I wasn’t one of those who believed in legends; I always saw them as stories woven from the imagination of our ancestors to fill their long nights. But something inside me changed when I received that mysterious letter, written by a man whose identity I did not know and whose face I had never seen. The words were few, yet heavy as lead: *“If you seek the truth, your destination is Wadi Al-Bayda. Be prepared—for what you will see is not for the faint of heart.”*

I held the crumpled paper in my hands, turning it over and over, as if trying to decipher a hidden code between the lines. The words were simple, yet they carried a tone of warning that made my heart beat in an unfamiliar rhythm. Wadi Al-Bayda—or “The Valley of the Jinn,” as the locals whisper—was a place surrounded by countless tales. Stories of strange sounds filling the valley at night, lights dancing between the rocks with no clear source, and sometimes shadows moving with inexplicable speed. Were these merely tales meant to instill fear? Or was there something real lurking in that remote valley?

I decided to go. I didn’t know what awaited me, but curiosity was stronger than my fear. I packed my bag with a few simple tools: a flashlight, a camera, and a bottle of water. That night, under the dim moonlight, I set out toward Wadi Al-Bayda. The road was rough, winding through rocky hills and barren plains, and the closer I got, the heavier the air felt—almost as if the valley itself was watching me.

When I reached the entrance of the valley, silence consumed the place—a silence unlike anything I had ever experienced. No wind, no animal sounds, only a chilling stillness broken by the sound of my own breathing. I moved forward cautiously, my flashlight casting a faint circle of light on the rocky ground. Suddenly, I heard a soft whisper, as if drifting from afar, yet clear enough to make me stop. Words I couldn’t understand—like a language I had never heard before—slipped between the rocks. I turned around, but no one was there. Only the long shadows, which seemed to move of their own accord.

Then I saw it… a faint light flickering on the horizon, appearing and disappearing like a signal from another world. My heart nearly stopped, yet my feet moved toward it as if something were pulling me.As I approached, I found myself before a small cave, its entrance narrow and dark, exhaling a cold air that carried the scent of ancient soil. I stood there, hesitant, thinking: Should I enter? Is this the truth that the stranger called me to discover?At that moment, I heard a new sound—like a deep moan rising from the depths of the cave, calling my name…

The road led me through an endless desert, sand stretching to the right and left, while the sky turned golden with the setting sun. The air was still, as if the entire world were waiting for something to happen. The closer I got to the valley, the heavier the feeling inside me grew, as though the very earth was watching me.At the entrance, I noticed something strange: the road seemed to defy the laws of nature. Cars left in neutral would move on their own—uphill. I smirked with disbelief, trying to convince myself it was nothing more than an optical illusion, just as people claimed. Yet curiosity urged me to try it myself.I stopped my car, shifted into neutral, and lifted my foot off the pedal. Slowly, the vehicle began to roll forward—uphill. At first, I was amazed. Then unease crept in. The silence was so deep that even my breathing sounded loud against it. When I glanced into the rearview mirror, I saw a long shadow stretching across the road behind me. It wasn’t a natural shadow—it was more like a thick, black mist, moving against the wind.

It drew closer, little by little, until I began to hear a strange whisper—unlike any language I knew. I tried to start the engine, but it remained utterly silent. I turned the key again and again, to no avail.At that moment, I felt a sharp coldness brush against my neck, as if something were standing right behind me. I didn’t dare turn around—every instinct in me screamed that whatever was there was no human.The whispers grew clearer, until scattered words emerged. My name echoed again and again, in a guttural voice that seemed to rise from the depths of the earth. My body trembled, and I realized I was on the verge of losing control.Then, suddenly, the voice ceased. Silence returned—but the darkness had already begun to swallow the valley, even though the sun had not yet set. The outlines of the road blurred before my eyes, and I felt as though I were falling into an endless void.
And when I opened my eyes again, I found myself on the side of the road, my car parked just a few meters away. I approached it slowly, and when I reached it, I noticed something that froze the blood in my veins: on the windshield were long, slender fingerprints, smeared with a thick, black, viscous substance.I couldn’t bring myself to touch them—I just stared, struggling to breathe. In that moment, I knew what had happened wasn’t an optical illusion. It was real. Something was watching me.And perhaps it was only a warning… but the warning had come too late. Because that night was only the beginning.
The thread I had begun to follow in the Valley of the Jinn was now leading me elsewhere—to an abandoned building in the heart of Riyadh, known to the people as **‘Irqah Hospital**, where stories claim that the shadows never leave you, even after you walk away.I hadn’t fully grasped what had happened in the valley, yet something inside me pushed me forward. Invisible forces seemed to drag me from place to place, from one mystery to the next. In the days that followed, the name *“Irqah Hospital”* kept reaching my ears, mentioned by different people in strange ways, almost as if they were testing my reaction.One night, I was sitting in a small café on the outskirts of Riyadh when an old man I had never seen before approached and sat down without asking. He never looked me in the eye; instead, he stared into his cup of coffee, then said in a low voice:*“If you seek the truth, go to the hospital before—”*

