After driving for a while, I park outside this other abandoned house. It is where Papa Obi stays, and he is the Nigerian man who has brought Abby back to me. I then walk into the house, and as soon as I open the door, he shouts from inside.

“George Clint. Leave your shoes by the door,” he says.

I take my shoes off. “How did he know it was me?” I think to myself.

After a while, I walk into Papa Obi’s operating room. It is kind of looks weird with all those voodoo stuff around, and all those really short men with white powder on their faces lurking around.

“Sit down,” Papa Obi commands.

I settle myself on the reed mat on the floor. It is not very comfortable, but I do not have a choice. I then stare at Papa Obi, and he is a freakishly large man. He has muscles everywhere, and he is dark skinned with a well-trimmed moustache. He does not have a shirt on. Instead, he is covered in African lion skin. He has a little bag that he rattles from time to time while saying a few things I cannot make out.

“I know why you are here,” he says, his voice echoing in the walls.

“You do?” I squeal in response, and then glance around this place. There are herbs and reed mats everywhere. It also does not help that one of these short men has very pointy ears and a large nose. He creeps me out.

“She is back, isn’t she?” Papa Obi asks.

I nod in response, and then glance at the short man again. He is staring right at me.

“That is what you wanted, no?” Papa Obi asks.

“’Wanted’ being the most important word in your sentence,” I respond.

“You do not want her back now?” he asks. “Why is that?”

“It is abnormal and freaky. How will I explain this to people?” I shout in response.

“You did not think of that when Papa Obi helped you. You just wanted your woman back. She back now,” Papa Obi says, and I wonder why he refers to himself in the third person.

“I was hurt and distraught. I did not actually think this would work. After three years!” I yell in response.

“Keep your voice down. If your voice is up, you will anger the ancestors,” he says, reprimanding me. “You thought Papa Obi was fake? You thought Papa Obi would not bring back your fiancé?” he continues, and then laughs.

“I mean, it has been three years,” I respond.

“Not Papa Obi problem. You have attitude, young man,” Papa Obi says, shaking his head.

“Who does this man think he is?” I think to myself. “I mean, he cannot even speak proper English.”

“Yes, I cannot speak English proper, but I bring back fiancé,” he says.

“What? How did you?” I ask.

“I can hear your thoughts,” he responds, shaking his head. He then stands up, and he is tall. “Leave! At once!” he shouts and then walks out, leaving me with the short men. I then quickly run out too.

Tell us: What would you do if you had the option to bring someone back from the dead?