The Phone That Rang After My Death

I. The Funeral

I watched my own funeral from the corner of the room.

It was strange, surreal. My body lay still in the casket, pale and unfamiliar. My mother wept silently, my brother clutched the prayer book too tightly. Friends spoke in whispers. The room was heavy, but no one could see me.

Because I was dead.

I knew it. I had been in a car accident three days ago. Quick. Instant.

So why was I still here?

I didn’t know — until the phone rang.

II. The Call

It was my old rotary phone. The one I hadn’t used in years. The one I had left in my childhood bedroom after moving out. It sat on a wooden table, covered in dust, disconnected from any service.

And yet, it rang.

Loud. Shrill.

No one in the room reacted.

Except me.

I walked slowly toward the sound. Every ring felt heavier. As if something was pulling me in. I reached out and picked up the receiver.

There was no dial tone.

Only a voice.

"You’re not supposed to be here."

III. The Instructions

The voice was low. Familiar, but I couldn’t place it.

“You died on time. But something went wrong.”

“Your door didn’t open.”

“Now you must find the person holding your place open.”

I asked, “What do you mean?”

“Someone doesn’t want to let you go.”

The line clicked.

I was back in my old bedroom. Only now, it was... wrong. The wallpaper was peeling. The window was cracked. The mirror was covered in black cloth.

Then the phone rang again.

IV. My Mother

I found her sitting on the floor, rocking back and forth, whispering my name. Candles burned beside her. A photo of me sat in front, with rose petals scattered around.

She was holding a taweez. Tears in her eyes. A heavy book open beside her — one of those forbidden ones.

She was calling me back.

She was the one not letting me go.

She had done something... dangerous.

V. The Truth

The next time the phone rang, it wasn't in my house.

It was in a small room. A place I had never seen. A woman sat in the dark. She wore all white. Her eyes were clouded, but she saw me.

“If she keeps calling you, you’ll stay trapped.”

“You’ll never move on.”

“You’ll rot in the in-between.”

I asked her what to do.

She handed me a key.

“Find the phone. Hang it up. Burn it.”

Then she vanished.

VI. The Final Call

That night, I stood in front of my old rotary phone again. It rang and rang.

Each ring echoed like thunder.

I reached for it — but this time, I felt pain. Heat. My hand burned just by touching it.

My mother was calling again. Her voice came through the receiver:

“Beta, don’t go. Just give me a sign. Speak once more...”

I cried. I begged her to stop.

“I love you, Ammi. But I’m not supposed to stay.”

And with all my strength… I pulled the phone from the wall and threw it into the fire.

The screaming stopped.

VII. The Light

For the first time, I saw the door.

A white door glowing softly in the dark corner of the room. It had no handle. But it opened for me.

Inside: peace.

No pain. No noise. No fear.

Just… stillness.

I turned back once.

My mother sat beside the ashes of the phone. Her face calm. As if something inside her had finally accepted the truth.

She whispered,

“Goodbye, beta…”

And I walked through the door.