Strange Narrative From Facebook...

I was shaking reading this...Could this be an Ai story or it really happened?

God please!

The narrative goes

''I sent my son to Boarding School for 3 years, only for me to go to his school today, and they said he has dí£d 2 years ago, and no longer a student of the School!!

It’s still a sh0ck to me! Because my son Obadiah usually comes back home even during holidays, very active and strong, no sign of s!ckn£ss or b@d heaIth. I even asked those teachers that, if truly he was d£ad, why didn’t they tell me? 

Which school doesn’t tell the Parents or Guardian of their child that’s dec£ased?
I left that SchooI with a mixture of f£ar, doubt, and @nger. As I got outside, I called my son Obadiah. He picked, and I felt relieved. But as I mentioned the part that his school acc¥sed him of being d£@d, he cut the call. I tried calling him bàck, but he didn’t answer.

When I got home, I rushed to my room to message him. I wanted to send him a photo of the document the Principal showed me. But his profile picture disappeared. I sent a message, but it only showed one tick. He had bl0cked me on all messaging platforms.

“What’s happening? Díd I off£nd him? Why would he bl0ck me, his mother?” I cri£d, thr0wing my phone on the bed.
Obed, his younger brother, was sitting on the floor crying. He had heard everything.

“Mummy, is Brother Obadiah truly d£ad?”
Obed asked, his v0ice shaking. “If he is d£ad, who was the person that was sleeping in our room last December? We played games together. We ate from the same plate!”

“I don't know, Obed! I don't know!” I shouted, pacing up and down. “But he just bl0cked my number. Why would he do that if he is alive and well?”
“Mummy, maybe the school is h!ding something,” Obed said, wiping his t£ars. “Go back there. Tell them to show you where he is.”

I couldn't stay in the house. The air felt h£avy, like someone was watching me from the corners of the room. I drove back to that school with full speed. I matched into the Principal’s office again.

“Fine!” I scr£amed as I entered. “If you say my son is d£ad, show me his gr@ve! Can you show me where my son was b¥ried? At least let me see it so I can believe you!”

The Principal looked at me with pity. She picked up her intercom and called the teacher who was in charge of Obadiah’s class back then.
“Mr. Benson, please come to my office now,” she said.
A few minutes later, a thin man with glasses walked in. He looked very n£rvous when he saw me.

“Mr. Benson, this is Obadiah’s mother,” the Principal said. “She wants to see the body or the gr@ve. Tell her what happened.”
Mr. Benson cleared his throat. He couldn't look me in the eye. “Madam, please. It is a very s@d story. Concerning late Obadiah... he didn't di£ here in the school. It was during the mid-term break two years ago. They sent us reports that the car he entered had a t£rrible accid£nt on the way.”

I froze. “An accident? Why are you just telling me this now?”
“Madam, please listen,” Mr. Benson continued. “The acc!dent was very b@d. The car f£ll into a deep river. Up till now, the divers haven't seen or heard from the vehicle. No bodies were recovered. That’s why we’re really sc@red to inform you! we didn't know how to tell you that your son just... vanished.”

I stood there trying to compile all the r¥bbish and sh0cking things I have been hearing.
“Wait,” I said, my voice trembling. “You say he di£d in an acc!d£nt in a river. You say there is no body. But I am telling you that Obadiah comes home every holiday! He brought his result to me! Look at this!”
I pulled out the result sheet Obadiah gave me last term from my bag and sl@mmed it on the desk.
The Principal picked up the result and fr0wned. “Madam... this is not our school’s result sheet. The logo is slightly different. And this signature... this teacher hasn't worked here in five years.”

My head started spinning.
My son di£d but they can’t find his d£ad body? He even BI0cked me when I tried to tell him the issue on ground.

Can the school be telling li£s?
Or has a spirit been living in my house for two years, eating my food and pretending to be my son?…''