
Ziyaad was gone.
Abraar stared in disbelief. “Is it… over?”
Altaf walked toward the rope, held up the talisman again, and muttered a final incantation.
The rope burned—slowly, steadily—turning to ash.
And then… the room felt warm for the first time.
Altaf smiled.
“The rope no longer swings.”
Harris sat down, tears in his eyes. “Thank you…”
Altaf turned to leave.
“I’ve sealed the apartment. No one will ever live here again. And the jinn… has crossed over. Free at last.”
Abraar put a hand on Altaf’s shoulder. “You saved us.”
Altaf smiled faintly.
“No. I saved myself. And now… I can finally sleep.”
He walked away, the misty London night swallowing him whole.
Behind him…
Apartment 41 stood silent.
Forever.
---
THE END.
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