When Kashan was on the Silk Road, numerous merchants came to Kashan for trade, resulting in significant economic growth. However, after years it changed completely. In Kashan, the houses were made of earth and water, windows opened onto big gardens full of red roses, and the walls were covered in ivy. Wooden balconies were decorated with vases of geraniums, with lanterns hanging from the railings. Residents and guests could sit on a bench with cushions and enjoy the beautiful views of the gardens. Kashan had many winding alleys from its center, and narrow streams moved swiftly under the shadows of adobe walls. And, in the middle of one of the alleys of Kashan, there was the Ghaffari house.
A deadly silence had overcome the Ghaffari house, which was once grand and full of life. The turquoise tiles’ patterns had faded under the harsh sunlight; wild weeds climbed up the old plane trees, whose dried roots tangled together like skeletal fingers reaching for something buried underground. No one dared to live in the Ghaffari house until Dariush decided to step in.
Dariush, the only heir of the Ghaffari, was a young man whose hands were rough from working on wood. He was a carpenter, and the use of a hammer and saw left scars and blisters on his palms and fingers, but he took pleasure in bringing beauty to old things. Carpentry was more than a job for him; it was not only a way to repair broken furniture, but also a means to mend his own broken pieces. He was only fourteen when an accident claimed his parents’ lives. After that, Tehran and his house turned into a prison, torturing him with constant reminders of his parents. His paternal grandfather was old but determined, and he took on the responsibility of caring for him. Everything seemed to be OK, but when Dariush was seventeen, his grandfather died in his sleep, leaving him alone.
Dariush wished he could leave Tehran, seeking a place to work, relax, and advance his career. He enjoyed living in Kashan, the hometown of his ancestors. And he discussed his decision with an old friend, Behnam.
“I can not live in Tehran anymore. I have to go,” he said quietly.
“Where will you go?” Behnam asked him with concern.
Dariush shook his head, “Kashan, where my roots are.”
“Are you sure Kashan can be the place you seek?” Behnam asked him again.
“Maybe that’s what I need.” Dariush only smiled. “But I should ask my grandmother.”
One day, after days of wrestling with himself, Dariush summoned his courage and called his grandmother, Parisa, who had left Kashan at seven. Her parents had sent her to Tehran to go to school, and she never returned to Kashan. It was a sudden decision, as if Parisa was running from something terrible that threatened her life, and her parents wanted to keep her safe. When she was sixteen, she got married, starting her new life in Bushehr.
After a long discussion, Parisa let him go to Kashan with a heart full of pain and fear for his future.
After hours of driving, Dariush finally arrived at the Ghaffari house. The entrance was old and rusted. As he went to open it, an old man appeared.
“Who are you?” the man asked, staring at Dariush.
“I am Dariush Ghaffari,” he said proudly.
“Ghaffari?!” The man stumbled, stepping back. “No, this house is cursed. The Ghaffari are cursed,” the man shouted, leaving him alone.
Dariush didn’t understand, but tried to ignore what he had heard as he thought that the man was crazy. The house was worse than what he had imagined. Instead of resting, he rolled up his sleeves, starting to clean and repair. The sound of hammering and sawing broke the silence. And, away from all those pleasant sounds, some whispers could be heard. At first, they were low and unclear; then, a melodic sound like a lullaby came from within the walls, saying, “Khake Namak. Khake Namak.” “Soil of Salt. Soil of Salt.”
Dariush attributed the sounds to his lack of sleep. “Maybe it is all in my head. It is only my imagination,” he thought. “I need sleep.” He stopped working, leaving the rest of the work for tomorrow, and went to bed.
The next night, when Dariush was lying in bed, he saw shadows that whispered “Khake Namak” again.
Suddenly, the wooden boards creaked, and the sound of footsteps echoed in the house.
“Who are you?” Dariush shouted. “Show yourself.” Dariush decided to go toward the old plane tree in the corner of the yard. He stood firm like a tree, knowing he needed to understand what was happening. “My grandmother can help,” he said hopefully. It seemed to be the best thing he could do to find answers. And when the sun rose, he wrote a letter, asking Parisa to come to Kashan.