“Dawn… but beware—some doors, once opened, can never be closed again.”
His words echoed in my ears all night, until I found myself at the gate of the abandoned hospital at three in the morning. The building loomed like a massive black block against the moon, its dark windows resembling dead eyes staring both in and out.I pushed the iron door slowly, and it let out a sharp creak that pierced the silence. The air was thick with the smell of mildew and decay, mixed with something else—rust and something like old blood.The floor was covered in dust, but what unsettled me most were fresh footprints stretching into the main corridor. I walked cautiously, my footsteps echoing against the crumbling walls.In every room I passed, something felt off: a rusty bed flipped over, a torn curtain swaying despite the still air, or a medical chair rocking slowly as if someone had just been sitting there moments before.
When I reached the end of the corridor, I found the old elevator wide open, its interior swallowed by dense darkness. The buttons were coated in dust, except for one—immaculately clean: the basement button. My heart raced, but curiosity compelled me to press it.The elevator descended painfully slowly, as if time itself was dragging with me. When the doors opened, I found myself in a narrow hallway dimly lit by flickering lights that pulsed in and out. The walls were stained with dark patches, some resembling human palms, though their fingers were unnaturally long.In the middle of the hallway stood a medical bed draped with an old white sheet. I stopped and listened—there was a faint sound coming from beneath it, like someone whispering or struggling to breathe. I stepped closer, one step then another. Suddenly, the sheet rose slowly from one corner, lifted by no human hand, as if something invisible was moving it off a body beneath.I glimpsed what looked like a face, featureless yet unmistakably turning toward me.
In the next moment, a sharp scream tore through the air, and the bed hurtled wildly toward the wall, crashing with force before tipping onto its side. My limbs trembled, and I took a step back, but before I could move further, black shadows appeared at the end of the hallway. They stood rigid, faceless, eyeless, like a living wall of darkness.They didn’t move, yet they filled the space with an overwhelming sense of suffocation. The floor beneath my feet began to shake, and the lights flickered erratically between illumination and darkness. I heard rapid footsteps behind me, as if something were running toward me—but when I turned, there was nothing.I sprinted toward the elevator, pressing the buttons frantically until the doors finally shut, carrying me up to the ground floor.
When I stepped outside, dawn was about to break. I stood at the entrance, taking deep breaths, but before leaving, I looked up toward the upper floor. There, in a shattered window, stood a pale face, smiling a cold, inhuman smile—and then it vanished as if it had evaporated into the air.I left the place knowing that what I had seen was no mere illusion, but part of a larger web of secrets—a network that spanned across multiple places in this country.
The next destination on the list was the city of Hail, known as the “Capital of the Jinn.” After leaving Irqah Hospital, there was no turning back. I felt myself drawing ever closer to the center of a whirlpool I couldn’t escape. Every road I took led to another, as if some unseen force were mapping my path.Now, it was Hail’s turn. I had never visited before, but what I had heard about it had lingered in my mind for years. There, among the mountains and plains, it is said that the jinn live among people, silently observing them—and sometimes, perhaps, intervening to alter the course of someone’s life. Even some of Hail’s residents tell stories of sounds echoing from the mountains at night, and lights moving in places where no human foot ever reaches.
I arrived in the city at sunset, the sky draped in deep shades of purple. The air felt different there, as if its breezes carried a hint of secret. A young man in his twenties greeted me, saying he had heard about me through a friend of a friend and that he knew a place I needed to see. He spoke with confidence, but in his eyes lingered a trace of worry he couldn’t quite hide. He led me in his car to an old district.

