Hello Mummy

Nightmare prose

I didn’t know she died until I Googled her name. Lily Rudolph died at age 75 on October 1st, 2020. It was a relief to know she was finally gone. My maternal anchor to the world passed on and all the hell went with her. I felt a bit of sadness, but mostly freedom. The phone rang.

“Hello, your mother died.”

The caller hung up. What is this? I looked at the caller ID and it was my mother’s phone number. I dialed it back and it rang endlessly.

That night my nightmare was riddled with images of my childhood home. The stone wall almost fell to its demise despite railroad tides holding the earth back from imploding. Trees have been grown for over a decade with random plants and animal grave markers. So many little animals have decomposed in this yard.

I walk toward the white door, slightly glowing, and place my hand on the brass knob. It turns with a creaky sound too familiar. I swing it open and a rush of rotten stretch breaches my nose. It’s pitch black, straight back like a tunnel. My childhood room was glowing with a white aura.

Whispers in the air penetrate my ears “she died. She wanted to be kept here. For you.”

Chills ran up my spine causing little bumps to form. I shivered but ignored them and continued toward the door.

I touch the cold knob, twisting to swing the door wide open. The sun beamed through the double door blinding me.

An office chair swiveled lightly. I approached. I spun it only to see a grotesque mummified figure.

Knotted clumps of hair and gum receded with shriveled bits of flesh wrinkled on the smile lines. Its eyes remained moving side to side with no eyelids attached.

“She wanted to be saved for you,” a hooded figure came from the shadows pressing its thin chilled lips to my ear.

“She will stay here for two more days until she fetches you.”

The little hands and feet of my mummy began to jiggle, attempting to press into the arms of the chair and lift itself. Its head bent inhumanly crackling as it successfully stood atop the chair.

I didn’t scream. I walked backward out the door. Out to the yard. Until my eyes opened safely in my bed.

I Googled her name. She was still alive. Then the phone rang.