Deemak: A Quiet, Haunting Look at the Horror Within
In Deemak, whispers echo through empty hallways, beds shift on their own, termites crawl across sheets, and the slow drip of water from a bathtub tap becomes a harbinger of something sinister. But this isn’t just another haunted house story—Deemak is a psychological horror film based on true events from Balochistan, where the supernatural meets deeply rooted family trauma.
The film draws inspiration from horror writer Ayesha Muzaffar, best known for her book Jinnistan and her popular Instagram page Abusjinns, which showcases fictional horror stories grounded in South Asian folklore. Having once worked with Muzaffar as her editor, I was eager to see how her imagination would translate from page to screen.
Directed by Rafay Rashdi, Deemak is a slow-burn thriller that leans into silence, tension, and cultural unease. The film begins in a grand but aging house filled with dark wood, long curtains, and too many shadows. At its center is a family trying to function despite underlying tensions that only worsen as unexplained events begin to unfold.
Veteran actor Jawed Sheikh appears as the late Mehmood, the family patriarch. Faysal Quraishi plays Faraz, a conflicted man caught between his wife, Hiba (Sonya Hussyn), and his paralyzed mother, Dado (Samina Peerzada). The cast is rounded out by Bushra Ansari, who makes a late but impactful appearance as things spiral beyond control. Each actor brings weight and restraint to roles that could easily veer into melodrama.
At its core, Deemak explores the strained dynamic between Hiba and her mother-in-law. Hiba is a new mother, overwhelmed by her responsibilities. Dado, once a commanding presence, is now bedridden and silent, after a mysterious fall. Her nurse, Iqra, leaves abruptly after witnessing unexplainable behavior, forcing Hiba to care for her alone—just as the house starts turning against them.
Set during the Covid pandemic, the story gains a layer of realism—help is scarce, isolation is intense, and the psychological toll is real. Hiba’s children, Rafay and Rumaisa, are the first to notice strange occurrences, but their warnings go unheeded, deepening the dread.
The horror in Deemak is more emotional than explosive. The title, which translates to “termite,” serves as a chilling metaphor for internal decay—within the house, the family, and the self. Trauma, resentment, and guilt fester beneath the surface, more terrifying than any ghost.
Visually, the film is impressive. The CGI, produced with the help of a Canadian team, avoids excess, offering subtle but effective moments: levitating beds, flickering lights, and shifting shadows. Sound design is a standout—creaks, whispers, and distant cries build suspense without relying on loud scares.
Samina Peerzada is especially haunting in her near-silent role. Her slight facial movements convey fear, malice, and vulnerability all at once. Quraishi and Hussyn are equally compelling, grounding the film with emotional authenticity.
In the evolving landscape of Pakistani horror, Deemak stands out. Where earlier films like Zibahkhana or Aksbandh leaned into gore or found footage, Deemak opts for psychological depth. It joins In Flames (2023) in moving the genre toward something more thoughtful and emotionally resonant.
The film ends quietly, with no dramatic resolution. Instead, it leaves a lingering sense of unease. Like termites, trauma consumes from within, feeding on what we refuse to face. Deemak doesn’t aim to terrify with spectacle—it unsettles by revealing how fragile our inner worlds can be.
It may not redefine horror, but Deemak offers something rare: a Pakistani film that uses fear to tell a human story. And that, in itself, is haunting enough.
