Paranormal stories real: the Most Unusual Black Magic Stories

Asma Aunty from Dhaka shared this story with me, and it is one of the most unusual black magic stories in Islam I have ever heard. I am writing it the way she told it.

Assalamu alaikum, dear listeners of Bhoot.com. The story I am about to share is one you have probably never heard before. It was a new experience for us. As Muslims, we believe in the jinn, and it is our duty to believe. Just as Allah created humankind, He created the jinn too. There are good and bad people among humans, and there are good and bad ones among the jinn. But we mostly hear about the evil ones, and so many people come to think that the jinn only ever harm humans. Let us see how true that really is.

A Little Girl Like a Fairy

It was 1991 when my daughter was born and lit up my home. She was a beautiful baby girl, like a little fairy. I have never seen a girl as lovely as her. I am not saying this out of a mother’s pride. I am saying it with Allah as my witness.

As she grew up, I began to fear the evil eye on her, I don’t know why. She was as clever as she was beautiful, and she spoke very well. When she was in front of people, she said such things that they were swept away with praise for her. I kept thinking that nobody should cast an evil eye on her. I pushed her a little with her studies every day, and while teaching her I would explain in many different stories that it is not right to speak like that in front of outsiders, because many people laugh at it, even if neither she nor I notice. But she did not pay much attention to what I said. Maybe it was because she was so young.

I taught her to wear a hijab when she was five, so that some of her beauty would be covered, especially her long hair. Because of the hijab only her small face showed, and the way she carried herself reminded me of a gentle little kitten. She stayed like this until she was about twelve. We were all happy with her, and why wouldn’t we be? No matter how much she talked, she never said anything that hurt anyone or was rude to anyone.

When she turned twelve, she suddenly seemed to change completely. We thought it was just her age, the hormones of growing up, so we did not pay much attention. Slowly she became a little different, more reserved. She was always busy with worship and would stay in prostration for a long time, though she had taken prayer and fasting seriously since she was small.

I have not told you my daughter’s name yet. I named her Pori, which means fairy, because of her beauty. I called her Pori so often when she was little that it became her name.

At first we ignored her sudden change, but slowly it began to trouble us. One day I tried to talk to her. “Is something wrong?” I asked. “If you have any problem, tell me, and I will listen. You used to chat with everyone, you stayed with the guests when they came, you played with your cousins. Why have you become so reserved? You have shut yourself in your room.” She heard me out, smiled sweetly, and comforted me. “It’s nothing, Mum,” she said. “I just feel I should spend more time with Allah. I find peace in it. Don’t worry about what I used to enjoy. Now I am happier in the nearness of Allah.”

As a mother I was glad to hear it. What more can a mother want? How many are lucky enough to have a religious daughter at such a young age? Life went on happily and none of us gave it a second thought.

The Girl Who Knew Too Much

One day a friend of mine came to our house after about two and a half years. She had moved to our city from another one. We talked about many things, and she was my childhood friend, so it was lovely to see her again. At one point she told me she had two foreign parrots that she had kept for about a year. Sadly, she said, they still had not laid any eggs. Seeing her upset, I comforted her and told her they might lay eggs soon.

While we were talking, my daughter walked into the room. She greeted my friend very warmly, asked how she was, and sat down with us. I was pleased. I wondered which direction the sun had risen from today, that my daughter had come out of her room and was speaking so freely. She talked with my friend about many things. When my friend got up to go home, Pori said, “Aunty, do one thing. Move the parrots away from the front of your balcony. Keep them a bit further inside, toward the back. Then your parrots will start laying eggs.”

My friend stared at my daughter for a while with her mouth open. I was surprised too. Neither my friend nor I had told Pori anything about the parrots. Then I calmed myself by thinking she must have overheard us at the door before she came in. But another thought kept spinning in my head. Pori had never seen my friend’s house, and they had only arrived in this city three or four days before. How did Pori know the parrots were kept on the balcony, and at the front? My friend looked unsettled, smiled, nodded, and left.

As soon as she was gone, I asked Pori, “What was that?” She said, “What are you talking about, Mum?” I explained my question and waited. She said, “I was passing in front of your room, and I heard what Aunty was saying, so I came in. I already have some experience with them. If they don’t lay eggs, changing their place sometimes makes them start.” Pori had kept birds since she was little, so this seemed reasonable. But how did she know where the parrots were kept? I asked again. “Mum, people usually keep parrots or any bird at the front of the balcony. I just guessed.” I went quiet. Her answer made sense, but I kept feeling there was something here that I was not catching.

