This one pass the movie Oddity.

I'm not one easily impressed ...but damn!...this was like a suspense movie! ...Stephen King has nothing over you! ... this was so gripping! You need to team up with someone good at making videos ...and start producing short movies on You Tube or wherever. You have a talent ... use it

I won't say it's fiction or non fiction, there are a lot of things the physical life cannot explain, it's possible because I've had physical contact with ghost twice and on one occasion spoke with one....

They look like normal people though but most times they avoid you having physical contact with them from the experience I had, they always come to you as long as you know they're not dead.

You better start selling Ur shiit to movie directors and producers. U are good with it. More inspiration 👍

Goodmarlian:
This guy and fake stories eeehhh,before you said you brother disappeared and I call for that lamba

so na the same guy again? He should be arrested for be a lying machine

Love your writing!

Jacktheripper you should be making money with these stories and suspense

To much American film

Jacktheripper:
I wouldn’t have called my late father’s number if I had known what was waiting for me on the other end. But as they say, curiosity killed the cat.

A Little Backstory...My dad died in 2020, just before the COVID-19 wave hit the world. But his was not a pandemic-related death, it was a car accident. One moment, he was coming back from work; the next, he was gone. We buried him less than a week later, and that was it. Life moved on… well, at least for everyone else.

For us, his wife and four children, were left to figure out how to exist in a world that no longer had him in it. But apart from the usual grief and occasional cries in the bathroom, nothing out of the ordinary happened.

One fateful day, I was scrolling through Twitter when I saw a tweet that MTN recycles old numbers and gives them to new users. The replies were filled with people confirming this horror.

My curiosity woke up from its long nap and stretched dramatically.

Wait a minute, what about my dad’s number? Nobody had touched his SIM since he died, and it wasn’t linked to any bank account, so I figured it must have been reassigned by now.

So, naturally, I did what any reasonable person would do. I dialed the number.

And, not to my surprise, it rang.

I chuckled. "MTN, well done. Anyway, let me wait for the person to pick up so I can tell them it was a wrong number before they start hunting me down trying to figure out who called."

But then they picked up. And the voice that said, "Hello" was... familiar. Too familiar.

It was my father’s voice.

I ended the call so fast, I nearly flung my phone across the room.

At this point, my whole body was vibrating like an overused tiger generator. But I’m a rational person (or so I told myself), so I turned to Google for answers. That was when I stumbled upon something called auditory pareidolia, basically, when your brain tricks you into hearing familiar voices in random sounds. That made sense.

So, I called the number again to prove to myself that I was just "pareidolia-ing" (yes, I just made that a word).

I called the number again.

This time, it was unreachable.

I tried the next day. Unreachable.

I tried for weeks. Still unreachable.

I even took things further, checked WhatsApp, Truecaller, every caller ID app I could find. Nothing. It was as if the number didn’t exist.

I didn’t tell anyone, because let’s be real, imagine explaining to your family that you think Dad’s ghost might have answered a phone call. I have been called weird enough, I don't want to add to it.

But then, around two months later, the knocking started.

At first, it was small. A knock here, a knock there. We assumed it was one of the neighborhood kids playing a prank (Even though that explanation makes no sense, as our neighbor doesn't have kids, and our house is fenced).

But soon, the knocks became frequent.

Morning. Afternoon. Evening. midnight.

It got to a point where nobody in the house could sleep properly.

The worst part is that whenever we opened the door, we saw nothing. No sound of footsteps running away, no neighbor pretending they weren’t involved. Just silence.

It became so frequent we had to call for intervention. CCTV cameras were installed. Nothing. We called in the uncles, the cousins, even the nosy neighbors, everybody investigated, nobody found anything.

It was when the knocks started happening inside the house that we knew it was time to carry our bags and go.

We called in spiritual reinforcements. The prayer warriors came with their holy water, anointing oil, and enough incense to suffocate a mosquito. They sprinkled, they prayed, they chanted, they burned things.

Finally, they said, “It is done. You can move back in.”

And because it was our only house, we had no choice but to believe them.

Thankfully, the knocking stopped.

