The Dead Will Tell

There are monsters in this world. And they used to be us. Now it's time to euthanize to survive in a hospice where Emily, a woman haunted by her past, only wants to do her job and be the best mother possible. Post-infection Chicago. Christmas. Inside The Hospice, Emily and her fellow nurses do their rounds. Here, men and women live out their final days in comfort, segregated from society, and are then humanely terminated before fate turns them into marrow-craving monsters known as ‘Smilers.’ Outside these imposing walls, rabid protesters swarm with signs, caught up in the heat of their hatred. Emily, a woman haunted by her past, only wants to do her job and be the best mother possible. But in a world where mortality means nothing, where guns are drawn in fear and nobody seems safe anymore – at what cost will this pursuit come? And through it all, the soon to be dead remain silent, ever smiling. Such is their curse. It won't be long before that snow-speckled ground will be salted by blood. ©️ Crystal Lake Publishing

When disgraced journalist Elliot Dorne receives an anonymous invitation to Wintercroft Hall—a decaying mansion on a fog-shrouded island—he is promised the story of a lifetime. But upon his arrival, Elliot finds himself among six strangers, each with their own shadowy past. Their enigmatic host, the frail and reclusive Vivienne Ashworth, claims she has summoned them to reveal a deadly truth about the Ashworth family legacy. Before she can confess, Vivienne collapses, and chaos ensues. A violent storm traps the guests on the island, and the discovery of a gruesome murder sets paranoia ablaze. As Elliot uncovers cryptic messages, hidden rooms, and a chilling photograph that ties him to the Ashworth family, he realizes that nothing about this gathering is random. With the mansion’s dark history unraveling and secrets surfacing at every turn, Elliot must confront the ghosts of his own past to survive. But the deeper he digs, the clearer it becomes—someone inside Wintercroft Hall is playing a deadly game, and not everyone will make it out alive. When disgraced journalist Elliot Dorne is invited to the remote and crumbling Wintercroft Hall, he’s promised the story that could save his career. But the mansion’s sinister halls conceal more than just secrets—they harbor a legacy of betrayal, murder, and lies. Elliot is joined by six strangers, all summoned by the enigmatic Vivienne Ashworth. Frail and reclusive, she claims to know the truth about their darkest sins. Before she can reveal anything, a violent storm cuts them off from the outside world—and the first body is discovered. As cryptic messages and chilling clues emerge, Elliot realizes that his connection to the Ashworth family runs deeper than he could have imagined. Someone in Wintercroft Hall knows the truth about his past, and they’ll stop at nothing .

Six years after my younger brother and my fiancée passed away, I picked out a grave for myself. Before my final visit to their graves, my mother suddenly said, “Miles, you don’t have to go this year. The truth is that they never died.” I was startled for a moment before the two of them walked right out of my brother’s room. My brother, Sean, put on a teasing smile as he draped an arm around the woman beside him. “I won the bet! I told you my brother would never figure it out. “Who’s going to be on top tonight, huh, Vera?” My so-called late fiancée, who used to cry whenever she saw me suffer even the slightest grievance, looked at me with open disdain. “He’s just too stupid. We’ve been living next door this entire time, yet he never noticed.” It was only then that I realized my mother forbad me from entering Sean's room, not because it would make her grieve her son again, but because it was directly connected to the house next door. I was truly too foolish. Right up until a month before my death, I was still thinking about visiting their graves.

As long as I can remember, I've been plagued by strange dreams. He comes to me when I sleep, calling out to me with such love. His face is so familiar yet strange to my eyes. Every dream was just that, a dream, until a family heirloom was handed down to me. With the book now open, the man I yearned to see in my sleep... is now real. Thrown back into the 1800's I find myself having to solve the mystery behind the screams that haunted me, and the loving touch from my dreams. How can I save the love that calls to me when my mind is torn between right and wrong? Or will the past make its way to my present world before I can stop it?

The day my husband, Stellan Montclair, was killed in battle, my cousin, Daphne Langford, wept and declared she would follow him in death. No one asked for my opinion. By the time I arrived, they had already decided everything. In seven days, Daphne would be laid to rest alongside my husband in the Montclair family crypt, bearing the title of his lawful wife. When I stepped into the chapel, I found Daphne reclining on a cushioned chair with a damp cloth pressed to her forehead while my mother-in-law, Vivienne Prescott, personally spoon-fed her warm broth. Meanwhile, my son, Ansel Montclair, had been kneeling before the coffin for six hours straight, both legs so swollen that they were trembling. No one told him to get up. No one offered him a cushion to kneel on. Vivienne glanced up at me. "You're back. Daphne's being interred in the Montclair crypt as the lawful wife in seven days. See to the arrangements." In my previous life, I did not dare disobey. The entire capital praised Daphne for the depth of her devotion. Vivienne called her a woman of honor. The moment I so much as furrowed my brow, countless mouths stood ready to call me petty and small-hearted. Yet seven days later, Stellan came back from the dead. Only then did I learn that he had taken a death-feigning potion so that he could openly and rightfully marry Daphne. I was cast from wife to concubine and spent the rest of my life crushed under Daphne's thumb. My son was stripped of his status as the legitimate heir, barred from the family title, and left to scrape by among commoners for the rest of his days. This time, though, I was living it all over again. I crouched down and lifted Ansel from the cold stone floor. Then, I looked at Vivienne. "If her devotion runs that deep, let her be buried with him today."

My husband finally thinks about me three years after my death. The reason? His childhood sweetheart's leukemia has relapsed, and she needs another bone marrow transplant. He comes to my place, wanting to make me sign a donor agreement. However, he finds that the place has long been vacated. He asks a neighbor about it. "Are you talking about Kristen? She's long dead! I heard it was because someone dragged her away for a bone marrow donation when she was already sick. She died a few days after returning home." My husband refuses to believe that. He thinks my neighbor and I have conspired to lie to him. He says impatiently, "If you see her, tell her I won't pay the medical bills for that child she's been raising if she doesn't come to see me in three days." My neighbor shakes her head when she sees how stubborn my husband is. She mutters, "The poor child has already starved to death, though…"