MY D£ÃD FATHER WHO CAME BACK FOR HIS DINNER

CHAPTER 3

The message was still on my phone screen when I heard it — that sound of slow tyres grinding on sand outside our gate. It was almost midnight, and the air was thick like rain was coming, but it wasn’t rain. I stood by the window and peeped through the curtain. A white pickup truck had just parked by the gate, engine still running. Two men in black came down. One tall, one short. They didn’t knock. They just stood there, whispering to each other like people who already knew the house well.

The tall one brought out something from his pocket — a small blinking device — and said, “He’s not supposed to return. They’ll trace us if he stays.”

I didn’t even breathe. My phone was still in my hand, the message staring at me. I tiptoed to Mūmm¥’s room, pushed the door gently. She was sitting on the bed with her rosary, still praying, her lips moving fast. I told her what I saw, but she didn’t talk. She just looked at me, confused, like her mind couldn’t take any more shock.

I went straight to Dãɗɗ¥’s room and knocked softly. “Dãɗɗ¥,” I said, “there are people outside.”

He opened the door a little, his face calm, his eyes shining somehow like he already knew. “They can’t touch me now,” he said quietly, then smiled, that same small smile he used to give us when he came back from work. “Go inside and stay with your mother.”

I wanted to argue, to tell him this was not the time to act brave, but before I could talk, we heard the gate creak. The two men had entered the compound. I grabbed his arm, but he pulled away gently, still smiling. “Don’t worry, Ezinne,” he said, “I’ve been expecting them.”

The way he said it made something rise inside me. Expecting who? Since when? I turned to call Mūmm¥, but before I could even take two steps, there was a loud bang — the sound of the front door being kicked open. The men rushed in with torchlights, flashing everywhere.

“Where is he?” one of them barked, his voice deep and cold. “He was sighted here!”

Mūmm¥ screamed from her room. I ran towards her, but Dãɗɗ¥ was already gone. Just gone. The window behind him was open, the curtain shaking like a breeze just passed. There was no sign of struggle, no sound, nothing. It was like he vanished through the wall.

The men began searching the whole house, turning chairs, opening doors, scattering things like they were looking for stolen money. I hid behind the passage door with Mūmm¥ and Chike, holding their hands so tight my fingers hurt. The short man picked Dãɗɗ¥’s shirt from the chair and sniffed it like a dog, then threw it down.

“He’s close,” he said. “His scent is still here.”

That was when my body started trembling for real. Not from fear, but from confusion. Who were these men? What did they mean by scent? Were they human at all?

Suddenly, there was a loud whistle from outside — one sharp sound. The men froze. Then the tall one said, “He’s crossed again. Let’s move before dawn.” They ran out through the same door they br0ke in from.

For a moment, the only thing I could hear was Mūmm¥’s fast breathing. I stepped out slowly, peeped through the curtain again. The pickup truck was already reversing out of the compound. The red tail lights disappeared into the darkness, leaving the gate half open.

I didn’t know when tears rolled down my face. Mūmm¥ was still standing in one spot, holding the cruc!fix to her chest, whispering something I couldn’t hear. Chike sat on the floor, shaking his leg nervously, eyes fixed on Dãɗɗ¥’s door like he expected him to walk out any moment.

Then, as we were trying to gather ourselves, Mūmm¥ said quietly, “Lock the gate.” I nodded, wiped my eyes, and went outside. The night was cold and quiet, the moon hiding behind thick clouds. As I bent to close the gate, something caught my eye near the veranda. A faint light — small and red — blinking on the floor.

I went closer. It was his wristwatch. The same black one he had worn since the day he returned. Only this time, it wasn’t blinking blue anymore. It was blinking red, slow and steady, like a heartbeat.

I picked it up. The back was warm, almost hot. For a moment, I wanted to drop it, but something made me hold on. There was a faint vibration inside it, like it was alive.

Mūmm¥ came to the door, calling my name. I turned to answer her, but before I could say anything, the light on the wristwatch stopped blinking. Then it flashed one last time — bright enough to fill the compound — and went off completely.

When I looked down again, the wristwatch had changed color. It was no longer black. It was silver now, with strange marks carved around the edges, marks I had never seen before.

I looked up at Mūmm¥. “He dropped this,” I said.

She came closer, squinted her eyes to see it, then slowly covered her mouth with her hand. “That’s not his watch,” she whispered. “Your father never owned anything like that.”

I didn’t know what to say. The wind blew hard just then, shaking the trees behind the fence. A loud knock sounded on the gate, the same one I just locked.

Three sharp knocks.

We both froze.