But my curiosity didn't stop.

I didn’t think too much about any connection between a random phone call and the mysterious knocking on our door. After all, strange things happen every day.

So, I kept trying the number.

One fateful evening, the line rang again.

I had my script ready. The moment they picked, I would say, “Please, is this Mr. Felix?” (my dad’s name). If they said no, I’d apologize and move on. If they said yes…well, God abeg.

The person picked up. And before I could speak, I heard:

"Stop calling this number."

Not in English. Not in a strange voice. In my father’s exact tone and our local language.

Ah. Who sent me message?

I tried calling back immediately. Unreachable.

At this point, my brain was screaming “Let it go!”, but curiosity had already replaced my common sense.

That night, at around 2:12 AM, we heard sweeping in the compound.

First of all, who sweeps at that hour?

I turned to my mother. She turned to me. The unspoken agreement was clear: We must confirm what is going on.

We stepped outside. Nothing.

No person. No broom. No sound of footsteps. But the sweeping was loud and clear.

For months, this unseen housekeeper continued. Sweeping the compound. Sweeping the passage inside the house. And yet, somehow, the place never got cleaner, everything was the same except the sound of sweeping.

At this point, enough was enough.

We reached for the leftover incense from the first time. If it worked before, it must work again.

Despite all the warnings from the universe, I still wanted to know who was behind the voice.

So I still kept trying to reach the person, and finally, on November 21, 2024, the line rang again.

I opened my mouth to speak, but my tongue refused to move.

I tried again. Nothing.

The only thing I heard from the other end was “Bye.” In my dad’s voice.

The call ended.

From that day till now, my tongue has remained twisted. I have not been able to speak a single word.

I wrote everything down for my mother. We went to the MTN office, provided every document they asked for, hoping to track the person who answered the calls.

Their response was cold: “There has been no activity on this line since 2020.”

We have seen every doctor possible. Nothing. Nobody can explain why I cannot speak.

Our last hope is an appointment with a top doctor in India this August. Until then, all I can do is wait.

And most importantly, maybe never, ever call a dead man’s number again.

Jacktheripper:
I wouldn’t have called my late father’s number if I had known what was waiting for me on the other end. But as they say, curiosity killed the cat.

A Little Backstory...My dad died in 2020, just before the COVID-19 wave hit the world. But his was not a pandemic-related death, it was a car accident. One moment, he was coming back from work; the next, he was gone. We buried him less than a week later, and that was it. Life moved on… well, at least for everyone else.

For us, his wife and four children, were left to figure out how to exist in a world that no longer had him in it. But apart from the usual grief and occasional cries in the bathroom, nothing out of the ordinary happened.

One fateful day, I was scrolling through Twitter when I saw a tweet that MTN recycles old numbers and gives them to new users. The replies were filled with people confirming this horror.

My curiosity woke up from its long nap and stretched dramatically.

Wait a minute, what about my dad’s number? Nobody had touched his SIM since he died, and it wasn’t linked to any bank account, so I figured it must have been reassigned by now.

So, naturally, I did what any reasonable person would do. I dialed the number.

And, not to my surprise, it rang.

I chuckled. "MTN, well done. Anyway, let me wait for the person to pick up so I can tell them it was a wrong number before they start hunting me down trying to figure out who called."

But then they picked up. And the voice that said, "Hello" was... familiar. Too familiar.

It was my father’s voice.

I ended the call so fast, I nearly flung my phone across the room.

At this point, my whole body was vibrating like an overused tiger generator. But I’m a rational person (or so I told myself), so I turned to Google for answers. That was when I stumbled upon something called auditory pareidolia, basically, when your brain tricks you into hearing familiar voices in random sounds. That made sense.

So, I called the number again to prove to myself that I was just "pareidolia-ing" (yes, I just made that a word).

I called the number again.

This time, it was unreachable.

I tried the next day. Unreachable.

I tried for weeks. Still unreachable.

I even took things further, checked WhatsApp, Truecaller, every caller ID app I could find. Nothing. It was as if the number didn’t exist.