On the outskirts of the city, where houses were spread far apart and the streets nearly empty, he stopped the car in front of a large house shaped like a ship. Its walls were painted in a faded color, and its balconies were crumbling. The façade was striking enough to be unforgettable, but what made my chest tighten was that the windows, though dark, seemed to be staring at me directly.
The young man said, “This is the Ship House. No one dares to live here; everyone who tried never came out unharmed.”We entered through the iron gate, which let out a long, eerie creak, and made our way toward the massive wooden door. When he pushed it, it opened with an unexpected ease, as if the place had been waiting for us. The smell of dampness and dust filled my nostrils, but there was another scent as well—like wood that had burned long ago.We explored the ground floor, and the walls were riddled with cracks forming strange patterns, some resembling faces emerging in silence. In one of the rooms stood an old wall clock, its hands frozen—but suddenly, they began to move slowly, despite being coated in dust.
We heard the faint sound of footsteps upstairs, as if someone were walking barefoot across the wooden floor. We exchanged a glance, then began ascending the stairs. The wood groaned beneath our feet, each step bringing us closer to the source of the sound.When we reached the upper corridor, I noticed that all the doors were closed except for one at the far end, slightly ajar. A cold draft blew from it, as if the room beyond contained its own tiny winter. We pushed the door slowly and saw a large room with a big window overlooking the street. Strangely, the street below was completely empty, even though we had just heard the distant sounds of cars.

From a distance, it was as if we had suddenly shifted into another place—a dead version of the outside world.In the corner stood an old wardrobe. I approached it, and when I opened the door, I found a narrow, dark passage stretching into a place I could not see the end of. Low whispers emanated from it, multiple voices speaking at once in different languages, some familiar, others crawling across my ears like something alive. I stepped back, but suddenly everything went dark. The shadows swallowed the room, and I could no longer see the young man who had come with me. I screamed his name, but the sound bounced back in a distorted tone, as if someone were mocking me.When the light returned, I was standing alone on the ground floor, the front door wide open. I stepped into the street, but the house behind me was no longer shaped like a ship—it was just an empty lot scattered with the ruins of broken walls. A chill ran up my spine, and I realized the place hadn’t really let me go—it had expelled me. Yet something told me I hadn’t left entirely; a part of me was still trapped in that wardrobe, listening to the whispers.The next destination was in the eastern part of the country, to **Al-Ahsa**, where stories circulate about a mysterious house that witnessed entire families vanish. My journey to Al-Ahsa was different from all that had come before—I wasn’t driven by mere curiosity, but by a strange feeling that had been growing heavier in my chest since the night of the Ship House. That sensation accompanied me the entire way, as if someone were watching me from the backseat of the car, even though I was alone.I arrived at sunset. The palm trees stretched endlessly, their long shadows on the ground reaching toward the horizon. There, I met a middle-aged man named **Salem**, who had heard about my journey from one of my acquaintances. He insisted on showing me something I would never forget.Salem led me to the outskirts of the city, where a cluster of old, nearly forgotten houses stood. He stopped in front of a house with cracked walls, its wooden door hanging from a single hinge. In a low voice, he said, “This is where an entire family lived—the father, the mother, and three children. One night, they all disappeared. No screams, no signs of a break-in, no blood… as if the house had swallowed them.”We entered cautiously. The floor was covered in a thick layer of dust, yet curiously, I saw small footprints—child-sized, or perhaps more than one—leading inside. There were no tracks leading out. The heavy scent of mold and dampness filled the air, but beneath it was a strange fragrance, like old incense.In the living room, I noticed something strange: the dining table remained set, plates half full, as if the family had suddenly risen from dinner and never returned. Even the glass of water on the table still held drops, as if it had never dried despite the years that had passed.We went upstairs. The rooms were similar, but one drew me in strongly. The door was wide open, and the interior was dark. As I stepped inside, a cold breeze brushed against my face, but what was stranger were the sounds of children’s laughter coming from all around. It wasn’t cheerful laughter—it was broken, fading and returning repeatedly.In the corner of the room, I found a small wardrobe. Beside it lay an old stuffed bear, one of its eyes missing. I picked it up, and suddenly, I heard rapid footsteps behind me. I turned quickly—but the room was empty.

