Back from the dead

Ginny laid at the centre of her cold, bleak void. A single source of illumination: her phone’s screen, brought a bit of contrast to the blanket of darkness that cocooned her. She robotically scrolled her screen, feeding her dopamine addiction. A soft chuckle filled the space as the echoes of a comical interaction faded into nothingness. Perhaps this was the only way she could silence the harsh tones in her life. She continued scrolling through her feed, hunting for content to sate her addiction. Suddenly, a notification popped up on the screen. She swiped down to put the notification in full view.

“Oh! It's just a birthday doodle from my favourite search engine. At least one person still cares for me in this life.”

She closed the notification bar to continue with her hunt when another immediately popped up. It was a text message this time.

“Who is texting me at this hour? Do I perhaps have a person I keep awake at night? Well, a girl can dream.”

She pulled up the notification bar again to see it was not a number she knew. She opened the message what she read sent shivers down her spine. She reread it to confirm it wasn't a mistake.

“How is this possible? Is this truly from her? No! It can’t be.”

She gazed at those words again, critically analysing them.

“It sounds like her, but is it?”

She read them again, but this time aloud so that her ears could confirm what her eyes showed her.

“Happy birthday, my Inny Winny Ginny. You are the only genie that we need. I hope you are making your wishes come true. Keep on at it. Love you, your number one devotee.”

What was this? Was somebody playing tricks on her? She angrily typed, “Who is this?” And anxiously waited, staring at the screen so aggressively that she could have poked holes in it. On reception, the bubble animation showing the other end was typing danced on her screen. Her chest felt heavy, but her eyes were still glued on the dance as she awaited the response. Then it came.

“I am your mother, silly. Don’t you know your mother? Or have you forgotten our tradition, my little star?”

Ginny couldn’t process the range of emotions she was experiencing. Was it anger, sadness, curiosity, disgust? They seemed to be so many, so she let her hands express and be led by them.

“Listen here, you psycho. I have no time for these stupid games you are playing. If you have nothing better to do other than pretend to be my dead mother, then something is wrong with you. I bet you are an unemployed, bitter man living in his parent's basement doing this as some sort of YouTube video for your six followers, thinking it's funny. Let me tell you, it's not. You better get your act together, or you are going to die alone without accomplishing anything else other than being an utter disappointment.”

She pressed send, assured whoever was on the other side would drop this stupid prank once they received her very 'encouraging and motivating' words, but how wrong she was. A minute later, she received a reply.

“How could you speak like this to your mother, young lady? Have you forgotten how to speak to your elders? Life on your own seems to have eroded your manners and respect. I will personally visit you to correct this wilful attitude of yours. Speaking of which, Ginevra, how messy is your room as we speak? Do you have a pile of dirty clothes on your floor? I am sure you do. It must be at least a week's worth of laundry. What about your meals are you eating right? Don’t tell me you are living on packets of instant noodles. I think a visit is much-needed. Otherwise, you will end up wasting away.”

Ginny didn’t know how to reply to the mysterious stranger as they had mirrored her mother's tone and temperament to the point that they truly were her.

“Wait, how did they know I have a week’s laundry on my floor? Must be a lucky guess.”

Ginny decided not to respond, denying the other party ammunition to continue the conversation. She went to bed convinced it was a prank after some heavy self-hypnosis and reassurance that when tomorrow came, she would not have to deal with this. She slept peacefully, but a part of her was still bothered by the interaction.

The next day, Ginny went to work as usual. Her day was like any other pencil-pushing day. Then lunch break came and a message from fake mom with it.

“Hello, my little shooting star. Hope your day is going great. I am here at your house, and as expected, you have dirty laundry, dirty dishes and no food. How do you live like this? Don't worry, I have taken care of everything that was a miss. You are welcome, and I love you. I will see you tonight.”

After Ginny finished reading, she found herself in her car driving to her house. On arrival, she looked at every opening, scanning for any signs of a break-in, but there was none. She opened her house and headed straight to her refrigerator to find it was restocked and full of life, unlike how she left it. She then walked to her room to see all her dirty clothes had been cleaned and neatly arranged. What was this? Was her mom genuinely alive? Her doubts were developing doubts. Initially, she was so sure it was a silly prank, but now she wasn't. To clear her doubts and make sure whoever was speaking to her was her mother and not some weird sicko, she installed CCTV cameras that would confirm her situation, especially if the fake mom did not show up as promised. When the sun set and night came, Ginny set the table ready to receive her, but she never showed up. Instead, a persistent cold air invited itself and made itself comfortable. Ginny was disappointed but, at the same time relieved. She went to bed after chowing down the feast of familiar foods she missed. How did this fake mom know her favourites? She lay down doing her scrolling ritual when suddenly a message popped up.

“Did you enjoy dinner? I hope you did. I enjoyed making it. Spending the evening with you and watching you eat was the highlight of my day. It is now time for you to get some rest. So turn off your phone and have a rest. Good night.”

Immediately after, Ginny felt a cold breeze blow, and the chill that had invited itself disappeared. In her ears, she heard a subtle echo of the words good night which brought goosebumps onto her before it completely disappeared. A slight creak was heard at the door afterwards. “That was probably due to that gentle breeze that blew,” Ginny said to herself before she resigned herself to bed. She woke up the following day to a good morning text from the fake mom. The mom promised to make another meal for her.

Today, Ginny decided to miss her everyday drudgery to finally uncover this mysterious fellow. She sat on her bed and powered on her laptop so that she could surveil her footage in real time. She was unsure how long it would take, so she scrolled as she waited. Then something bizarre happened. Her door opened and closed itself. Shook by this action, she watched closely. A few minutes later, her refrigerator opened by itself. Meat and vegetables were flying out, placing themselves on her kitchen counter. Ginny could not believe what she saw; was she hallucinating? She tiptoed to the kitchen to confirm that what she saw was real. She could hear the knife meeting with the cutting board reverberating everywhere. When she got there, she witnessed a floating knife, and it startled her that she passed out. When she woke up, she found herself in a room with a translucent silhouette of her mother holding her hands tight. Her mother's hands were cold and icy, but for her, they felt warm and full of life.

“I am sorry, my daughter, for startling you. I did not mean to scare you. But it is good as you have stared death in its face and survived. Now it's time that you arise.”

The translucent figure of the mother slowly disappeared as a carbon copy version of Ginny appeared to herself.

“You have been asleep for far too long; it is now time you wake up. You should no longer fear death, for you have looked at it on its face. The accident happened, and your parents are gone, but you no longer have to sleep.”

It all went dark for her before Ginny opened her eyes to find herself in a hospital bed wrapped in bandages. She finally awoke from her five-year comma.