3 Heart-Stopping Stories about Departed Loved Ones Somehow Turning out to be Alive

Have you ever received the terrible news of a loved one passing away, only to have them reappear later? While these reunions might sound joyful, the truth behind them can be quite shocking.

Here are three stories of such families where “dead” loved ones turned out to be alive – but not in the way you might expect. The folks in these stories got a major shock when they learned the truth about their relatives’ deaths.

I climbed out of the car and stood outside the church. Knowing I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to Dad hit me hard. “We couldn’t even give him a proper funeral,” I thought. Suddenly, Bella’s sharp bark tore me from my thoughts.

I turned to my car, where Bella was more agitated than usual.

“Bella!” I gave her a hand signal to lie down, and she obeyed. I patted her head through the open window. “Now, stay, girl.”

Ignoring her whine, I walked away and entered the church. Dad’s casket was already in place, closed, and the funeral director had discreetly cordoned off the immediate area because he had died of an infectious disease.

I took a seat beside Mom. Dad would be cremated, not buried, given the circumstances.

Just as the mass ended and mourners rose to sing the final hymn, Bella’s bark echoed through the church. She jumped on the casket, knocking the flower arrangement to the floor, and began barking loudly.

When Bella sat in her alert position on the floor and stared at me, a chill ran down my spine. I could feel something was off.

“Open the casket!” I demanded.

A gasp rang out in the gathering as I said that. But I didn’t care. I walked over to the casket and threw it open, only to find it empty.

“Wh-Where’s my brother?” My uncle stared at the funeral director.

Mom couldn’t stand what was happening. Her eyes rolled back in her skull, and her knees gave way. I caught her just in time before her head hit the marble floor. Rushing her to the hospital was all I could think of.

At Mom’s house, I called the police.

“At this point, all we know is that the coroner confirmed the cause of death and released the remains to the funeral home,” Detective Bradshaw told me. “Was your dad involved in any activities I should be aware of?”

I hadn’t been involved in Dad’s business since I opened my dog training center, so I didn’t know much about his business. But I knew Dad would never risk his or the company’s reputation and get involved in anything shady. I told Detective Bradshaw the same.

Since there were no leads yet, Detective Bradshaw left, promising to keep me updated. But waiting wasn’t my style. The hospital was keeping Mom overnight. Leaving Bella at home, I went to the morgue to find answers.

“The coroner resigned? What about the new coroner?” I was baffled when the nurse at the reception informed me there was no new coroner yet. I asked to see Dad’s file, but she refused, saying it was against policies.

I knew how to play the game. I set $1000 on the counter, and she turned a blind eye when I slipped inside the coroner’s office. I started searching the shelves for Dad’s file, but it was futile. His file was missing.

Frustration gnawed at me. Suddenly, my phone buzzed. It was Dad’s lawyer, Mr. Stevens. He informed me I was the new CEO of Dad’s company and wanted to see me urgently.

As I arrived at Dad’s office, I opened his Gmail on his computer, only to find the inbox empty. Someone had deleted the messages.

“Ryan! Good to see you,” Mr. Stevens entered the room and shut the door behind him.

“Who’s been using this computer?” I asked him.

“Nobody,” Mr. Stevens replied.

“Wait, where are the dancers?” I noticed two figurines were missing from Dad’s office.

“Oh, he took them home. Poor Arnold…he could never get the third figurine in the set. Can you believe the man who owns it won’t accept anything less than half a million?” Mr. Stevens said.

I knew Dad hadn’t taken them home. I’d ransacked my parents’ entire house since I arrived for the funeral, and those dancers were nowhere to be seen.

“But anyway, we have more pressing matters to discuss…” Mr. Stevens informed me we were in deep debt, and several investors were threatening to pull out because Dad had been blowing off meetings for months before his death.

“…and it all started when his new secretary began working here. With all due respect to Arnold and his family, I believe he was having a romantic relationship with her,” Mr. Stevens revealed.

The thought of my mom’s sad face flashed in my mind, and I almost lost it. I would’ve confronted Dad’s secretary right then and there if Mr. Stevens hadn’t stopped me — it would only damage Dad’s reputation.

