School had started at 7:30 a.m. Sharp, as it always did.
By 8:00 a.m., most students had already begun adjusting to their usual rhythm—half-listening to the teacher, half-scrolling through their brains searching for any trace of motivation, and wholeheartedly already regretting their existence on a Monday morning.
And that was when Alif walked in.
"Assalamualaikum ya anak-anak haram yang aku sayangi sekalian!"
Heads turned.
"Hold up—"
"Bro, what."
"Did he really just—"
"Ah man, here we go again."
"Alif being Alif."
"Walawei—"
Mr. Harun blinked once. Twice. Then he calmly took off his glasses and began cleaning them as if that would cleanse his ears of what he just heard—but it didn't.
"Alif," he said slowly, "do you want me to call your mother?"
"If you call my mother," Alif replied all so casually, without any shred of regret at all. "please also tell her I love her, and that I may have found her long-lost twin working at the Pasar Malam. Her name is Kak Limah, and I think I'm ready to be a stepfather."
The entire class was already shaking with silent laughter. Afiq was clutching his stomach. Syafiq had faceplanted onto his desk. Even Jacob chuckled, just once, under his breath.
"Just—sit down, Alif." Mr. Harun muttered, rubbing his temples. "Before I considering on transferring you to the drama club permanently."
Alif causally grinned as he strolled to the empty seat beside Jacob.
"Drama club wouldn't survive me, sir. Too many widowed teachers would attend rehearsals just for me."
A beat of stunned silence.
Then Syafiq, muffled against his desk—praying
"Ya Allah, this man needs help."
Alif leaned over toward Jacob, resting his chin on his palm like a gossipy auntie at a kenduri.
"You think Kak Limah has kids?" he asked, whispering far too loudly.
"I'm ready to be a positive male role model. I got Excel on my laptop."
Jacob closed his eyes, clearly regretting every life decision he made that led to this moment.
"You have Pirated Excel, Alif."
"Bro, fatherhood is a mindset."
Jacob groaned, but before he could form a retort, a sudden chill swept through the classroom.
Nurul's head tilted slightly, her lips parting as a strange, low murmur escaped.
It wasn't the soft, soothing recitation of the Quran they had heard before.
No. This was something else.
Something worst.
The chanting began.
"Bismillah… La ilaha illa anta ya Iblis, ya shaitan, ya dhul jalaali wal ikram…"
("In the name of God… There is no deity except You, O Iblis, O Satan, O Possessor of Majesty and Honor…")
No one else noticed it at first—that is until her voice began to grew louder, a cold tremor slicing through the air like a winter wind slipping under a door.
Jacob's eyes snapped open, heart pounding.
"Nurul?" he whispered, staring at her.
Nurul eyes were open but vacant, glazed like dark glass.
The chant continued.
"Ya malikat al-jahannam... wa arwah al-mutanahira... ta'alu ilayya..."
("O angels of hell... and spirits of despair... come unto me...")
The classroom air thickened, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath.
Alif, who usually quick with a joke, froze, his grin slipping.
Mr. Harun stopped teaching mid-sentence, chalk hovering against the board, eyes narrowing toward Nurul.
"Ya shaitan, ya iblis... ansur 'abdika..."
("O Satan, O Iblis… aid your servant…")
The words spilled from her mouth like oil—thick, black, and very unnatural.
Nurul's back arched violently, her body contorting in a ways that no human body ever should. Her chair screeched backward, toppling over, and her desk rattled as if it was struck by an unseen force.
Jacob flinched.
A low, guttural growl escaped her throat—not human. Her eyes rolled upward, and for a breathless second, only the whites part showed.
The lights above her desk exploded with a loud pop, raining sparks and glass shards everywhere.
Several students screamed, sending a wave of panic through the classroom
Alif instinctively yanked his chair back, nearly falling in the process.
From across the hall, the door slammed open.
Two students from 4 Dahlia peeked inside, eyes wide.
"Bro, what the hell—"
"Is she possessed?!"
Another teacher—Puan Zaleha, from the Sejarah department—appeared behind them. She looked into the room, expecting mischief.
What she saw made her blood ran cold.
There was Nurul. Her body was floating—just barely. Her limbs was twisting in way that it shouldn't be possible at all. Her body twitched rapidly and she let out a blood curling scream, not a scream that that people do—this is beyond human kind of scream.
"Iblis ya nur al-zulumaat... ahdhur huna..."
("Iblis, light of the darkness... be present here...")
Situation got worse as more student screamed in panic and fear.
Some ran. Others were frozen in place. A few girls sobbed against the back wall, clinging to each other in fear.
Other teachers had arrived, hearing the scream that was let out from Nurul just a moment ago—Sir. Franklin from Pendidikan Jasmani, Cikgu Suraya from English, even the notoriously strict Ustaz Faiz, who stepped in with a face gone pale.
Nurul's body rose higher.
Her tudung slipped, revealing more of her pale skin—it was so pale and grey as if her blood was drained away from her body. Her mouth continued to move, chanting in Arabic, her lips was dry—her entire eyes was deep black and leaking liquid like ink dripping down her cheek to the ground below.
"Jacob!" Alif barked, panic cracking his voice as he continued to speak. "She's not coming back on her own, man! Do something!"
Jacob hand trembled but he does not hesitated. His finger hovered over the verse as he stepped forward, his voice was shaking but it was clear as he began to recite.
