Every time I took my morning I got a call from my mother. Some might call it quaint, some might even call it cozy, if not for the fact that for the past twenty years, she has been dead. It started about a month ago. I had recently broken up with my girlfriend of five years, because she really wanted children and we had found out that I…I was, well probably still am, sterile. I remember the look on her face when the fertility doctor told us, after we had tried and tried. The look was beyond anger. The ride home was spent in booming silence. And when we got home, she immediately started packing her stuff, not even acknowledging me. I tried to plead with her, but her mind was set. She had a goal, and I wasn’t going to satisfy that goal. I went into deep depression. Things got harder. I even lost my job (although that wasn’t so bad, the boss was a real piece of work). I wallowed at home, until one of my friends, a psychiatrist, told me that I needed to get a grip on things. He suggested I started working out or taking walks. I have never been such a gym enthusiast, so I started taking walks. And since my sleep schedule was pretty chaotic, and I always woke up at 6, I decided to go for morning walks. The first couple of times was pretty normal. I enjoyed the nature, taking a walk in a rather splendid park, full of trees, foliage and small fauna. The birds singing cheered me up a bit, I felt better about things. It also calmed me. And my thoughts started racing. The third day of my daily walks, I got a call from an unknown number. I checked my watch. 6:17. I didn’t think much of it, but decided to answer it anyway. As I said:”Hello”, I waited for an answer.

After a few seconds I heard the voice. It was my mother. My very much late mother. She had died when I was fifteen, and it had turned my life upside down. It had been such a turmoil. And now it was all coming back, when I heard the reply:”Jason? Is that you sweetie?”

My heart fell to my stomach. I stopped in my tracks, staring in front me, mouth agape. How was this possible? Was this some sort of a vicious prank? After a few seconds, the voice spoke again. “Jason?”

I hung up, and found a bench where I just sat down as tears started rolling down my cheeks. The emotional weight of the situation was enormous. Even though I missed my mother every single day, I also knew that she wasn’t there anymore. She was dead. And dead people do not speak. Or at least, they should not. After a few minutes I decided to finish my walk. After I was done, I went home and thought about the call. Had it been real? Or was it some sort of a hallucination? The day went on, and I went on with my daily chores. Sleep wasn’t easy for me that night. I dreamt of the day of my mother’s funeral. Except in this version, I heard a loud knocking from inside the coffin. And screams. Oh god, the screams. It was horrible. But I was the only one who noticed. I tried to tell others about it. But it was as I was invisible. No one even seemed to register my cries for help, or even for that matter my very existence in that dreamscape. I woke up with a start, and looked at my alarm clock. 5:58. I could as well take my morning walk now. I got some clothes on, tied my shoes and took my jacket. This would be a great day, I thought to myself. But, as usual, I was wrong.
As I was strolling through the park, I heard my phone calling. I looked at my watch. 6:17. I froze. A chill ran down my spine as I thought about yesterday’s call. The phone rang for the second time. Then the third time. I slowly went for it and answered with a cautious, low voice. “Hello?” I barely managed to get it out.

“Jason? My sweet, sweet Jason. How are you?” my mother’s voice said.

But there was something about the voice. It wasn’t very clear. It was as if she was talking…underwater, I think is the best way to describe it. It was uncanny. But still, it was my mother’s voice. My lips trembled as I stuttered: ”m…mom?”

“Oh, my sweet, sweet boy, you have no idea how happy I am to hear your voice again. It has been so long. Too long. How are you?” she repeated her question.

It was so soothing to hear her voice, so I tried to make a conversation. “Not to good,” I sputtered out. It was as if I had forgotten how to speak plainly. “I lost my girlfriend and I lost my job. I’m not in a good space mom.”

After a few moments my mom’s voice spoke. “Well, who’s fault is that really?”

