I FOLLOWED MY MOTHER’S VOICE INTO THE KITCHEN- THEN I REMEMBERED SHE DIED YEARS AGO… ANONYMOUS WOMAN SHARES

I still ask myself why I stood up instead of screaming.

Why my feet obeyed the voice before my mind caught up with reality. Maybe it was instinct. Or habit. Or maybe whatever called me knew that my mother’s voice was the one sound I would never ignore.

This happened when I returned to my childhood home after years away. It had been three years since my mother died, and I had avoided sleeping in that house ever since her burial. That night, however, circumstances forced me to stay alone.

The house felt strangely quiet. Not peaceful just empty in a way that made every sound feel louder than it should be. I locked all the doors, said my prayers, and went to bed convincing myself I was safe.

Sometime after midnight, I heard my name.

It wasn’t loud.

It wasn’t frightening.

It was gentle and familiar.

Exactly how my mother used to call me when she needed help in the kitchen.

“Come and help me.”

My eyes opened immediately. My heart started racing, but before fear could settle in, my body reacted on its own. I sat up in bed, already pulling the blanket aside.

Then it hit me.

My mother was dead.

I stayed still, listening. The house went silent again. I told myself it was exhaustion, grief, memory anything but what my heart was suggesting.

I lay back down.

Minutes later, the voice came again.

This time, it sounded impatient.

“Why are you still there?”

It came from the kitchen.

I don’t know why I stood up. I don’t know why I opened my door. My legs felt heavy as I stepped into the hallway. The floorboards creaked under my feet, and with every step, fear crawled higher up my chest.

The kitchen door was open.

There was no light on, but moonlight spilled through the window. Everything looked untouched the same table, the same chair my mother used to sit on every evening.

Then I noticed something that made my stomach turn.

The chair was moving.

Not falling.

Not shaking.

Gently rocking, as if someone had just stood up from it.

I froze.

Behind me, close enough to feel breath on my neck, the voice called my name again.

I ran.

I didn’t look back. I didn’t grab my phone. I ran out of the house barefoot and didn’t stop until I reached the compound gate. I stayed there until morning, shaking, replaying the sound of that voice over and over in my head.

When my aunt arrived later and I told her everything, she didn’t look surprised. She only sighed and said something that still haunts me.

“That’s why nobody stays in that house alone anymore.”

I left that same day.

Till today, I don’t respond when someone calls my name at night not until I can see their face clearly. Some voices are not meant to be followed, no matter how familiar they sound.