Post Mortem Novel Novels & Stories

"You said that you were getting a divorce, but I didn't dare make any decisions regarding your husband's body. It’s still inside the morgue. Would you like to see him?" Lori choked back a sob. Her voice was unstable. "I'd like to see him." Inside the morgue, the white cloth over my corpse was removed. It was the first time I was looking at my dead self. My body had been preserved very well. I looked just like how I did before I died. The only difference was the many wounds, especially on my stomach, which had a huge hole. It was not hard to imagine the pain I experienced while I was still alive.

After a thorough investigation by the production team, the details of my past were quickly uncovered. They also confirmed with the relevant authorities that I had, in fact, already passed away. "Three years ago, Nicolas Soros died on a snowy night—frozen to death because he couldn't afford hospitalization. "It wasn't until the autopsy that the coroner discovered that what looked like a thick down jacket… didn't even contain real padding. And that was already the most expensive piece of clothing his mother had ever bought for him. With discounts, it cost less than five dollars.

I stare at the lovely city of Manchester as I weigh my options. It’s either bankruptcy and death or marriage and coronation. I guess the latter isn’t much of a bad idea, only it is. Whatever the case, my father’s murders must pay. I have a secret after all, I can hardly die.

"Ms. Blackwood died on May 20th at Central City Hospital. If you're her friend, the funeral service is being held at Eastside Memorial Cemetery. It started an hour ago." With that, the man hung up. Marcus stared at his phone, his hands beginning to shake. A strange panic crept up his chest, but he pushed it down. This had to be fake. Another one of my elaborate schemes. "Who was that?" Celeste asked from the bed. "Nothing important," Marcus said quickly. "Just some prank call." But deep inside, a tiny voice whispered that maybe, just maybe, this wasn't a game. He knew me too well though. I loved him desperately. I would never actually leave him. I would never really choose to die.

The icy wind howled straight inside, unbarred. A half-broken sign dangled at the entrance: [4101.] That should be the one! I lifted my foot and headed right for the busted door. The moment I got close, an icy chill seeped up from the ground, boring straight into my bones. I shivered all over. The live chat is on fire. [Holy crap! The old lady’s walking straight into 4101! That’s the frost wraith’s lair!] [She's done for! That frost wraith was killed and shoved in a morgue freezer, so now she loves freezing people into ice statues. That’s the nastiest death ever!]

He wasn’t coming back from that. “Mam?” Someone said coming around the corner and then gasped seeing her with blood down her front and hands. Three dead men and a woman with solid black eyes. She hissed at him and then took off faster than he could see. She was after all a creature of nightmares, and no remorse was there for what she did or the mortal she scared.

My mother, Samantha, believed I was born a liar. Because she was deceived by my father's sweet words in her youth and abandoned after giving birth to me and my sister, Mia, she harbored a deep, bitter hatred for lies. She begged a witch for two magic rings. The rule was simple: if the wearer lied, the ring would glow red and burn them with magic. Mia's ring never hurt her, even when she broke a vase and blamed it on me. But if I simply said, "I'm thirsty," my ring would sear my flesh until I screamed. At first, I tried to defend myself, but Mom would just say, "The ring doesn't lie. Only through repeated punishment can your wicked soul be cleansed." After thousands of burns, even I started t

The next morning, early summer moonlight filtered into the den. I watched my body. A corpse can't hold back the laws of nature forever. The skin had begun to show dark mottling, wide patches of deep blue-grey spreading across the surface, discoloration from blood pooling after circulation stops. Between it all, the faint but unmistakable scent of wolf-rot had begun to leak out. When my mother came to rouse me for the day's preparations, her brow furrowed hard. "Why do you look like this? I told you to eat yesterday. Guess I have to fix this myself."

As the news broadcast reported a random serial killing near my residential complex, I knew—I had been reborn once again. In my first life, my husband insisted on going out in the middle of a snowstorm to buy weapons for self-defense. I locked every door and window, waiting at home, anxiety clawing at my chest. I never imagined the killer could pick locks. Before I could even react, a blade plunged into me, and I died on the couch. In my second life, I didn't hesitate. I hid in a concealed storage room, holding my breath. But the door was still pulled open. A man wearing a rabbit mask stared straight at me. "Found you," he said. In my third life, I ran to the police station. I rushed ins

… I had been pacing in boredom outside the operating room when suddenly I felt my body being disturbed. A second later, I was back at the estate, in the bedroom where I had died. A blood-curdling scream tore through the house. Willow Trump, the housekeeper, stumbled down the stairs, nearly tripping over herself as she grabbed Jake's arm in a panic. "Ms. Bartlett! S-she—she's dead!" Jake's expression changed. Shoving Willow aside, he bolted up the stairs. By now, my body had begun to decompose. The stench of rot filled the air, and Jake instinctively covered his nose, his face twisting in disgust.