That was so unlike her, so aggressive, so vicious. What kind of parent would say that to their child in need? I decided to hang up and found the same bench again. And I sat down and cried again. That could not have been my mother. She was the kindest, warmest person I had known in my whole life. Or maybe…maybe she was right. I hadn’t even made sure I was able to make kids. I had just always assumed I could. Since it is the most normal thing to do. And my job? I had made so many errors lately. And it culminated the day after my girlfriend walked out on me. I had simply not been paying attention. So…in a way…my mother, as painful as it is to admit, was right. And the weight of everything seemed to be crushing me. I felt like a complete failure. This was on me. My very own fault. And my mother knew it. After a few moments sulking in my misery, I finished my walk and went home. I thought of calling a friend, a family member, anyone. But I just didn’t feel like being a burden. So I didn’t. And I just went on with my day. That night, I again dreamt of my mother’s funeral. This time, I walked up to the coffin. I tried opening it, but it was…slippery somehow. I couldn’t get a grip on it. I couldn’t open it. It was so strange. The coffin was like an eel, avoiding my grip without even moving. I called out to my mother. And then I woke up with a start. 5:58. Again, I decided for a freshening walk. Mayhaps I would get some peace and quiet. And again, I was so wrong. I went to the park once more, relishing the fresh air, the chirping of birds, the wonderful sounds and sights of nature waking up. Then, my thoughts were interrupted. By a sound. A phone call. I hesitantly looked at my watch. 6:17. I slowly went for my phone. As I took the call, I muttered in a low, almost a whisper: ”hello?”

“Jason? My sweet, sweet Jason. How are you?” my mother’s voice said.

It felt off. It was the same as yesterday. Like a broken record. Or a false idol. An impersonator. I had a bad feeling in my gut. Something was definitely off. But I just couldn’t put my finger on it. And as painful as it was, the voice of my mother was like a siren’s song for me. Impossible to ignore. So I said: ”Well, still not doing so good. I’m trying to accept that I do not have a girlfriend anymore and that I do not have a job right now. But I’m working on the latter. Shouldn’t be too long out of a job. I know what I can offer.”

“And precisely what is that? Not paying attention? Not doing the correct things? You have always been such a disappointment Jason. You need to be better.” My mother’s words stung like a dagger through my heart.

I just couldn’t take it. I just stood there, holding the phone to my ear for a few moments, unable to speak. This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be real. My mother would never speak like this to me. She wouldn’t be cruel to me. Deep inside, I knew that. So I did what I had to do, what I felt I had to do. I said: ”You are not my mother,” and hung up.

I slowly meandered to the bench, who had become the most reliable thing in my life right now. I took a deep breath as I pondered my options. How could I stop these phone calls from happening? But as I sat there, contemplating my existence, I did get another call. I decided to not answer it. But it rang again. And again, I refused to take it. A minute went by, and then I got yet another call. I decided I had had it for today. I turned my phone off, stood up and made my way to my home. Midway through though, I did get a call. I froze. How was this possible? I distinctly remembered turning the phone off. Or had I? I knew I had had the thought of it. But had I actually gone through with it? With a trembling hand, I went for my phone. It was off. But it was still ringing. My vision started spinning. What the hell was going on? This wasn’t natural. I flung my phone away in desperation. I ran back home. I closed the door behind me and locked it. I leaned up against the door, mind running wild. These events were really taking a toll on my mental being. Then I heard it. Three knocks on my door. I prayed to whatever deity was listening to help me get through this. Three knocks again. Steady pace. I wanted to peer through the peephole. But I was afraid of what I would see. So I resisted the urge. Three more knocks, louder this time. As I was desperately trying to hold whatever thing was outside, knocking on my door, I heard it. “Jason? My sweet sweet Jason?” in my mother’s voice. And I screamed, I felt terror coursing through me, I felt more fear than I had ever felt in my life. I opened the door and started running. Because the fear wasn’t because of the fact that I heard my mother’s voice, the fear was not because of the knocks on the door. The fear was that when I heard my mother’s voice, it came not from behind the door but from behind me.