Is Whitney Wisconsin Dead Confirmed By Family Members?

Three years after I died, my mother sent me twenty dollars for living expenses. Three years before that—the first time I ever asked my family for money—she said to me, offhand, "Sometimes I think you're just putting on an act. What's so unsanitary about a thirty-cent boxed meal? And why can't you wear a five-dollar down jacket? Face it, you're just more high-maintenance than your little brother." Later, when I needed twenty dollars to buy some cheap medicine for my stomachache, she blocked me immediately and cut off all contact—along with every relative we had. "Don't contact me anymore. I'm clearly not a good mother. I can't afford to give my son a life of luxury." But for my younger brother, who had just started high school, she spared no expense—renting him a three-bedroom apartment. Even the family dog got its own room. In the end, on the day my brother became the top scorer in the state, she finally remembered me. She took me off her block list and transferred twenty dollars. "It's only twenty dollars. Was it really worth giving your family the silent treatment for three whole years?" What she never knew was this— On the night my stomach ruptured, three years ago, I had already died. I couldn't afford to go to the hospital. I froze to death in the snow.

Eight years ago, my daughter, Joey Porter, was stuck in the desert of death. Her GPS had blinked out, and she ran out of supplies. She kept calling for me for over a dozen hours over the walkie-talkie. The only rescue team was an hour's flight away from her, only to get intercepted halfway there. Later on, I found out that my wife, Ruby Shaw, spent 800 thousand dollars bribing the dispatch center, rerouting the rescue team's flight route just so they could save Ruby's younger brother, Howard Shaw, instead. Howard had had too much to drink at that time, causing him to lose his way outside the resort that was located at the edge of the desert. When he was found, it turned out that he was about a mile away from the resort. But the rescue team never came for Joey, who waited for them till she was dehydrated and, later on, died in the desert. Since then, I've quit my job and made this living hell my new home. For the next eight years, I work as a desert guide, ultimately saving over 100 people. Every inch of the dunes and the hidden sand currents are engraved into my mind. Today, my partner decides to give me a rescue order that's worth an astronomical amount. He urges me to pack my things and set off immediately. I glance at the photo, only to see a familiar face. That's when I turn off my walkie-talkie and get up to my feet before heading outside. "I can't save this person."

When Joy Staton, my adoptive sister, fainted in the freezer on her birthday, William Staton, my brother, checked on the security footage in rage. The moment he saw that I was the one who took Joy into the freezer, he kicked me inside without hesitation. Before shutting the door, he stared at me in disgust. “You’ve been pushing your luck a lot these days, huh? If I’d been a second too late, Joy would’ve died!” I wanted to defend myself, but William refused to listen and slammed the door shut. I heard him talking to the bodyguards outside. “If she doesn’t apologize, don’t let her out!” But he did not know that Joy had set the freezer to –58 °F. I did not even have the strength to complain about the freezer being cold. William did not know that the sister he once loved dearly had stopped breathing in the freezer. He had killed his only blood relative left in the world.

Just days after being discharged from the hospital, my husband’s adopted sister, Wendy Crowley, went live. Crying on a rooftop, she accused me of causing her miscarriage. "The ultrasound already showed it was a boy… and that woman took his life! "She can’t have children herself, so she couldn’t stand that I could. I want her to pay for my child’s death!" My husband, Tristan Crowley, believed every word. "Wendy, I failed to protect you. If I’d known she hated you this much, I would’ve locked her away long ago." The livestream sparked outrage. Everyone demanded justice. "This is murder. She’s rotten to the core!" "Where’s the law? Lock her up immediately!" However, when Tristan and Wendy tracked me down–still streaming live–everyone watching… broke down in tears.

After my mom, Margaret Hale, dies of a heart attack, she starts appearing in my sister Claire Dawson's dreams. In a dream, Mom tells Claire to climb Mount Mistwood before sunrise and burn the entrance ticket for her, or the other ghosts will bully her. Claire doesn't tell me anything. She packs a bag in the middle of the night and forces herself to the summit. While she's gasping her way up that mountain, I'm asleep at home when I suddenly go into cardiac arrest. I wake up in the emergency room with doctors shouting over me. I barely survive before Mom appears in Claire's dreams again. This time, she says skydiving is her last wish. If Claire doesn't do it for her, she won't rest in peace. Claire signs up right away, ignoring everything I say. But then, her parachute refuses to open, and she plummets toward the ground. Luckily, she gets snagged in a tree and walks away without a scratch. Meanwhile, I miss a step going downstairs, tumble to the bottom, end up covered in bruises, and break five ribs. While I'm recovering in the hospital, Mom shows up in Claire's dreams again. Now, she wants Claire to go to the South Pole for her, saying she can finally move on and be reincarnated once Claire completes the trip. Claire doesn't hesitate and books a tour on the spot. While she's taking pictures with penguins, I freeze to death back home during a 104-degree heatwave. Only after I die does it finally hit me that Mom's missions for Claire always end with me on death's doorstep. What I don't understand is how Mom keeps shifting the danger meant for Claire onto me instead. The next time I open my eyes, I'm back on the morning after Mom first appeared in Claire's dream.

I broke up with my boyfriend the year he was at his poorest. A year later, he was famous, and he married a prettier, livelier girl than me. On a late-night show, a host asked him whether a grand slam of awards this early in his career left any regrets. He pulled Mia closer. "I want to know how she's been. Since she left me." The host paused. "She's been... not well at all." Adrian finally smiled. "Then I can stop thinking about her." "But Ms. Whitman left behind a box of tapes before she died." Adrian's smile locked into place. On the tapes were every day and every night of my life, from the day I walked away from him to the day I stopped breathing.