.
I motioned to Salem that we should leave, but before we reached the stairs, the entire house began to creak and crack, as if the wood itself were breathing. The walls seemed to be closing in on us, and the shadows on them moved against the direction of the light.When we reached the ground floor, the door we had entered through had completely vanished. In its place was a solid wall, with no trace of wood or exit. Silence fell, and then a faint whisper filled the space—multiple voices speaking in words I couldn’t understand, but unnervingly close to my ears.Salem was panting, his eyes wide with terror. Suddenly, we heard loud bangs from the upper floor, followed by slow, deliberate footsteps descending the stairs. I saw nothing, yet every instinct screamed that whatever was coming down was not human.
I didn’t know what to do, but I grabbed Salem and pulled him toward one of the side walls. There, amid the dust, I noticed a small gap at the base of the wall. We dug around it with our hands until it was wide enough to crawl through.We emerged outside, gasping for air, and I swear, when I glanced back, I saw the shadows of five figures standing at the window, silently watching us. Their heights varied: a man, a woman, and three children.We fled the place as fast as we could, but the feeling stayed with me. The house hadn’t just swallowed that family…

…those who possess a heart brave enough to face their fear. My next destination was south, to the Jazan Mountains**, where a peak known as Jabal Al-Jinn** rises—a place where legends intersect with terrifying truths. The road to Jazan was long and winding, passing through terrain that shifted from green plains to rugged mountains. I felt myself drawing closer to the heart of the legend, to a place whose full story had yet to be written.I had heard much about Jabal Al-Jinn, but what intrigued me most was that some locals refused even to speak its name at night, as if uttering it opened a door that could never be closed. I reached the foot of the mountain late at night, the full moon casting silver light over rocks that looked like strange faces silently watching me. The air felt different, heavier than usual, as if every breath I drew was stealing a part of my strength.An elderly man named **Hamad** greeted me, living in a small village at the base of the mountain. In a low voice, he said, “If you are seeking the truth, don’t expect to return with it whole. The mountain gives what it wishes, not what you wish.”He told me that the sound of drums can sometimes be heard from deep within the mountain, especially on moonlit nights, and that anyone who dares to approach too closely sees lights moving among the rocks—lights that are neither lamps nor fire.I climbed part of the way with Hamad, the darkness growing thicker the farther we moved from the village. There was nothing but the sound of our footsteps—until intermittent whispers began to emerge from all directions. The whispers constantly shifted tone: sometimes resembling human speech, sometimes transforming into animal cries, and at other times a long, piercing whistle that cut through my nerves.Midway, Hamad suddenly stopped and pointed to a dark spot among the rocks, saying there was an entrance to a cave visible only to…

Only those whom the mountain allows.We approached, and indeed, I saw a narrow crevice, barely wide enough for a single person to enter. The air emanating from it was much colder than the outside, carrying a mix of wet earth and the scent of long-burned fire. We stepped inside, and the interior walls of the cave were strangely smooth, as if shaped by nature itself.After a few steps, we saw something that made me shiver: bizarre drawings on the walls—distorted faces with wide eyes and open mouths, bodies half human, half resembling animals. Suddenly, Hamad’s lantern went out, leaving only faint lights flickering on the walls, like distant torches despite us being deep inside the cave.The whispers returned, clearer this time, speaking words in a language I didn’t understand, yet they sank into my mind like needles. Hamad gripped my arm and said, “Enough. If we continue, we won’t come out.”But before we could leave, I heard slow, heavy footsteps from deeper within, accompanied by the dragging of something metallic across the floor. We didn’t wait to discover the source—we bolted outside. When we looked back, the cave’s entrance had vanished completely, as if the mountain had swallowed it.At the foot of the mountain, I paused to catch my breath while the moon hid behind clouds. I realized then that **Jabal Al-Jinn** is not merely a legend—it is a living entity, deciding who enters and who leaves.
My next journey took me to **Dammam**, a city where stories of strange sounds and mysterious events spread not only in abandoned places but also in fully inhabited neighborhoods. Dammam was different from all the cities I had visited on my journey. Here, the tales were not about desolate ruins or remote mountains, but about modern neighborhoods and houses where people still lived. The only difference was that the residents had learned to ignore what they heard at night to keep their sanity intact.The story began when I received a message from a woman named **Layla**, brief and direct: “Our house is in a quiet neighborhood, but it never sleeps. If you want to hear for yourself, come tonight.”I arrived at her home late, the street unnervingly silent—no cars, no laughter of children, only a heavy, almost tangible silence. When Layla opened the door, her face was pale, and her eyes were wide with sleeplessness. She ushered me in quickly and closed the door behind me, as if protecting the house from something outside—or perhaps the opposite.We sat in the living room, and everything…