I spent the day scrambling to fix the debt problem and sent gift baskets to the most important investors. After work, I tailed Dad’s secretary, Miss Pearson, and saw her pull into the garage of a regular suburban house. She was my only lead so far, so I parked outside her house and waited. Didn’t even realize when I dozed off.

Sometime later, the whirring of the garage door woke me up. I saw her head out in her car, and I wanted to follow her. But then, a better idea struck me. I jumped out of my car and managed to sneak into her garage just before the door closed. There, I found a doorway leading into the house.

The kitchen was the first place I checked, rummaging through drawers until I found a flashlight. I didn’t want to turn on any lights in case Miss Pearson came home unexpectedly. My heart sank when I entered her bedroom and saw a framed photo of her kissing Dad on the nightstand.

Keeping my cool, I reminded myself I was here for a clue, anything that would help me figure out what happened to Dad. I searched Miss Pearson’s house but came up empty-handed. Dejected, I was about to leave when I noticed a slightly open drawer in the coffee table.

A Manila envelope there caught my eye. Inside was Dad’s life insurance policy for a whopping $7 million, and the sole beneficiary was…Miss Pearson! I grabbed the document and headed straight for the police station.

“This is quite compelling,” Detective Bradshaw said, examining the document. “Let me see what else I can dig up on this Pearson woman.”

I was waiting by the front desk when she approached me with a team of officers. It turned out Miss Pearson was booked on a flight to Morocco, leaving in half an hour.

“Since the US has no extradition treaty with the Moroccan government, it’s crucial we bring her in for questioning before she boards the plane.”

I wanted to join the officers, but Detective Bradshaw refused because I was a civilian. Ignoring her, I followed them anyway.

“Police!” Detective Bradshaw yelled as she and her team approached a boarding gate. “Let us through!”

I snuck past the airport security officers by blending in with the crowd, and we proceeded to the boarding area. The cops immediately fanned out and started checking the passengers.

“You there! The dark-haired woman in the white shirt! Step out of the line and raise your hands in the air,” Detective Bradshaw yelled.

Relief washed over me when they caught Miss Pearson, but my smile vanished as the woman turned around. It wasn’t Miss Pearson. The cops continued their search for hours, but Miss Pearson was gone.

I was back at square one. But somewhere deep down, I knew Dad was alive.

I knew the figurines weren’t at home. Wherever Dad was, he must’ve taken them with him. I looked up the collector who had the third one online and drove straight to him.

“So…how much?” I asked, pointing to the figurine.

“$750,000,” the collector, Mr. Frederick, replied.

“That’s insane, sir. That’s way above market value,” I said.

“Then don’t buy it. The price is non-negotiable, young man!” he snapped.

I had to have it, so I asked for time to arrange the money. Back in my car, I dialed Mr. Stevens. I needed to sell $750,000 worth of my company shares.

“But then you won’t have a controlling stake in the company, Ryan!” Mr. Stevens said.

“I know, Mr. Stevens, but this is urgent. I need the cash right away. I should be able to buy back the shares within a week, though.”

“Ryan,” Mr. Stevens eventually said, “as a major stakeholder and the company’s legal advisor, I suspect it wouldn’t be wise to pry about why you need such a large sum on such short notice.”

“However,” he continued, “as a longtime family friend, I need to know if this is connected to the suspicion I shared about Miss Pearson.”

“In a way, yes,” I replied.

Mr. Stevens sighed. “She’s vanished too, you know. Didn’t show up for work today, and her phone’s dead. I’ll get you the money…details are best left undiscussed…and wire it ASAP.”

When the money hit my account, I rushed back to see Mr. Frederick. The old man mumbled something about the figurine being worth more since it completed the set, but I cut him off.

“You asked for $750,000, sir, and that’s what you’re getting, effective immediately. Are you a man of your word, Mr. Frederick?”

He finally agreed to sell me the figurine. I made a few calls from my car and made a quick stop before heading back to Mom’s.

“Where have you been, Ryan?” Mom asked. “I get back from the hospital to an empty house and a bored Bella. Your dog misses you, you know? I can barely keep her entertained, and I haven’t seen you since the funeral.”

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I said. “Just trust me, this is very important. It’ll all be over soon.”

Two days later, I stood behind a pillar at an auction house, studying the crowd. My figurine was next. I watched as it was brought to the front.