"A'ūdhu billāhi mina ash-shayṭāni ar-rajīm..."
("I seek refuge with Allah from the accursed devil…")
Nurul shrieked, letting out a high-pitched cry of resistance, as if the verse struck something inside her.
Then her head snapped straight toward Jacob, eyes wide, smile unnatural—unhinged
"YOU—"
A chorus of voices erupted from her throat at once, deep and layered.
"YOU DARE BRING HIS NAME HERE?"
She lunged.
Not stepped. Not ran. But moved—like a blur of black and gray and air collapsing around her form as if physics had decided to look away.
Jacob froze, mid-verse.
Too late.
But Alif? Sort of.
Driven by a wild combination of instinct, panic, and Friday muscle memory of Yaseen recitation, he stumbled backward, both hands raised—
He began to recite Surah Yaseen.
Loudly. Out of pure desperation.
"Yā Sīn... wal-Qur'ānil-ḥakīm..."
(Ya-Sin. By the wise Qur'an…)
He kept going.
His eyes were wide. His body trembled in fear. But the holy verses spilled from his mouth anyway—not perfectly, not even smoothly—but familiar, like a survival reflex wired into his soul.
"Inna ka laminal mursaleen..."
("Indeed, you are from among the messengers…")
Alif's voice wavered, the tremble in his throat betraying just how close he was to completely losing it. But still—he kept going.
"Alaa Siraatim Mustaqeem!"
("Upon a straight path!")
Afiq, still ducking behind a desk, blinked. "Wait, is he—?"
"Bro's defaulted to khutbah mode," Syafiq whispered, peeking up.
"Tanzeelal 'Azeezir Raheem!"
("[This is] a revelation of the Exalted in Might, the Merciful!")
Jacob didn't know whether to be amazed or terrified. Or both.
But something responded.
The air shifted.
The ink trailing from Nurul's eyes slowed—dripped once… then stopped. Her body jerked in place mid-air as if someone had yanked the invisible strings that was holding her up.
Jacob took the chance to act.
He stepped forward with a surge of confidence that came not from fearlessness, but from sheer necessity.
"Qul a'ūdhu birabbin-nās…"
("Say: I seek refuge in the Lord of mankind…")
Alif continued, now fully immersed, hands raised toward the ceiling like he was giving the most accidental Friday sermon of his life:
"Li tundhira qawman mā undhira ābā'uhum fahum ghāfilūn!"
("That you may warn a people whose forefathers were not warned, so they are unaware!")
Nurul's body still suspended midairt began to twitch. Not the subtle jerks from before. No. These were violent, uncontrolled spasms that wracked her limbs like she was trying to break free from her own skin.
The ink-like fluid that was dripping from her eyes boiled on the ground, releasing thin trails of smoke that reeked of everything that is disgusting—rot and decay.
And then—
Nurul roared.
Not screamed.
Not cried.
But roared, in a voice stitched together by too many throats.
"YOU DARE UTTER HIS WORDS IN THIS PLACE?"
The windows trembled then exploded, leaving fragments scattered on the floor.
The floor itself groaned beneath her suspended form.
Alif was nearly shouting now—not out of confidence, but because if he didn't, he might break.
"Wa laqad ḥaqqa al-qawlu 'alā aktharihim fa hum la yu'minūn!"
("Indeed, the word has come into effect upon most of them, so they do not believe!")
Nurul's body convulsed mid-air, eyes rolling back, limbs stiffening. Her mouth moved, but only a wheezing hiss came out now.
Jacob saw the moment—the window—and lifted his Qur'an once more.
His voice joined Alif's. This time, steady. Certain.
"Allahu la ilaha illa Huwa…"
("Allah—there is no deity except Him…")
"Fattabi'hum maghfurūn!" Alif shouted, his voice crackinginto the end.
("So follow them, and you will be forgiven!")
Silence.
A single snap echoed—like a thread tearing.
Nurul dropped.
Straight down.
No ceremony.
No resistance.
Just down.
Her body crashed against the tile, turning limp. The puddle of ink beneath her stopped expanding.
The air cleared in an instant, like a veil had been ripped from the room. That invisible pressure—like being watched, crushed, stalked—was gone. Just like that.
Gone.
A breath none of them knew they were holding finally escaped the room in one collective exhale.
Alif dropped to his knees, panting like he'd run a full marathon.
"…I think I just passed UPSR, PT3, SPM and my SPTM all at once."
No one laughed at that.
Not even Syafiq, who was usually the first one to turn tension into noise.
Because it was too quiet now—very
Nurul lay still, curled slightly on her side, her face half-hidden by loose strands of hair. Her body looked smaller than before, fragile even. Her tudung lay crumpled nearby, soaked with ink and sweat.
Ustaz Faiz.
He walked inside calmly. No shouting. No dramatic panic. Just quiet, slow and steady steps. His serban was draped loose over one shoulder, and in his right hand, he held a small, leather-bound Qur'an that had clearly seen decades of use.
He took one look at Nurul and let out a breath like he had been expecting this day for years.
"Everyone clear the room," he said firmly, but not unkindly. His voice didn't rise—it settled. Heavy. Final.
No one argued.
The room emptied with the kind of quiet usually reserved for funerals.
Outside in the hallway, students clustered around the corners, whispering rumors already forming into urban legends. The teachers guided them away, but their own faces carried confusion, fear—and questions they didn't dare ask out loud.
Chapter 2. End