…anything that seemed ordinary—until I heard the first sound, like light footsteps on the upper floor, bare feet of a child. I turned to Layla, but she didn’t look surprised; she said calmly, “They’ll start soon. Be patient.”Minutes later, another sound began, this time from the kitchen, as if someone were violently opening and closing drawers. I stood to check, but the kitchen was empty, all drawers firmly shut. I sat back down, trying to hide my unease, but the sounds began to multiply: short, sharp laughs coming from the hallway, whispers near my ear, and heavy breathing behind the living room sofa. I saw nothing, yet every instinct told me we were not alone.Layla explained that these sounds had begun three years ago, after her husband returned from a long business trip. On the first night after his return, they both heard continuous knocking on the bedroom wall. When her husband knocked back from inside, the response came immediately from the other side—though the wall was external, facing the street directly. The strangest part, she said, was that when they opened the windows to check outside, the street was empty, yet the knocking didn’t stop—it became closer and sharper.As we were talking, we suddenly heard a voice from the upper floor, this time calling my name clearly, in a raspy male tone. I froze in place; I hadn’t told anyone…

 No one called my name except Layla. I slowly ascended the stairs, with her following behind me.At the midpoint, a cold draft swept toward me, and I saw the door of one room slowly creak open on its own, revealing pitch-black darkness. I entered, finding nothing but an open window overlooking the backyard. Just as I was about to leave, I caught a faint whisper from the corner—words I couldn’t understand, repeating quickly like chants. I felt a sharp prick at the back of my neck, as if someone pressed an icy finger against my skin. I spun around, but there was no one there.When we descended to the ground floor, the TV had turned on by itself, showing a static-filled channel, the noise filling the room. Amid the black-and-white haze on the screen, shadows moved—not clear images, but shapes resembling humans slowly advancing toward the screen. Layla quickly switched it off and sank to the floor, whispering, “They know you’re here now—they won’t let you leave easily.”I left the house past midnight, but something made my heart drop: on the car window, condensation had formed in the shape of a small handprint, as if a child had been watching me from inside. I knew then that my journey was far from over.The next destination would be **northern Saudi Arabia**, a land of old castles and places untouched by human feet for centuries—specifically, **Tayma Castle**. To me, Tayma felt like a gateway through time, a place that doesn’t just tell history but lets you see, hear, and smell it in every grain of sand. The fortress stands proudly in the heart of the desert, its ancient stone walls guarding a secret unwilling to be revealed. I arrived just before sunset, as the sky turned shades of orange and red, making the place appear as if lifted from an ancient dream. Warm winds carried the scent of old sand…