About seven or eight days later, my friend came to our house again. She walked in very cheerfully and told me that her parrots had started laying eggs. I asked if she had done anything. She said she had only done what my daughter said. She had moved the birds, and within a week they had started laying. She wanted to call Pori and thank her, but when I went to get her, Pori said, “Mum, tell Aunty her work is done. She should thank Allah. She doesn’t need to thank me. I did nothing.” My friend wanted to meet her, so I asked Pori to come out and just say salam to Aunty and go back, but she did not want to come out. I had to go outside and tell my friend that Pori was sleeping.

Our days went on like this. After a while Pori stopped going to school on her own. She began trying to memorise the Quran, and at her insistence I hired a female teacher to help her. Sometimes I was happy to see so much change in her, and sometimes I was very worried. It is not that our home was especially religious, but it was nice to see her on Allah’s path. The problem was that she had given up everything of this world. She did not go anywhere with us. She had no friends. She kept herself locked in her room.

One day another friend of mine came over, the closest friend I had. She came to me and practically broke down in tears. She told me her husband was not paying any attention to the house, and not even giving her any time. He was out from morning to night, and when he came home at night he was in a bad mood. While I listened, I saw my daughter come in. My friend wiped her tears, smiled, and began talking to her. “Pori, you’ve grown so much! How are you, dear?” She asked all the things adults ask a child they have not seen for a while. When they had finished, Pori stayed silent for a moment. Then she asked my friend, “Aunty, what is your husband’s name?”

My friend was surprised. Why would such a young girl want her husband’s name? But she smiled and told her. My daughter held her hand for a while, sitting there and thinking, saying nothing. Then she suddenly stood up, said salam to us, and went back to her room. Before leaving, she told my friend to go home, pray two rakats of nafl prayer, and make dua to Allah. My friend left.

The next day she came again, and this time she looked as happy as if she had won the lottery. She told me her husband had come home the night before with huge gifts. He had folded his hands and begged her to forgive him. He even admitted that he had gotten involved with another woman and had been cheated by her, and that he had realised his mistake. My friend had forgiven him.

I could not make sense of it. She kept talking on and on. “Your daughter is very perceptive,” she said. “Look, just yesterday she asked my husband’s name and told me to pray two rakats of nafl, and in one night he straightened out.” I did not know what to think. Two strange events, one after another. How did it happen, and when? Nothing came to my mind.

After she left, I went to Pori’s room and told her everything. “Your friend’s husband has come right,” I said. All she said was, “Alhamdulillah.” I said, “What is going on, Pori? Why did you ask for her husband’s name? If this keeps up, people will start talking about you. Is that what you want?” She said, “Mum, I only pray to Allah with a sincere heart, and Allah accepts it. Why would anyone say anything? And what does it matter if they do? Have I harmed anyone? Have I done anything wrong? Is praying wrong, Mum, tell me?” Her clarity silenced me, as it did every time. She spoke very little, but when she did, she said such wise things that you would never think a twelve-year-old girl could say them.

The Voice That Wasn’t Hers

After these two incidents, what I feared happened. Some of what Pori said began to spread among people, and a new chapter began. Whenever someone told me about a problem, or told me something sad, my daughter showed up on her own and somehow solved it.

One day a relative of mine came to our house. She said her husband’s physical and mental condition was very bad. They had taken him to many doctors, and nothing was working. By then I knew that whenever someone came to talk about a problem, my daughter somehow sensed it and came into the room. So I kept glancing at the door, wondering when she would arrive. And truly, a little while later my daughter came in with a shopping bag in her hand. She went to my relative and said, “There are thirty Ajwa dates in this bag. Every night before sleeping, soak one in water, and give your husband that water on an empty stomach the next morning. Do this for ten days.” My relative took the dates and went home. Believe me, within a week her husband was completely well.

I was amazed, one thing after another. Meanwhile, the people whose problems were solved went and told others about my daughter. We were scared. We thought it would cause trouble if it became known, so we began to deny it. Pori met only people with serious problems, and she set a condition that they must not tell anyone else. They agreed. They often turned up at our house, and I had to tell the neighbours they were our relatives. I kept telling Pori this was not right. If outsiders learned about it, we would be in danger. I tried to avoid these visitors. But my daughter would say, “Mum, let whoever comes to meet me, whoever has a problem, come. I am not harming anyone.” Her words were such that I could not say no to her. Still, I did my best to keep outsiders from finding out, and we even changed our house. After we moved, the problem eased quite a bit.

I forgot to tell you something. In the story of my relative and her husband, my daughter had given dates. But we had no dates at home at that time. We buy dates only in Ramadan, and it was not Ramadan, and my husband had not brought any. I had checked with him. And Pori rarely left the house, so where did she get them? I asked her, “How did you get so many dates?” She brushed it off and said, “Mum, maybe some relative brought them. You didn’t notice.” Hearing this, I understood she was hiding something from me. I could not work out how to stop her, how to make her understand that she was too young. My husband tried to talk to her as well, but nothing we said made any difference.

