The Sudden Appearance of My Dead Father

Dad didn’t object at all. He just smiled and went upstairs.

As soon as the sound of running water came from the bathroom, Mom grabbed my hand in a panic and dragged me into a corner.

“Evelyn! You must remember what I’m telling you! You must remember! That man is not your father! Your father died in Pinehill! No matter what he says or does, don’t believe him! He’s not your father!”

Dad had come back from the dead. But for our family, it was anything but a blessing.

I had long gotten used to it being just Mom and me at home. Now, with Dad suddenly back, I felt completely on edge.

Early in the morning, Mom left the house, saying she had something important to take care of that she might be gone for several days.

She transferred me some money and told me to take care of myself.

Before leaving, she gave me one final reminder.

[Whatever you do, don’t trust that man. He’s not your father!]

My heart leapt into my throat.

Just as I finished reading her message, I sensed a shadow behind me.

I turned around and saw Dad’s face, that fake smile stretched across his features.

“Good morning, Evelyn. Are you texting your mom? Where is she? I didn’t see her this morning.”

“She went to work. She said she’s on a business trip and won’t be back for a few days.”

Dad smiled, then pushed up his glasses, exposing Mom’s lie without hesitation.

“A nurse going on a business trip?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “She’s just a nurse.”

“Of course she has to!” I quickly explained. “Mom’s about to run for head nurse. She had to go to the provincial competition. Of course it’s a business trip! Dad, you don’t know how hard she’s worked these past four years. She had to juggle her job and take care of me.”

Then I seized the chance to ask him, “Dad, what about you? Where have you been these past four years? Why didn’t you call me even once?”

He paused.

The look in his eyes behind the glasses suddenly turned sharp and cold, but the smile on his face didn’t change.

He started talking about what happened in Pinehill, the dangers he encountered and the vastness he saw.

He spoke in great detail, as if he really had spent four years there.

He even seemed to remember everything, about Mom, about me.

As he spoke, I kept stealing glances at the empty grave in the yard. I suddenly remembered the diary that had been in Dad’s backpack.

Maybe it contained details about what had really happened in Pinehill.

Back when the police returned the backpack, Mom wouldn’t let me read the diary. She said she was afraid I’d be too heartbroken, that I might never recover from the trauma of losing Dad, so she buried it with the empty grave.

But if I were to dig it up now and take a look, maybe I could find some clues. I could compare them to the words of the man in front of me who claimed to be my father and maybe the truth would come to light.

I kept the plan to myself, chatting with “Dad” half-heartedly.

By noon, he offered to cook lunch for me. Even though the weather wasn’t particularly warm, he turned on the air conditioner, setting it to a low temperature, blasting the cold air directly onto himself.

In the constant swirl of cold air from the air conditioner, I thought I caught a strange, inexplicable odor.

But I didn’t dare say anything. I forced myself to act as if nothing was wrong, eating the meal Dad had cooked for me. The taste was just as awful as it used to be. Nothing seemed unusual.

After lunch, Dad said he was tired and wanted to go back to his room to rest.

He even took a shower before heading to his room, turning on the air conditioner there as well, setting the temperature low.

As I passed by his room, I felt a chilly draft blowing out through the crack in the door.

Inside, it was pitch black. Dad had pulled the curtains all the way shut, giving off a strange sense of him loving the darkness.

I saw everything, but I didn’t dare say anything. I silently returned to my own room.