My Mother Died Three Years Ago—But Every Night She Appeared in My Dreams Begging Me to Find Her in a Forgotten Village Called Medanna… Then I Discovered the Truth
Chapter 1
The clock showed 3:15 a.m.
I sat on the edge of my bed, trembling from head to toe, my shirt soaked with sweat.
The room was completely dark, but I was still trapped inside the same nightmare that had haunted me every single night.
Always the same dream.
Always the same message.
My mother.
She appeared in front of me looking nothing like the woman I remembered. Her body was painfully thin. Her clothes were torn and covered in dirt. Tears streamed down her face as she stared directly into my eyes.
Then she screamed.
A desperate cry that shattered my heart every time.
“My son… wherever you are, I am in a village called Medanna. Please come and save me.”
I grabbed my head, trying to calm my breathing.
“Medanna…” I whispered.
The name felt strange.
Heavy.
Almost painful.
“Where is Medanna? I have never heard of such a village before.”
The memory of losing my mother still felt fresh.
Three years earlier, I had been living with my uncle.
Life was difficult, but we managed.
I grew up without ever knowing my father. He was nothing more than a missing chapter in my life. A question nobody wanted to answer.
Because my mother struggled financially, my uncle decided to take responsibility for me. He paid for my schooling and gave me a place to stay.
“Your mother cannot provide the life you deserve,” he used to tell me while placing a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry, my boy. As long as I am alive, you will always have a home.”
I believed him.
Until the day everything changed.
I was sitting in the living room when my uncle walked in.
His face looked different.
Heavy.
Broken.
He slowly sat down across from me on the old wooden chair.
“Joshua,” he said quietly. “I have terrible news. It is about your mother.”
My heart immediately started racing.
“What happened? Is she okay?”
He looked down.
Then he shook his head.
“She is gone, my boy. Your mother is dead.”
The world disappeared in that moment.
I collapsed to the floor.
I cried until my chest hurt.
She was the only person who had ever made me feel truly loved. We had almost nothing, but her love was the one thing that made life feel safe.
“Uncle, please,” I begged through my tears. “Take me to her. I need to see her. I need to say goodbye.”
But he refused.
He called my aunt, and together they held me back.
“No,” my aunt said quickly. “You cannot see her. You are too young for something like that. Seeing a dead body will only leave painful memories.”
“But she is my mother!” I screamed. “How can I be too young to say goodbye to my own mother?”
My uncle’s voice suddenly became cold.
“Listen to your aunt. Everything has already been arranged. The elders handled the burial. You are just a child. Stay here.”
And that was it.
They never showed me her body.
They never took me to the funeral.
They never let me visit her grave.
I was only given one thing:
The news that she was gone.
For three years, I forced myself to believe she was finally at peace.
I tried to continue living.
I tried to accept that she was no longer part of this world.
But then the dreams started.
That night was different.
It felt more real than ever before.
I could feel the dust beneath my feet.
I could smell the air around me.
My mother was standing in a strange place I had never seen before.
She was crying.
She was looking toward the sky.
And she repeated the same words:
“My son… wherever you are, I am in a village called Medanna. Please help me.”
Her voice carried so much pain that I woke up instantly.
I sat there in the darkness, my heart pounding.
Fresh tears covered my face.
A terrifying thought entered my mind.
If my mother died three years ago…
Why was she still asking me to save her?
Why was she naming a specific village?
Why did she look like someone who was still alive and suffering?
I wiped the sweat from my forehead as my hands began to shake.
Then one question became impossible to ignore.
Was my mother truly dead?