Don’t Go Home Tomorrow

Christmas isn’t supposed to start with a warning.

But mine did.

Christmas Eve — 12:01 a.m.

While the entire town slept under harmattan air and half-lit decorations, Ama’s phone vibrated beside her pillow.

One message.

Don’t go home tomorrow.

The number was unknown.

Ama frowned, irritation giving way to unease — until she noticed the wallpaper behind the text.

Her breath caught.

It was her mother’s old living room wall.

Sunflower yellow.

The same wall they painted together before the accident.

Ama sat up immediately, heart pounding.

Her mother had been gone for three years.

Another message appeared.

Someone will come there looking for you.

Her hands trembled.

Who?

Why?

And why tonight?

She typed back quickly — but the number went off instantly.

There was only one person in her life who believed in spiritual signs.

Her grandmother.

Ama slipped out of bed and tiptoed toward her door.

Then she heard it.

Footsteps outside.

Slow.

Heavy.

They stopped right beneath her window.

Ama froze.

A whisper floated through the night.

“Ama… I’m here for you.”

Her chest tightened.

She grabbed her grandmother’s old Bible from the table and dialed her best friend, Kwesi.

He answered in a whisper.

“Ama… stay away from the window. Don’t open it. Not tonight.”

His voice shook — like he knew something she didn’t.

Her curiosity betrayed her.

Ama peeped.

A tall figure stood outside.

No face.

Just a shadow.

Around its neck was a red Christmas scarf.

The same scarf her mother knitted years ago.

Kwesi’s voice trembled through the phone.

“Ama. Don’t look at it directly. Whatever you do—”

The call cut off.

The lights flickered.

And the figure slowly lifted its hand.

It was holding something.

A letter.

Ama’s name was written on it.

To be continued.