Itz Qwin Bee

MY D£AD FATHER WHO CAME BACK FOR HIS DINNER

CHAPTER 2

He was still sitting there when I turned from the window, humming that same church song like nothing happened. Mummy had stopped shouting by then. She was standing near the dining table, one hand on her chest, looking at him like he might vanish if she blinked. The whole house was too quiet. Even the ticking wall clock sounded loud.

“Chike,” he called, in that calm fatherly voice we hadn’t heard in weeks, “bring me water.”

The boy didn’t move. He just stood at the door, eyes wide, tears drying on his face. I don’t blame him. What do you say to a man you būɍ!£d with your own h@nds?

Mummy started muttering something under her breath, maybe prayer, maybe shock. Then she turned to me and said, “Ezinne, give him food before he talks nonsense again.”

I wanted to ask her why she suddenly changed tone, but her eyes told me to move. I went to the kitchen, still half shaking, and opened the pot. It was jollof rice from yesterday. I warmed it quickly and carried it to him. He took the plate like a man who hadn’t eaten in years.

The way he ate scared me more than his coming back. He didn’t even look up. His spoon moved fast, rice spilling on his shirt. He finished the first plate, licked the spoon, and asked, “Any meat?”

Mummy refused to sit near him. She stood by the corner holding her wrapper like she was ready to run. When he asked for water, she didn’t move. I gave him a bottle. He drank it all, belched softly, and smiled like someone whose hunger had finally gone down.

After eating, he asked what day it was. I said Tuesday. He nodded slowly, then said, “Good. That means they’ve crossed already.”

“Who?” I asked, but he didn’t answer. He just looked at the watch on his wrist — the black one that blinked faintly — and whispered, “They don’t stay long in one place.”

Something in his tone made my stomach turn. Mummy heard it too. She looked at me, and I looked back, both of us pretending to be calm but our hearts were running.

When he stood up to go to the bathroom, I noticed his shadow didn’t stretch properly under the light. It moved short and stiff, like it was not following him well. I tried to ignore it. Maybe it was the bulb. Maybe I was imagining things.

After he went inside, Mummy grabbed my arm. “That man is not your father,” she whispered. “Your father is resting. This one is something else.”

Before I could answer, we heard the flush sound from the bathroom and footsteps coming back. Mummy quickly faced the other direction, pretending to arrange the plates.

He came out wiping his h@nds and said, “Don’t worry yourselves. Everything will be clear soon.” Then he walked straight to the room he used before and locked the door from inside.

That night I couldn’t sit still. Mummy stayed in her own room praying. Chike refused to sleep. He said he could hear Daddy talking to someone inside the room, two voices arguing softly. I didn’t want to believe it until I passed by and heard it too.

I picked a torch and went outside. Something kept pressing my mind to check the grave. Maybe I just wanted peace of mind. I walked slowly to the back of the compound, where we būɍ!£d him. When I reached the grave, my heart stopped. The earth was freshly disturbed, like someone had dug it open and covered it again. The flowers we placed there were pushed to one side.

I bent down, touched the soil. It was soft and damp, not from rain. My hand came up brown. I looked around. Nobody. Just the faint sound of crickets and the far-off hum of generator lights.

Then I saw it — car tire marks close to the grave, fresh ones. I followed them back to the gate, and that was when I noticed his black Toyota Camry parked neatly where it used to be. The car we had left at the mechanic’s yard after the accident. The engine was still warm. The number plate had changed. It wasn’t the usual BEN-762 anymore. It now read “CROSS 01” in white bold letters.

I stepped back slowly, my heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my ears.

When I entered the house again, the light in his room was still on. I could hear movement inside, faint humming, like he was packing things. I didn’t want to knock. I went straight to my room and sat on the bed.

My phone buzzed. Unknown number. I opened the message.

It said: “Don’t tell anyone he’s back. We’re coming for him.”

I stared at the screen until it went dark, not sure if I should scream, run, or pray. All I knew was that whoever sent that message already knew my father was sitting in that room — and that they were not strangers.

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Itz Qwin Bee