I didn’t tell anyone, because let’s be real, imagine explaining to your family that you think Dad’s ghost might have answered a phone call. I have been called weird enough, I don't want to add to it.

But then, around two months later, the knocking started.

At first, it was small. A knock here, a knock there. We assumed it was one of the neighborhood kids playing a prank (Even though that explanation makes no sense, as our neighbor doesn't have kids, and our house is fenced).

But soon, the knocks became frequent.

Morning. Afternoon. Evening. midnight.

It got to a point where nobody in the house could sleep properly.

The worst part is that whenever we opened the door, we saw nothing. No sound of footsteps running away, no neighbor pretending they weren’t involved. Just silence.

It became so frequent we had to call for intervention. CCTV cameras were installed. Nothing. We called in the uncles, the cousins, even the nosy neighbors, everybody investigated, nobody found anything.

It was when the knocks started happening inside the house that we knew it was time to carry our bags and go.

We called in spiritual reinforcements. The prayer warriors came with their holy water, anointing oil, and enough incense to suffocate a mosquito. They sprinkled, they prayed, they chanted, they burned things.

Finally, they said, “It is done. You can move back in.”

And because it was our only house, we had no choice but to believe them.

Thankfully, the knocking stopped.

But my curiosity didn't stop.

I didn’t think too much about any connection between a random phone call and the mysterious knocking on our door. After all, strange things happen every day.

So, I kept trying the number.

One fateful evening, the line rang again.

I had my script ready. The moment they picked, I would say, “Please, is this Mr. Felix?” (my dad’s name). If they said no, I’d apologize and move on. If they said yes…well, God abeg.

The person picked up. And before I could speak, I heard:

"Stop calling this number."

Not in English. Not in a strange voice. In my father’s exact tone and our local language.

Ah. Who sent me message?

I tried calling back immediately. Unreachable.

At this point, my brain was screaming “Let it go!”, but curiosity had already replaced my common sense.

That night, at around 2:12 AM, we heard sweeping in the compound.

First of all, who sweeps at that hour?

I turned to my mother. She turned to me. The unspoken agreement was clear: We must confirm what is going on.

We stepped outside. Nothing.

No person. No broom. No sound of footsteps. But the sweeping was loud and clear.

For months, this unseen housekeeper continued. Sweeping the compound. Sweeping the passage inside the house. And yet, somehow, the place never got cleaner, everything was the same except the sound of sweeping.

At this point, enough was enough.

We reached for the leftover incense from the first time. If it worked before, it must work again.

Despite all the warnings from the universe, I still wanted to know who was behind the voice.

So I still kept trying to reach the person, and finally, on November 21, 2024, the line rang again.

I opened my mouth to speak, but my tongue refused to move.

I tried again. Nothing.

The only thing I heard from the other end was “Bye.” In my dad’s voice.

The call ended.

From that day till now, my tongue has remained twisted. I have not been able to speak a single word.

I wrote everything down for my mother. We went to the MTN office, provided every document they asked for, hoping to track the person who answered the calls.

Their response was cold: “There has been no activity on this line since 2020.”

We have seen every doctor possible. Nothing. Nobody can explain why I cannot speak.

Our last hope is an appointment with a top doctor in India this August. Until then, all I can do is wait.

And most importantly, maybe never, ever call a dead man’s number again.

...SON....QUiT LYiN & GO FIND GIRLFRIEND

....and iF U CANT FIND ANY...PAY FOR ONE!!! ((no oofencse))

You've opened the Door to the Otherside.

Your Dad is here and will visit you in person.

Soon!

One thousand plus words. If you don't drop a TLDR summation, I'll move to better things. I'm not paid for my time here.

Jacktheripper:
I wouldn’t have called my late father’s number if I had known what was waiting for me on the other end. But as they say, curiosity killed the cat.

A Little Backstory...My dad died in 2020, just before the COVID-19 wave hit the world. But his was not a pandemic-related death, it was a car accident. One moment, he was coming back from work; the next, he was gone. We buried him less than a week later, and that was it. Life moved on… well, at least for everyone else.