 …and faint tapping sounds echoed, like pebbles crunching under the feet of unseen walkers. There, I met a local guide named **Nasser**, a slender man in his fifties, his eyes filled with stories yet untold. The moment he shook my hand, he said quietly, “The guardians here never sleep—but they are not made of flesh and blood.”We entered through the main gate, and the massive stones of the castle gleamed under the last rays of the sun. The interior rooms were almost empty, save for remnants of clay pots and decayed wooden pieces, yet the atmosphere carried an invisible tension, a sense that the walls were watching every step.As we walked down the long corridor leading to the eastern tower, Nasser suddenly stopped, pointing with his finger toward the end, where a long shadow slowly crossed, though no one else was there. He whispered, “You will hear them soon; never answer.”And indeed, sounds began to rise from the top of the tower—men speaking in ancient Arabic, interspersed with words I could not understand. The voices mingled with heavy footsteps, sometimes sharp metallic knocks, like swords striking armor.Climbing the spiral staircase to the tower, I noticed the air had grown much colder, my breath forming white clouds before me. At the top, we found a vast hall, with a stone table at its center, thickly dusted and marked with deep scratches, as if carved by something sharp. Suddenly, I felt a slight tremor beneath my feet, followed by a deep, commanding shout, echoing as though it had been issued centuries ago, accompanied by enthusiastic cries and running footsteps in every direction. I saw no one, yet I swear I felt a shoulder brush past me.Nasser gripped my arm firmly and said, “Look there.” Following his finger, I saw through the arched window a shadow of a man wearing a metal helmet and armor, standing motionless and watching the horizon. I couldn’t see his face, but I knew he was aware of our presence.We decided to descend immediately, but the way out seemed much longer than when we entered, as if the castle itself had stretched. Every few steps, the sounds returned, sometimes uncomfortably close.My next destination was **Najran**, a land steeped in history and intertwined legends, home to the infamous **Bayt Al-Atham**, an abandoned house said to be built atop cursed ground. Anyone entering is rumored to hear the voices of its first inhabitants, though they have long since died.I arrived at midday, with the sun at its peak. From the outside, the house looked like any old clay structure, its walls desert-colored and small square windows punctuating its facade. Yet as I approached, I noticed long cracks in the walls, as if deep gashes had been carved into a stony body. Strangely, in some spots, the clay appeared darkened, as if something had seeped inside and altered its nature.I was accompanied by a local young man named **Awad**, who knew the place well but had never entered it himself. He said, “People have avoided this house for over fifty years. The last person to enter was a shepherd…”

 He was searching for a goat and returned after two days, but he was not the same. He had become silent, his eyes empty, as if he had left his soul behind.”We entered through the slanted wooden door; an old smell, a mix of mold and damp earth, assaulted our noses immediately. There was a long corridor leading to an inner courtyard, flanked on both sides by facing rooms. The floor was covered with a thick layer of dust, yet amidst the dust were fresh footprints. Awad stood, perplexed, saying, “Impossible, no one has entered here for months.”From one of the rooms came a faint sound, like the rustle of a garment being dragged across the floor. We approached cautiously, but when we entered, the room was completely empty, except for a broken wooden bed and a small chest. When I opened it, I found small human bones inside, perhaps of a child.Suddenly, the door slammed shut behind us, as if pushed by an invisible force. Darkness engulfed the room, even though the sun was still shining outside. Then we began to hear sounds—interwoven whispers, some very close to our ears, others coming from every corner of the room simultaneously.Awad seemed to retreat backward, but I was drawn toward a particular corner. There, in the shadows, I saw a small human figure squatting, its head tilted, its eyes gleaming with a cold white light. It did not move, yet it was smiling a slow, unnatural smile. When I stepped toward it,

The figure vanished suddenly, and its voice whispered in my ear: “You’re late; the house has been waiting for a long time.”We hurried out of the room, but with every corridor we passed through, the house seemed to change. Rooms vanished while others appeared, hallways stretched, and doors opened onto places we hadn’t seen moments before. In one corner, we found a staircase leading down to a basement. The air there was heavier, and the darkness more intense. On the walls, ancient inscriptions were carved with sharp tools, some in Old Arabic and others in symbols I had never seen before.From the depths of the basement came a long, mournful groan, as if someone had been suffering for hundreds of years. At the bottom of the stairs, we discovered a vast hall dominated by a large stone table, upon which rows of human skulls were arranged, each etched with a strange marking.Before we could approach further, we heard footsteps behind us. We turned to see three tall human-like figures, their features blurred, moving steadily toward us. Without hesitation, we ran up the stairs, hearing their pursuit—sounds like bones snapping underfoot.When we finally emerged from the house, the outside air was refreshing, and the sun still shone, yet something felt different. I felt a weight on my shoulder, as if someone was standing behind me. Awad, panting, said: “Anyone who enters this house never leaves alone; they always leave with something unseen, yet it stays with them until their last day.”I left Najran the next day, but I was no longer the same. Wherever I go, I feel that the house has not let me go, and that all those journeys I had planned were nothing but a long path leading me…