The price climbed, and the bidders dwindled down to two. Neither was Dad.

I’d insisted on anonymity and even paid for ads to make sure Dad, wherever he was, would know the figurine was being auctioned today. I knew how badly he wanted it, and if he was alive, he would show up.

“$600,000 going once,” the auctioneer declared.

My heart sank. Not only would I lose my bait, but I might lose a ton of money on the figurine, too.

My skin prickled at the sound of Dad’s voice. I stared in shock as Dad rose from a seat near the back, removing his hat.

“$1 million going once…going twice…sold to the man in the beige coat!” The auctioneer banged his gavel.

Dad put his hat back on and headed for the door. I raced around the edge of the room and blocked his path. Then Detective Bradshaw stepped forward and slapped cuffs on Dad.

“Ryan?” Dad gasped. “You tricked me! This was a trap!”

“Don’t play the victim, Dad! You had an affair and faked your own death to run off with your mistress! How could you?”

He hung his head, confessing he was tired of his old life and wanted a fresh start with Miss Pearson.

“So you took a huge life insurance payout, bribed the coroner, and had us all mourn an empty casket? ‘A man should do what is right, not follow his own selfish interests.’ You taught me that, Dad. I’m sorry you couldn’t follow your own principles.”

Detective Bradshaw assured me Miss Pearson would be caught soon, too. Then, they took Dad away.

It was a normal Sunday, and I sat in “Paprika,” a small café in the city’s heart. The area was full of life, but I felt alone.

This café was special to Kate and me. We came here every weekend for seven years. Every corner reminded me of her. Our first date, her birthdays, her favorite cinnamon roll.

I missed Kate. I missed her laugh, her touch, and her smile, so I dialed her number again, hoping to hear her on the answering machine. “Hi, you’ve reached Kate…”

I’d called many times since she passed. It was how I remembered her. I thought about the day I proposed, our wedding, and all the times she supported me.

Kate’s funeral was a few days ago. It was incredibly hard. The day was gray and cold. Empty. The ceremony passed in a blur, and everyone’s words of comfort sounded distant. I couldn’t believe my wife, the love of my life, was gone.

Her death was a shock, too. She died after her car fell into a canyon, and the doctors couldn’t do anything. “She’s gone,” they said. Those words stayed with me. But I still had people who loved me.

After Kate’s death, her twin sister, Amanda, and her husband, Kyle, were my only family. Amanda was sick and used a wheelchair. She only had a few years left. Still, she told me, “We’ll get through this together, Peter.”

Kyle was supportive, too.

Lost in thought at that café, I didn’t even feel someone approaching me until a gentle tap nudged my shoulder. It was Carmen, a relative of Kate’s. I’d only met her briefly at our wedding.

“What happened? Why are you so sad?” Carmen asked, and I told her about the accident. She was shocked. “Oh, Peter, I had no idea. That’s why she hasn’t been answering me…”

She went on to explain that she had been trying to contact Kate, unaware of her new phone number and thus had resorted to calling the old number at their family country house. “But I guess no one has been living there for a long time, only Kate’s answering machine was there,” she added.

“Kate’s voice is on the answering machine?” I asked.

Carmen nodded and gave me the number.

Once I was alone, I called the number, eager to hear another version of her message. Kate’s voice on the answering machine made me smile, so I called again. But on the third call, something changed. Someone picked up, and the most familiar voice came.

“What are you doing? NO!” Kate’s voice said, then silence. I called again but only got the machine. Was my grief tricking me?

After the unsettling phone call, I felt compelled to share my experience with someone who might understand my feelings. Amanda was my first thought. Dialing her number, I braced for the conversation.

“Hello?” Amanda said as she answered.

“Amanda, it’s Peter,” I rushed to explain. “I just heard Kate’s voice on the phone at your family’s old country house. It sounded so real.”

There was a brief pause before Amanda responded. “Peter, it’s likely grief is playing tricks on you,” she suggested softly.

“Could you tell me where that house is?” I insisted.

With a sigh, Amanda relented. “It’s on Oakwood Lane, about twenty miles from town.”

I thanked her and ended the call, setting off for the country house. The drive there was chaotic as my brain and my heart dueled against the hope bubbling in my chest. Regardless, the memory of Kate’s voice spurred me on.