For us, his wife and four children, were left to figure out how to exist in a world that no longer had him in it. But apart from the usual grief and occasional cries in the bathroom, nothing out of the ordinary happened.

One fateful day, I was scrolling through Twitter when I saw a tweet that MTN recycles old numbers and gives them to new users. The replies were filled with people confirming this horror.

My curiosity woke up from its long nap and stretched dramatically.

Wait a minute, what about my dad’s number? Nobody had touched his SIM since he died, and it wasn’t linked to any bank account, so I figured it must have been reassigned by now.

So, naturally, I did what any reasonable person would do. I dialed the number.

And, not to my surprise, it rang.

I chuckled. "MTN, well done. Anyway, let me wait for the person to pick up so I can tell them it was a wrong number before they start hunting me down trying to figure out who called."

But then they picked up. And the voice that said, "Hello" was... familiar. Too familiar.

It was my father’s voice.

I ended the call so fast, I nearly flung my phone across the room.

At this point, my whole body was vibrating like an overused tiger generator. But I’m a rational person (or so I told myself), so I turned to Google for answers. That was when I stumbled upon something called auditory pareidolia, basically, when your brain tricks you into hearing familiar voices in random sounds. That made sense.

So, I called the number again to prove to myself that I was just "pareidolia-ing" (yes, I just made that a word).

I called the number again.

This time, it was unreachable.

I tried the next day. Unreachable.

I tried for weeks. Still unreachable.

I even took things further, checked WhatsApp, Truecaller, every caller ID app I could find. Nothing. It was as if the number didn’t exist.

I didn’t tell anyone, because let’s be real, imagine explaining to your family that you think Dad’s ghost might have answered a phone call. I have been called weird enough, I don't want to add to it.

But then, around two months later, the knocking started.

At first, it was small. A knock here, a knock there. We assumed it was one of the neighborhood kids playing a prank (Even though that explanation makes no sense, as our neighbor doesn't have kids, and our house is fenced).

But soon, the knocks became frequent.

Morning. Afternoon. Evening. midnight.

It got to a point where nobody in the house could sleep properly.

The worst part is that whenever we opened the door, we saw nothing. No sound of footsteps running away, no neighbor pretending they weren’t involved. Just silence.

It became so frequent we had to call for intervention. CCTV cameras were installed. Nothing. We called in the uncles, the cousins, even the nosy neighbors, everybody investigated, nobody found anything.

It was when the knocks started happening inside the house that we knew it was time to carry our bags and go.

We called in spiritual reinforcements. The prayer warriors came with their holy water, anointing oil, and enough incense to suffocate a mosquito. They sprinkled, they prayed, they chanted, they burned things.

Finally, they said, “It is done. You can move back in.”

And because it was our only house, we had no choice but to believe them.

Thankfully, the knocking stopped.

But my curiosity didn't stop.

I didn’t think too much about any connection between a random phone call and the mysterious knocking on our door. After all, strange things happen every day.

So, I kept trying the number.

One fateful evening, the line rang again.

I had my script ready. The moment they picked, I would say, “Please, is this Mr. Felix?” (my dad’s name). If they said no, I’d apologize and move on. If they said yes…well, God abeg.

The person picked up. And before I could speak, I heard:

"Stop calling this number."

Not in English. Not in a strange voice. In my father’s exact tone and our local language.

Ah. Who sent me message?

I tried calling back immediately. Unreachable.

At this point, my brain was screaming “Let it go!”, but curiosity had already replaced my common sense.

That night, at around 2:12 AM, we heard sweeping in the compound.

First of all, who sweeps at that hour?

I turned to my mother. She turned to me. The unspoken agreement was clear: We must confirm what is going on.

We stepped outside. Nothing.

No person. No broom. No sound of footsteps. But the sweeping was loud and clear.

For months, this unseen housekeeper continued. Sweeping the compound. Sweeping the passage inside the house. And yet, somehow, the place never got cleaner, everything was the same except the sound of sweeping.

At this point, enough was enough.

We reached for the leftover incense from the first time. If it worked before, it must work again.

