In front of my house, an unfamiliar old woman suddenly grabbed me by the wrist and whispered softly: “Don’t go inside, call your father.” But how could I call him if my father had been dead for almost eight years? 

Still, my heart told me to dial his old number. And when he answered and told me the truth, I was filled with sheer terror 

I was coming home with my child in my arms. It was cold, gray, an ordinary evening outside our apartment building. I was almost inside when I suddenly felt someone grab my wrist hard.

An old woman was standing next to me. I hadn’t heard her approach — as if she had appeared out of nowhere. Her fingers were icy, and her gaze far too intense.

“Don’t go into the building,” she whispered. “Call your father first.”

I flinched.

“Please let me go,” I said quietly, pressing the baby closer to me. “My father has been dead for almost eight years.”

But she only tightened her grip.

“He’s alive,” she said firmly. “Call him. The old number. You never deleted it.”

A cold chill ran through me. I really had never deleted that number. Sometimes, on the hardest nights, I would dial it just to hear the ringing.

The old woman looked up at the windows of our apartment.

“It’s dangerous in there,” she said. “Very dangerous. For you and the child. Don’t go inside until you’ve spoken to him.”

I don’t know why I listened to her. Everything inside me was screaming that it was nonsense, that it was impossible. But my hands pulled out the phone on their own. I opened my contacts. The old number. The old photo.

I pressed “call.”

One ring. Two. Three. I was about to hang up when suddenly…

“Hello?”

I froze.

The voice was hoarse, but painfully familiar.

“Is that you?” he asked.

My breath caught.

“Dad?..” I whispered. “Is it really you?”

“Yes,” he answered. “Listen to me very carefully. Are you outside right now?”

“Yes… I’m in front of the house. With the child. But how is this possible? I saw you in the coffin…”

“Later,” he said sharply. “There’s no time now. Do not go into the apartment. Under no circumstances. Move away from the building. I’m on my way. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“Why?” I asked, feeling panic rise. “What’s happening?”

He was silent for a moment, then said quietly but very clearly:

“Because in there… ”

Continuation in the first comment 

“Because there is an explosive device hidden in our building. And if you go inside, you and the child will die.”

My legs gave way.

“What?.. Why?..”

“For almost eight years I’ve been hiding,” he said. “From very dangerous people. They thought I was dead. But recently they found out the truth. And they decided to take revenge. Not on me — on you. And on my grandchild.”

I stared at the entrance, at the familiar door behind which my apartment was, and realized that one more step could have ended everything.

“Do exactly as I told you,” he added. “Move away. Keep the phone on. And trust no one but me.”

I hugged the child tighter and slowly walked away from the house, my heart pounding in my throat.

And the old woman beside me was gone.