As the country house came into view, its dilapidated state struck me. The once lively place now stood silent and neglected. I approached slowly, noticing the door’s fragile lock. Pushing it open, I stepped inside.

Walking through the rooms, I felt surrounded by echoes of the past. I quickly realized no one could be there, but I dialed the number again, craving the sound of Kate’s message to assuage my heartbreak. My hope had fooled me.

As I heard her recorded words, I walked around the sad, lonely living room and got close to a shelf. Two glasses sat on top, and drops of water slid on their surface. Unlike the rest of the house, these looked clean and freshly used.

Frowning, I looked down and saw footprints marked on the dusty floor. I was jolted out of my pain. Someone had been here! With more questions than answers, I left the country house and headed to Amanda and Kyle’s, determined to find some clarity.

Kyle greeted me warmly, taking a moment to comfort me for my loss again. Inside, I noticed the house was in disarray, with suitcases and clothes scattered about. “What’s happening? Why are you packing?” I asked curiously.

He smiled slightly and revealed they had found hope for Amanda in a clinic in Israel specializing in her condition. They believed they could help her, possibly even allowing her to live a full life and walk again.

“That’s amazing, Kyle,” I said, though I wondered why I hadn’t been told sooner.

“It all happened so fast,” he explained. “And you’ve been dealing with too much.”

I nodded. That was true, so I went to see Amanda, glad that my late wife’s twin sister looked much chipper than usual. She had a strong spirit.

“How are you holding up, Peter?” she asked, holding my hand.

After a brief recounting of my depressing new routine, I told her what happened after encountering Carmen, including the phone call and my visit to the country house.

Amanda suggested their neighbor might have checked on the house, but that didn’t explain the unkempt garden or the fresh signs of someone’s recent presence. I tried to say more, but she looked too tired to keep discussing things.

Leaving Amanda’s room, I noticed slippers by her bed and identical shoe prints to the ones at the country house.

Suddenly, the detective on Kate’s case called, saying her car was tampered with before the accident and I was a suspect! I was shocked. They even found that a life insurance policy had been changed to Amanda’s benefit.

What was going on? Back home, searching Kate’s belongings, I found photos of me and Amanda…together. A year ago, we had a moment we deeply regretted. These photos, sent to Kate before the accident, meant she knew. But why change the name on the insurance policy, then?

Suddenly, the unkempt garden, the fresh signs of presence, the slippers — it all made sense. Somehow, I felt like Amanda had to know more than she was telling me. Unless…the woman I had seen today wasn’t my sister-in-law at all.

As dawn approached, I made a decisive move. I secured my gun for safety and headed to Amanda and Kyle’s house.

Upon arrival, I found their house deserted. Using my key, I entered, calling out with no response. My phone rang – it was Detective Johnson again, but I ignored the call. My focus was on finding answers.

First, I contacted the insurance company, inquiring about the payout process. The manager confirmed it was scheduled soon. After pressing him some more and begging for his sympathy, I learned the bank’s name and branch where the payout was directed.

I drove to the bank as doubts plagued me. Was this all just a product of my grief? The thought chilled me. Yet, I had to know. But my heart started beating a mile a minute when a police car appeared behind me, signaling to pull over.

Panic surged. I couldn’t stop, not now. In a desperate move, I accelerated, dodging them until I lost them in the traffic.

I entered the bank, feeling the sweat on my forehead as I scanned the crowd. There, I spotted Amanda in her wheelchair, talking to the bank manager. Or was that Kate pretending to be Amanda?

Without a second thought, I grabbed a nearby customer’s coffee and approached them. In a bold, almost reckless act, I poured the coffee on her leg. She jumped up, screaming at the pain, and the truth became quite clear. She wasn’t paralyzed. This was Kate, not Amanda.

“How are you, Kate?” I asked, feeling both glad and dismayed that my suspicions were real. But before I could say more, the bank erupted into chaos as police led by Detective Johnson burst in.

I believe he had figured out what I had, too, because his gun pointed at Kate immediately, and he signaled for his officers to detain her. I watched as they pulled her away, and the police also grabbed Kyle, who had been waiting in the car this entire time.

