How Does 'The Coffin Club' End?

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 my wife, Emilia Sinclair, tortures me for the 98th time just to appease Wyatt Mercer, my love for her officially dies. That's when I decide to be with her best friend, Celia Ashford, who has been pursuing me for quite some time. After spending a wonderful night with Celia, she agrees to help me fake my death so that I can receive a brand new identity and marry her in an overseas country. So, I ingest the drug that can fake my death, only to wake up in the casket in advance. I can't move an inch no matter how hard I try. That's when I overhear Celia speaking with a subordinate outside the casket. "Ms. Ashford, you first told Emilia to torture Elliot, then you pretended to become his salvation. Now that you've completely earned his trust, why are you still arranging for his burial after faking his death?" "Only by doing this will the Mercers fully believe that Elliot is truly dead. That way, Wyatt can secure his position as the heir even more. No one will ever bring up the fact that he's a bastard child." The subordinate hesitates for a moment before asking, "Isn't leaving Elliot in the casket for one week a little too long? After all, we're only digging him up on the seventh day after you hold your wedding with Wyatt." "The drug can last for five days. I've already had someone place food, water, and an oxygen tank inside the casket. There's no way Elliot will die."

Hidden deep in the mountains outside our town was a sealed cave filled with ancient coffins. According to local legend, one of our ancestors had died hundreds of years ago before he could marry or leave behind an heir. People believed his spirit never moved on. The town elders claimed the only way to break the curse was to choose a bride for him—someone who would be bound to him and carry on his bloodline. And for reasons I still didn’t understand, they chose me.

After catching my supposedly frigid wife, Emmy Winslow, aroused by our household robot butler, I swallowed my disgust and sent the machine to a destruction facility. I never expected that decision to cost her life. On the way to chase after the robot, Emmy was involved in a horrific car accident and died at the scene. From that day on, I became notorious in our social circle as the jealous husband who drove his wife to her death. Five years passed. Night after night, I tortured myself by wondering if she would still be alive had I not been so petty over a machine. Until today, while discussing business at a private club, I passed a half-open VIP suite and heard one of Emmy's closest friends teasing her. "Emmy, how much longer are you planning to keep up this fake-death act?" A familiar voice answered, one I could never mistake, that was tinged with indulgence and amusement. "As soon as Corbin Ellery's heart condition is cured. Back then, if Grayson hadn't insisted on sending the butler to the destruction plant, Corbin wouldn't have needed to pretend his system malfunctioned. And I wouldn't have had to fake my death to help him disappear completely." Another friend clicked her tongue. "Still, nobody expected you to go this far. Having Corbin wear a custom synthetic skin suit and pose as a robot butler right under your husband's nose all those years? That's insane." Fake death? Corbin? The blood drained from my face. The woman I had mourned for five years was alive. And the robot that had stirred her desire had never been a robot at all. It was my closest friend. A passing server accidentally slammed into me, sending a tray crashing to the floor. The conversation inside stopped instantly. Emmy turned toward the doorway, and our eyes met.

On the third day after my death, Eliza Sutton received the call to claim my body. She was resting in another man's arms. She said nonchalantly, "He's dead, huh? Just cremate it and call me afterward." My body was fed to the flames and reduced to ashes. When the staff were done, they contacted Eliza again. Irritation flashed in her eyes as she snapped, "I heard you. I'm on my way."

The day I was awarded the highest service medal, I got a call that my grandfather had died. My superiors approved emergency leave, and I rushed straight back to the family estate without stopping. The moment I reached the hillside cemetery behind the house, what I saw snapped something inside me. Our family burial ground had been completely leveled. My parents' graves had been dug open. Their urns had been turned into flower pot bases, with dark-red roses planted right on top of them. My grandfather's coffin had been split apart. His body was left exposed in the dirt, already starting to rot. And my younger brother, Jerry Horton, who was on the autism spectrum, was being ordered around like a laborer by my husband's assistant, Digby Wolfe, hauling construction materials back and forth. I lost it. I grabbed Digby and slammed him into the ground with a hard shoulder throw. "You touched my family's graves and made my brother do manual labor. Are you trying to get buried here with them?" Digby coughed up blood as he struggled to his feet, sneering at me. "This was Mr. Gray's decision. He said your family plot is in a good location, with plenty of space. It's perfect for building a golf course for the future Mrs. Gray. In Joule, Mr. Gray is the law." His tone was icy. "And who do you think you are?" I swallowed my rage and called Marshall Gray. "I hear you run Joule," I said. "Well, I'm about to change that."