Another thing we noticed. Even when a person’s problem was solved, Pori never took money or gifts from anybody. If someone was happy that their work was done and brought sweets, she would tell me, “Mum, share these sweets among the poor. Thank God we get three meals a day and have nice clothes. They don’t even get two handfuls of food. These sweets are their right, not ours. Give them to them.” Her words amazed me more and more. How could such a young girl say such valuable things?

I did not yet know there was something else behind all this. I got my first idea the day I saw another side of her. Whenever people came with their problems, I always sat beside her, watching and listening. One day I saw some women dragging another woman in by force. The woman was struggling hard to break free, but they held her tightly. Strange sounds came out of her mouth. Sometimes she barked like a dog, and sometimes she made a noise like a jackal. The women who had brought her said, “This woman has a jinn problem.”

When my daughter heard that, she said, “Sit her in front of me.” The woman sat in front of Pori, glaring at me and my daughter with terrible rage. Like a dog trying to bite, she kept lunging toward Pori’s face. I was terrified. When her companions said she had a jinn problem, I became even more afraid inside. My daughter tried for a long time to calm her and asked her to settle down, but nothing she said worked. The woman would not stop.

Suddenly I heard a sound that made my soul shake. It was a voice after the woman’s barking, and it was the deep, heavy voice of a grown man. “Be quiet!” he said, so loudly that the woman seemed to freeze in fear. We could see she was terrified, but we were all terrified too, because that deep, manly voice had come out of my daughter’s mouth. I was sitting right next to her, but when I heard it I stood up. Looking at my daughter’s face, I was afraid myself. Her face had turned red and fearsome.

In that deep voice she called the woman who was possessed by the jinn. Even with a jinn present in her, the woman became terrified as if she were seeing something dreadful. Pori took her hand and asked in the same deep voice, “What are you doing? Why are you tormenting this woman? If you don’t answer my questions, fine, but if you disobey my order, you will be in trouble. Think about what you will do.” The jinn possessing the woman began to cry in front of Pori like a little boy. He was like a fish taken out of water. “Islamic scholar, forgive me,” he said. “I won’t disturb her again. I did not know they would come to you.” As he said it, he screamed, “Don’t hit me, don’t hit me!” It seemed as if someone in front of him was attacking him again and again. Suddenly the woman fell at Pori’s feet and kept saying, “Islamic scholar, please forgive me.”

I was the most surprised of all. Why was she calling my daughter an Islamic scholar? After that the woman left, but first she lay unconscious for a little while. After a while my daughter returned to normal, the woman regained consciousness and became normal too, and they all went away.

When all the women had gone, I asked Pori, “What is all this, Pori? How can you speak like a man?” She stayed quiet for a while, and I waited for her answer. Then she broke the silence and said she had something to tell me. She asked me to let her help people. In all of this, she said, a good jinn was helping her. He had made her a medium to help people. Since helping people and standing by them in their trouble is every Muslim’s duty, she had accepted it.

I asked, “What are you saying? Do you understand what you are saying? Is there really a good jinn with you? Do you think it is easy for me to accept this? I asked you before whether you had any problem, and you told me nothing. Now suddenly you start telling me all this. Didn’t you think for a moment how your parents would feel? Even if he is a pious, good jinn, even if he helps people, how can we accept this?” I wept and wept. My daughter comforted me. “Mum, look at what our religion says,” she said. “It tells us to have a good character, to go forward for people’s welfare, and not to cause harm to anyone. I am following the rules of that religion, and the one who is with me has told me about our religion in detail. He taught me to walk in Allah’s way. He has been my teacher. Whatever form he may take, don’t be afraid of this. Your Pori will remain your Pori.”

I hugged her. I was afraid of losing my daughter. But when I thought that she had never harmed anyone or caused anyone pain, I felt a strange peace in my heart. Still, from the day she told me a good jinn was with her, a fear stayed in my mind. She was not willing to step back, and I did not know how to make her. With no other way out, I surrendered my Pori to Allah. There was nothing else I could do. It could not be possible for a twelve-year-old girl to speak in a man’s voice and solve people’s problems. She could do these things because a good jinn was with her. I understood that much.

The Boss’s Chained Son

One day my husband’s boss at the office called him in and said, “Please lock the door and come in.” After my husband entered the boss’s cabin, the boss said, “I have heard something about your daughter. Is it true?” Hearing this question, my husband was very nervous and began to deny everything. He asked who had told him. The boss said that a relative of his, a woman with a jinn problem, had barked like a dog and become extremely aggressive, and that she was now completely well after my daughter treated her. My husband understood which woman his boss was talking about. He said, “Sir, I don’t really know what is true and what is false, but people say their problems get solved.”