Dear Grandma,
Something dark is happening here. Something that is beyond my understanding. Shadows are wandering the house, watching me, and whispering “Khake Namak.” I want you to come back to Kashan as soon as you can. I need you here. Please return quickly and tell me what is happening here.
As Parisa was reading the letter, she could feel Dariush’s terror, which was clear in his words. She had promised not to return to the old house, but Dariush’s descriptions of whispers and shadows worried her so much that she couldn’t ignore them. She knew it was time to encounter what she had run from.
Early in the morning, when Dariush was pruning the plane trees, Parisa arrived.
Dariush ran to his grandmother, and he hugged her. He was happy to see her, but his smile faded from his face as soon as it appeared.
“What is happening here? What are those sounds? What do they mean, Grandma?” Dariush asked in a low voice.
“Happy to see you, Dariush,” Parisa said, laughing.
“Sorry, welcome, Grandma. Let me help you with your suitcase,” Dariush said, lowering his head. Parisa smiled at him. “I am tired and need to rest,” she said. Dariush left her alone, reluctantly, and Parisa went to her room, where she spent her childhood, and sighed deeply for her lost youth.
As she was looking around, all memories of the past came alive to her. She sat on a torn, faded rug. The room was filled with dirt, and it was damaged, evoking horrifying events that had occurred in the past. Suddenly, from the corner of the broken window, a cold breeze blew. Parisa took one corner of the worn rug, which was still connected just like her. She stood up and went to the window. As she opened the window, she heard the familiar sound, calling her, ”Parisa, Parisa. Come here.” She knew that something terrible was about to happen, but didn’t know how to tell Dariush. The sound grew louder, and the soil swirled around the well. Parisa immediately shut the window, took some medicine, and went to bed.
That evening, when Parisa was asleep, Dariush went to the basement, searching for a tool. There, he found some old journals stored in a locked chest under the piles of newspapers. The words “Khake Namak” were written on every page in bold letters. The name became familiar, and he continued reading: “Khake Namak, an evil creature, was born from the desert sands through a ritual. A terrible deal was made, blood, salt, and soil mixed, and Khake Namak was born.”
Dariush took the journals and ran to her grandmother. He woke Parisa up,
“Look at these. They say the ancestors made a deal. What was the deal?” he asked.
“I was always afraid of this day coming,” Parisa confessed, putting on her glasses. “‘Khake Namak’ is not only a word.” She sighed.
“So, what is Khake Namak? I want to know.” Dariush said, “I tell you. You should know about it.” Parisa cleared her throat and began to reveal that something had happened.
“Years ago, Kashan was not as modern as it is today. People were farmers, working on their own lands, planting, harvesting, and taking care of their livestock. Traditional bathhouses, known as ‘hammams,’ have been an integral part of our architectural culture and social life, serving as both cleansing and gathering places. Families were large; parents, children, and grandparents lived in one house along with invisible creatures, the djiin. Early in the morning, around four, djinns gathered in old bathrooms, dancing, laughing, and playing daff, taking things from the kitchen and putting them away after.”
“Are you kidding me, Grandma? Do you believe in djinns?” Dariush interrupted.
“Yes. And you have to believe too.” Parisa was serious. “They even used our clean white sheets for giving birth because when we wanted to use them for our guests, we noticed the blood stains on them, showing a new baby djinn had been born.”
“Did you ever see a djinn, Grandma?” Dariush interrupted her again.
“I felt their presence, but never saw one,” Parisa responded. “But one day, my parents decided to do something to force the djinns to reveal themselves to them. So they sprinkled flour on the ground to see their footsteps, shut the doors of the bathroom and basement loudly to disturb their tranquility, as they believed djinns lived in dark places. They avoided saying the name of god when they poured hot water on the ground, and they commanded them to leave the house or reveal themselves.
“Others warned them about the consequences and asked my family not to provoke them, otherwise the results would be irreparable, but they didn’t listen. Those actions angered the djinn, leading to horrifying events. The windows of our house shattered for no apparent reason, the doors kept opening and closing even when no one was passing, the kitchen became a mess every morning, nothing was in its place, and the lamps hanging from the ceiling swung. One day, my family lost their crops, and all the people who lived here.”
“Do you mean this mess is the work of djinns?” Dariush asked.