Despite all the warnings from the universe, I still wanted to know who was behind the voice.

So I still kept trying to reach the person, and finally, on November 21, 2024, the line rang again.

I opened my mouth to speak, but my tongue refused to move.

I tried again. Nothing.

The only thing I heard from the other end was “Bye.” In my dad’s voice.

The call ended.

From that day till now, my tongue has remained twisted. I have not been able to speak a single word.

I wrote everything down for my mother. We went to the MTN office, provided every document they asked for, hoping to track the person who answered the calls.

Their response was cold: “There has been no activity on this line since 2020.”

We have seen every doctor possible. Nothing. Nobody can explain why I cannot speak.

Our last hope is an appointment with a top doctor in India this August. Until then, all I can do is wait.

And most importantly, maybe never, ever call a dead man’s number again.

PrinceofAgoAre:


.could be some hard ass blunt though .. I 'm guessing colos ..

On colos

I remembered your thread about your imaginary brother and some nairaland wannabes were saying something similar happened to them
Something that was pure fiction
They just wanna feel among

Timytetobbs:
Fiction or Not!…You’re a good writer!

No, he isn't. One needs less words to capture an audience's attention. I read a few paragraphs then zoned out.

Thank you ChatGPT.

Jacktheripper:



I don send am give Odunlade.

You should try and monetize this your talent

eepeepook:
One thousand plus words. If you don't drop a TLDR summation, I'll move to better things. I'm not paid for my time here.

Okay. Noted.

Samueltemi337:
I remembered your thread about your imaginary brother and some nairaland wannabes were saying something similar happened to them
Something that was pure fiction
They just wanna feel among

Your point is

Nice fiction

Jacktheripper:
I wouldn’t have called my late father’s number if I had known what was waiting for me on the other end. But as they say, curiosity killed the cat.

A Little Backstory...My dad died in 2020, just before the COVID-19 wave hit the world. But his was not a pandemic-related death, it was a car accident. One moment, he was coming back from work; the next, he was gone. We buried him less than a week later, and that was it. Life moved on… well, at least for everyone else.

For us, his wife and four children, were left to figure out how to exist in a world that no longer had him in it. But apart from the usual grief and occasional cries in the bathroom, nothing out of the ordinary happened.

One fateful day, I was scrolling through Twitter when I saw a tweet that MTN recycles old numbers and gives them to new users. The replies were filled with people confirming this horror.

My curiosity woke up from its long nap and stretched dramatically.

Wait a minute, what about my dad’s number? Nobody had touched his SIM since he died, and it wasn’t linked to any bank account, so I figured it must have been reassigned by now.

So, naturally, I did what any reasonable person would do. I dialed the number.

And, not to my surprise, it rang.

I chuckled. "MTN, well done. Anyway, let me wait for the person to pick up so I can tell them it was a wrong number before they start hunting me down trying to figure out who called."

But then they picked up. And the voice that said, "Hello" was... familiar. Too familiar.

It was my father’s voice.

I ended the call so fast, I nearly flung my phone across the room.

At this point, my whole body was vibrating like an overused tiger generator. But I’m a rational person (or so I told myself), so I turned to Google for answers. That was when I stumbled upon something called auditory pareidolia, basically, when your brain tricks you into hearing familiar voices in random sounds. That made sense.

So, I called the number again to prove to myself that I was just "pareidolia-ing" (yes, I just made that a word).

I called the number again.

This time, it was unreachable.

I tried the next day. Unreachable.

I tried for weeks. Still unreachable.

I even took things further, checked WhatsApp, Truecaller, every caller ID app I could find. Nothing. It was as if the number didn’t exist.

I didn’t tell anyone, because let’s be real, imagine explaining to your family that you think Dad’s ghost might have answered a phone call. I have been called weird enough, I don't want to add to it.

But then, around two months later, the knocking started.

At first, it was small. A knock here, a knock there. We assumed it was one of the neighborhood kids playing a prank (Even though that explanation makes no sense, as our neighbor doesn't have kids, and our house is fenced).

But soon, the knocks became frequent.

Morning. Afternoon. Evening. midnight.

