Post Mortem Novel Novels & Stories

"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!]

A husband, a wife and their only son. Colours, black and white. It was all black and white. Black and white meant death. So only two things held colour. Only two living things in the painting. Himself, and the fire. Ashleigh left Damien to himself for a few minutes. She knew the healing was not up to her but up to him. She was looking at some of the other awareness posters and some paintings around. After a while Damien approached her. "Ready to try again?" she asked him. "Yeah."

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.

She has a quick reflex, incredible aptitudes, and she has different skills. Even if they managed to outsmart her with their teamwork, they still can't beat a necromancer. I have heard and read about necromancers. They had dark power and could kill without leaving any trace. An example is a white substance she blew at us earlier. Not only that, a necromancer can make you burn alive with just a spell. They can make maggots emerge in your body and make different insects you haven't seen before eating your liver, kidney, intestines, and all your organs from the inside without you knowing. They have unlimited power to the extent that they can poison your blood, food, or anything that belongs to y

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

She was declared dead in the ambulance. Meanwhile, Luke was arrested for intentional assault resulting in death. We met each other again in the visitation room. He had lost significant weight in less than one month. A patch of his hair had turned gray. He stared at me with hollow eyes, no longer the proud man I once knew. The sight of me made his eyes light up with hope. His bony hands grabbed the bars. "Help me, Bianca. I didn't mean to kill her. That wasn't what I wanted. She attacked me first. I only fought back…"

… 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.

Winter I crash into the ground, my butt hitting it first. The spinning is gone, and I blink at my new surroundings. It's dark here, with dead-looking trees all over the place. There's space between them, almost like some kind of fruit orchard. These trees definitely don't grow fruit, though. They look incapable of growing anything. Getting to my feet, I take a shaky breath. Damon was right. His ritual worked. That or it just killed me, and I'm walking around the afterlife, unable to return to Earth.