Parisa only looked at him and continued. “So, my parents asked an exorcist to serve as the mediator to connect the djinns. During the meeting, a dark and dangerous pact was made. We were supposed to give a piece of our souls to the djinn and gain survival, rain, and prosperity instead. The djinn didn’t give us the rain or fertile soil, but created a cruel shape called Khake Namak, an evil creature which lived on the family’s pain, guilt, fear, and despair.”
“But what does Khake Namak want? Why did it come back?” Dariush asked.
“He is seeking the debt that has never been paid,” Parisa replied and left the room.
“What debt? Grandma.” Dariush asked. “Grandma, please…”
One night, Parisa went into the yard and sat on the edge of the old well. She was staring into the darkness of the well, which seemed to be endless, and questions came to her mind: “Why now? Why do you come back? Are you still really looking for the old debt after all these years?”
And, after a few minutes, she saw two hollow black eyes looking at her from inside. Cold sweat ran down her forehead and her back. She gripped the edge of the well firmly, and her body began trembling. She couldn’t move, her heart was beating so fast, and then she screamed.
“Parisa, you should have come back earlier. I have been waiting for you all these years,” Khake Namak whispered with a low voice.
Dariush heard Parisa’s scream and rushed to the yard.
“What happened, Grandma?” he shouted.
There, he saw Parisa, pale, holding a prayer bead in her shaking hand. She held the beads so firmly that her knuckles had become red.
“It’s here,” Parisa said. “It’s coming for us, Dariush.” Her voice was shaking.
“What did you see?” Dariush asked.
Parisa’s eyes were full of anger and fear. “I told you not to come here, Dariush,” she grumbled. “It’s returned. It’s here.”
Then, Khake Namak appeared before their eyes, resembling a dried-up human whose skin had cracked like salt flats, and the dregs of a black substance were dripping from the corners of its hollow eyes.
Suddenly, the ground shook, and the old plane tree’s branches swung in the air; the electricity went out, and darkness fell. Dariush turned on his cellphone light to see around. The ground shook more firmly than before. Dariush stumbled back, lost control, and the mobile phone fell from his hands to the floor. Then, everything went dark. The only light came from Khake Namak, who was full of anger and wanted to take Dariush.
Dariush’s muscles were tense. He knew that he couldn’t fight the monster alone, but he tried to be strong.
“Stay back!” Dariush said, raising his broken cellphone.
But then, Parisa’s voice attracted the attention of Khake Namak. She was saying something loud and clear, but her voice was shaking.
“There is only one way,” she shouted. “Khake Namak is angry and thirsty for revenge; it needs a sacrifice, and it must be from a member of the Ghaffari family.” Then she looked at Khake Namak. “Take me, you monster. Leave him alone,” she begged. “The price that you demand is me.”
For a moment, no one moved. Then, Khake Namak changed its direction and moved toward Parisa.
“No, Grandmother. Don’t do this,” Dariush shouted. ”We can fight it together, please!”
“It’s the only way, Dariush. I won’t let it hurt you,” Parisa said. “It’s time to pay the debt.”
Parisa neither fought nor ran. Dariush was no longer the focus of Khake Namak, and now it was staring at the old woman. Parisa’s lips were as dry as the Khake Namak itself. She closed her eyes and recited a prayer under her lips, waiting. Khake Namak, who was full of anger, started screaming while face-to-face with Parisa.
Dariush was still unable to make sense of what was happening. He saw how the terrifying shape of Khake Namak vanished into the air. Then, the noises ceased, and silence prevailed. Dariush looked around; he couldn’t find Khake Namak, but he did find Parisa lying on the ground. He ran toward his grandmother and knelt beside her.
“Are you alright? What happened?” Dariush asked.
“My soul should have been given to the djinn many years ago. Now I have finally paid the old debt.” Parisa’s voice could hardly be heard. “It never returned, I promise, and you are safe now.”
Then her body turned cold, but her face was calm as if she had finally found peace.
“Grandma, please wake up. Why did you do this? Why did you leave me alone?”
Dariush kissed his grandmother’s closed eyes, stood slowly, and looked at the old well in which the crystals of salt were shining under the dim light of the moon.
“The salty lullaby of Kashan,” Dariush whispered to himself, a melody of sorrow, while tears rolled down his face.