It got to a point where nobody in the house could sleep properly.

The worst part is that whenever we opened the door, we saw nothing. No sound of footsteps running away, no neighbor pretending they weren’t involved. Just silence.

It became so frequent we had to call for intervention. CCTV cameras were installed. Nothing. We called in the uncles, the cousins, even the nosy neighbors, everybody investigated, nobody found anything.

It was when the knocks started happening inside the house that we knew it was time to carry our bags and go.

We called in spiritual reinforcements. The prayer warriors came with their holy water, anointing oil, and enough incense to suffocate a mosquito. They sprinkled, they prayed, they chanted, they burned things.

Finally, they said, “It is done. You can move back in.”

And because it was our only house, we had no choice but to believe them.

Thankfully, the knocking stopped.

But my curiosity didn't stop.

I didn’t think too much about any connection between a random phone call and the mysterious knocking on our door. After all, strange things happen every day.

So, I kept trying the number.

One fateful evening, the line rang again.

I had my script ready. The moment they picked, I would say, “Please, is this Mr. Felix?” (my dad’s name). If they said no, I’d apologize and move on. If they said yes…well, God abeg.

The person picked up. And before I could speak, I heard:

"Stop calling this number."

Not in English. Not in a strange voice. In my father’s exact tone and our local language.

Ah. Who sent me message?

I tried calling back immediately. Unreachable.

At this point, my brain was screaming “Let it go!”, but curiosity had already replaced my common sense.

That night, at around 2:12 AM, we heard sweeping in the compound.

First of all, who sweeps at that hour?

I turned to my mother. She turned to me. The unspoken agreement was clear: We must confirm what is going on.

We stepped outside. Nothing.

No person. No broom. No sound of footsteps. But the sweeping was loud and clear.

For months, this unseen housekeeper continued. Sweeping the compound. Sweeping the passage inside the house. And yet, somehow, the place never got cleaner, everything was the same except the sound of sweeping.

At this point, enough was enough.

We reached for the leftover incense from the first time. If it worked before, it must work again.

Despite all the warnings from the universe, I still wanted to know who was behind the voice.

So I still kept trying to reach the person, and finally, on November 21, 2024, the line rang again.

I opened my mouth to speak, but my tongue refused to move.

I tried again. Nothing.

The only thing I heard from the other end was “Bye.” In my dad’s voice.

The call ended.

From that day till now, my tongue has remained twisted. I have not been able to speak a single word.

I wrote everything down for my mother. We went to the MTN office, provided every document they asked for, hoping to track the person who answered the calls.

Their response was cold: “There has been no activity on this line since 2020.”

We have seen every doctor possible. Nothing. Nobody can explain why I cannot speak.

Our last hope is an appointment with a top doctor in India this August. Until then, all I can do is wait.

And most importantly, maybe never, ever call a dead man’s number again.

Please tell me this is purely fiction...

duro4chang:
Too strange to believe,too strange not to believe

I share in this sentiment as well.

Hezzyluv:
I have read 2ru your threads and realized you deserve "orange price for fiction"

See the link to one of you fictitious thread below.

https://www.nairaland.com/8374826/explain-whats-going-brother#134627903

The year your father died vs now tells a lot.

His writing skill is topnotch.

F*cken cheet

JACK You be horry. Cheet

Juliearth:





Please tell me this is purely fiction...

It is. Pulled from my imagination on a bored sunny Sunday.

Lies lie here with a liar

Jacktheripper:



It is. Pulled from my imagination on a bored sunny Sunday.

You're good. Consider my proposition...Run a vlog!

SuperOnyi:





Thank you ChatGPT.

Thank you for reminding me that AI can summarize texts.

There are 2 things involve. Do want to speak right away? Hey don't be distracted. If are closer to where I am get dankanoma water. Bring it as kyankyatso. By the Gods you will be free. I see you on two legs. Is it true? Ahh.. You swing your arms when you walk? If yes that the sign.. You will still call the line and he will pick.. Don't say say anything just be murmuring... Nnuunnunnupa jimjimmhm grrrrr..