The sound came again, stronger this time.

Then a man’s voice spoke softly from outside.

“Ezinne, open the gate. It’s your father.”

MY D£ÃD FATHER WHO CAME BACK FOR HIS DINNER

CHAPTER 4 — THE LAST SUPPER

For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.
The voice outside was calm, familiar, and heartbreakingly ordinary — like the man who used to wake us up for morning prayers.
But that was the problem. It was too ordinary.

“Ezinne,” he called again, gentle this time. “Why did you lock me out?”

Mummy clutched my hand so hard I felt her nails dig into my skin. “Don’t answer,” she whispered. “Whatever is outside that gate is not your father.”

But the voice kept coming, soft and pleading. “It’s cold out here. Please, open the gate.”
The way he said please made something twist inside me.

I stepped forward before I even knew what I was doing.

“Daddy?” I called, my voice shaking.

“Yes, my daughter,” he said, and then — quieter — “They tried to take me, but I escaped.”

Mummy shouted from behind, “Don’t open that gate!” Her voice cracked like glass.

Then everything happened at once.
The red light on the silver watch in my hand blinked again — one sharp pulse — and from somewhere inside the compound, the Toyota engine roared to life on its own. The headlights flared, slicing through the dark.

I froze. The gate creaked open slowly, even though I hadn’t touched it.

He was standing there.
Not the man from three days ago — this one was different. His shirt was torn, face smeared with dust, eyes glowing faintly like someone holding a candle behind his skin. His smile was wrong — too wide, too still.

Behind him, in the darkness beyond the gate, I could see shadows — faint, moving shapes. Some tall, some crawling. They shifted whenever the car lights blinked.

Mummy began shouting prayers, her voice trembling. Chike hid behind her, crying.

The man — or what was left of him — stepped forward. “You shouldn’t have buried me,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t done eating.”

The air grew heavy. The smell of petrol and wet soil filled the compound.

I lifted the silver watch instinctively, and as I did, the marks around its edge began to glow blue again. It vibrated in my hand, a sharp pulse matching my heartbeat. The thing wearing my father’s face stopped mid-step, his eyes darting to the watch.

“Where did you get that?” he demanded, his voice lower, strange, layered — like two people speaking at once.

I couldn’t answer. The watch burned hotter until I dropped it. It hit the floor, cracked open — and from inside, a faint mist began to rise. The mist shaped itself slowly — forming what looked like a hand.

Then we heard another voice — calm, deep, and familiar.
“Ezinne,” it said. “Step back.”

It was my father’s voice.
The real one.

The mist hand reached toward the thing that looked like him. For a heartbeat, both figures froze — mirror and shadow — and then there was a burst of light so bright it swallowed everything.

When I opened my eyes, the compound was quiet.
The car was gone. The gate was closed. The air smelled of rain.

The only thing left on the ground was the broken watch — now dull and cold — and a small piece of paper folded neatly beside it.

Mummy picked it up with trembling fingers. On it were five words, written in my father’s handwriting:

“Tell them I crossed well.”

She began to cry softly.

That night, the light in his room turned itself on — just once — and then went dark forever.

MY D£ÃD FATHER WHO CAME BACK FOR HIS DINNER

EPILOGUE — WHEN THE LIGHT BLINKED AGAIN

It’s been seven years since that night.

Mummy never spoke of it again. She moved out of the old house a month later, said the walls breathed when it rained. Chike grew quiet — stopped talking about Daddy, stopped sleeping with the lights off. Me, I just learned to live with silence.

We burned everything that reminded us of him — the shirts, the car papers, even the chair he loved — but Mummy couldn’t bring herself to throw away the wristwatch. She kept it in a small wooden box, locked in the top drawer of her wardrobe. “He left it for a reason,” she would say whenever I told her to let it go.

Last week, she passed away in her sleep. Peacefully. No struggle, no fear. When we went through her things, I found the box again. The watch was still there, dull and lifeless, silver turned gray with time.

That night, after everyone left, I sat alone in her room, holding it. The marks around the edges had faded, but I could still trace their shape with my thumb. For a moment, I thought I heard humming — that same old church hymn he used to sing on Sunday mornings.

I laughed nervously. “It’s just the wind,” I told myself.

Then the watch blinked.

Once.

Blue.

Slow and steady, like a heartbeat waking up after a long sleep.

I dropped it on the table, stepped back, my breath caught in my throat. The air around it shimmered faintly, like heat rising from a road.

Then — a soft knock on the door.
Three times.

A pause.

And that same voice, older now but still calm.
“Ezinne,” it said. “Is there food in this house?”