At this, tears came into his boss’s eyes. “For the past ten years I have been going through a great trial,” he said, and then, weeping, told my husband, “I have a son who is about twenty. Until he was twenty he was perfectly fine. He went to college regularly and had many friends. After that, I don’t know what happened to him. He began attacking people. His mind seemed to have been completely ruined from the inside. For ten years I have been running all over the world. I have taken him to doctors, but no treatment has helped even one percent. He has become so wild and violent that for the last ten years we have kept him chained. He is put to sleep with sleeping injections. All day he just screams like a madman.”

Seeing his boss’s tears, my husband’s eyes filled with tears too. The boss asked him to speak to Pori about this, and my husband assured him he would. That night when my husband came home, he went straight to Pori’s room and told her everything. Pori asked her father for the boy’s name. He had forgotten to ask, so he said he would find out the next day. The following night he came home with the name. After hearing it, Pori said, “Dad, give me three days. Then I can tell you about this boy.”

Three days passed. Pori said the boy did not have just one problem but many, and that these things had happened to him because he had tried to learn black magic and failed. My husband told his boss what Pori said. The boss jumped up from his chair. “Brother, your daughter is one hundred percent right,” he said. “What she says is completely true. In his childhood my son fell into bad company, and with bad friends he began to learn black magic and sorcery. Everything started happening to him after that. Even though we tried to stop him, he kept doing it in secret.” Then my husband’s boss fell at my husband’s feet. “Brother, please, ask your daughter to treat my child. I will pay whatever it costs.”

Seeing his boss like this, my husband could not refuse. He told him not to worry, that Pori does not take any money for this, and that if it was possible for her, she would certainly treat him. When he came home, my husband talked to Pori about it. After hearing everything, Pori said, “Dad, I am ready. But the one who is with me does not want me to do this work.” When I asked what she meant, she said, “Mum, he says that doing this work could put my life in danger. He sees me like his own daughter, so he does not want to give me permission.”

My husband and I were deeply worried. He said, “I will tell my boss everything tomorrow. We cannot do anything that risks our daughter’s life.” But Pori said, “Dad, there is no need for that. I will convince the jinn who is with me. Life and death are in Allah’s hands. If it is written for me, I will die this way, and if something else is written, it will be that. Only Allah knows whose death will come and how. Don’t worry about it. And Mum, you gave me over to Allah, so why are you worrying?” After a lot of talking, Pori somehow, I don’t know how, persuaded us that night.

For the next week she said nothing about it. Then one week later she went to her father and said, “Dad, I have convinced him. Now I want to treat that boy. Tell Uncle that I want to go tonight.” When my husband told his boss, he came to pick us up at once.

When we arrived at their house, we were stunned. The boss took the three of us to the son’s room. My own eyes filled with tears when I saw the state of the boy. With his matted hair and beard, his face could hardly be seen, and he looked completely mad. Saliva dripped from his mouth constantly. The moment we opened the door and looked in, he lunged at us like a mad dog. But he was chained, so he could not reach us.

Then my daughter told the three of us, “Please, all of you leave the room. No matter how much noise you hear, or whatever happens, none of you should come in until I call you myself.” I was terrified to let my daughter go into that room alone. Seeing my face, Pori understood. “Mum, don’t worry. I am not alone. Allah is with me. Now leave me in Allah’s care and go.” Saying that, my daughter went inside with a smile.

When the door closed, it sounded as if there was a war going on inside. Sometimes it felt as if bombs were going off. Then came the sounds of screaming and crying, so loud. I did not know what was happening in that room, or what was going on. My heart was breaking, because my little girl, my dear one, was in there alone. That one hour was no less than the Day of Judgement for me.

Then I heard my daughter’s faint voice. I opened the door and went in. The boy lay unconscious on the floor, and my daughter was half unconscious. We rushed her to the hospital. She was admitted, extremely weak. The doctors said she should be kept under observation for a week. At that time dengue had slowly started spreading. After tests, we learned my daughter had dengue. We were forbidden to visit her. Her condition became very bad. In just three days, our beloved Pori went to Allah.

My husband told me that thousands of people came to her funeral prayer. He also said that many of the people there looked almost identical, elderly men in long white robes. In my husband’s opinion, the jinn attended my daughter’s funeral too.

After that, my husband’s boss’s son became completely well. I met him myself. Looking at him, you would never guess that he had been chained not long before. My little Pori, in a life of twelve years, did what many people cannot do in a whole lifetime. She was my only daughter. There is a lot of grief in my heart, but I also feel glad that she gave her life for humanity. She went away while worshipping Allah.

With these words, Asma Aunty ended her story.