The hook

The first time Amara died, the police buried her.

The second time, she called her mother.

And the voice on the phone said:

"Mummy, please don't let them bury me again."

Chapter one: the phone call

At exactly 2:17 a.m., Mama Amara's phone rang.

She almost ignored it.

At her age, midnight calls usually meant one of two things: bad news or someone asking for money.

But when she saw the caller ID, her heart stopped.

AMARA ❤️

Her daughter had been dead for eleven months.

She answered with trembling fingers.

"Hello?"

Silence.

Then a whisper.

"Mummy?"

The phone slipped slightly from her hand.

"Amara?"

"Mummy, please. I don't have much time."

Mama Amara began to cry.

"Who is this? Who is playing this wicked joke?"

"It's me, Mummy."

"No. My daughter is dead."

A long silence followed.

Then the voice spoke again.

"Mummy, you buried the wrong girl."

The call ended.

For several minutes, Mama Amara couldn't move.

Then she did something she had promised herself she would never do again.

She opened the drawer beside her bed and brought out the photograph from her daughter's funeral.

She stared at it.

At the girl inside the coffin.

And suddenly, she noticed something she had missed eleven months earlier.

The girl had a small scar above her left eyebrow.

Amara didn't have one.

Mama Amara rushed out of bed and switched on the bedroom light. Her hands were shaking so badly that she almost dropped the photograph.

She remembered the day of the funeral. The rain had been heavy, and everyone had been in a hurry to bury the body. The police had told her that the accident had damaged the girl's face beyond recognition. She had been too heartbroken to question anything.

But now, she remembered something else.

The hospital had never allowed her to see Amara's body before the burial. They said it was better that way.

She grabbed her phone and called her younger brother, Emeka, who had helped arrange the funeral.

"Emeka, wake up. I need to ask you something."

"What's wrong, Aunty? It's almost three."

"Did you actually see Amara's body before we buried her?"

He went quiet.

"Emeka?"

"Aunty, please. Don't start this again."

Her stomach tightened.

"What do you mean, don't start this again?"

He sighed.

"Some things are better left alone."

Before she could respond, he ended the call.

Mama Amara stared at her phone. Her daughter's voice was still ringing in her ears.

Then another message arrived from the same unknown number.

MUMMY, DON'T TRUST UNCLE EMEKA.

Her blood ran cold.

She looked back at the funeral photograph, trying to understand how she could have buried a stranger while grieving for her own daughter.

And then she noticed something she had missed eleven months earlier.

The girl had a small scar above her left eyebrow.

Amara didn't have one.

The end