The detective joined me, placing a hand on my shoulder as he spoke softly, filling me in on the details of their entire scheme. After Kate discovered my affair with Amanda, she told Kyle and devised a plan to get rid of her sister, take the life insurance payout, and frame me for her death.

They poisoned Amanda, and then they made it appear as if Kate had died in a car crash, with Amanda’s body in the wreckage, to make their plan work. That was why Kate had recently changed the beneficiary to Amanda.

“I sent a squad car after you because I was worried you might do something stupid,” the detective cleared up. I nodded. That was entirely possible, but I’m glad I kept my gun safely tucked in my pants.

As I processed everything that happened, I knew that life would never be the same. I could acknowledge my errors, but nothing justified Kate and Kyle’s actions. Now, I had even more to mourn.

Sitting in my living room, I couldn’t shake off the haunting images of my husband’s accident: Dan’s car engulfed in flames, him trapped inside, crying for help that never came.

It had been months since his demise, but to me, it felt like just yesterday. I missed everything about Dan — his love, laughter, and the way life made sense with him around.

“You can’t stay locked in this darkness forever, Maria.”

I wiped away my tears and turned to Jane, sitting beside me, offering comfort. “Life’s got to move forward,” she insisted. “Think about the debts. We need to figure out how to manage them. You don’t have to deal with it alone.”

“I know…” I acknowledged, tears streaming down my face once more. “But how can I just forget Dan and move on as if nothing happened?”

Jane, ever practical, suggested, “Look, you’ve grieved enough. Maybe it’s time to meet new people. Have you thought about trying Tinder?”

The idea seemed absurd, but that evening, I found myself setting up a profile on the app using a stranger’s pictures. As I swiped through profiles, my heart stopped — I saw Dan’s account. It couldn’t be him, I reasoned. Someone must be using his pictures. Curiously, I swiped right, and we matched.

Soon, I received a message from his profile. “Hi, what’s up?” it said.

“Hi. Making lasagna. You?” I replied, trying to act normal despite my racing heart.

“I knew someone who made excellent lasagna,” he responded, which made me think of Dan. “I was looking for plane tickets.”

“Really? You’re planning a trip?” I replied.

“Yes, decided to take a break. Can’t choose which country to fly to,” he said.

“I’ve always wanted to visit Italy,” I replied. I wanted to go there with Dan, but he never agreed because he thought Italians were too emotional for his liking. He wasn’t fond of the weather there, either.

I was shocked when the stranger replied, “Don’t like Italy. The climate’s too hot, and people are too emotional. But… they know how to cook!”

My heart said it wasn’t a coincidence that this man had the exact reasons for disliking Italy as my late husband. Intrigued, I continued the conversation, discussing travel preferences and hiking, a love Dan had instilled in me. Turns out, this man liked hiking, too!

When I mentioned my “husband” and our separation, a lie to keep the conversation going, the Tinder guy suggested meeting up. I agreed, driven by a need to uncover the mystery behind this familiar stranger.

At the cafe, waiting for him, my heart raced with every chime of the door. But he never showed up. Instead, I saw a man across the street, eerily resembling Dan, hurrying away. I tried to follow but lost him in the crowd.

I immediately pulled out my phone and texted the Tinder guy. Guess what? He never replied.

Confused and anxious, I drove to Jane’s, only to find a “For Sale” sign in her yard. Jane didn’t answer her phone, and her next-door neighbor, Mrs. Gilbert, mentioned Jane had rushed to the airport with a man resembling Dan. My world collapsed.

Dan couldn’t just rise from the dead and run off with Jane. Could he? With my mind plagued with worries, I somehow thanked Mrs. Gilbert and returned to my car. Once inside, I called Jane’s sister.

“Be honest if you’ve been hiding something all this while,” I said as I explained everything to her.

“Look, Maria, sometimes grief plays tricks on your mind—” Jane’s sister started, but I cut her off.

“I know how it sounds. Just tell me what I asked!” I said desperately.

“Maria, I swear, there’s nothing,” she replied. “But I’ll call and ask the family, okay? Take care.”

Then, the call ended. I knew I couldn’t wait for things to be resolved. I started the car and headed towards the airport. Was Dan alive? Had he and Jane conspired together? I was determined to find out.

As I arrived, I hurriedly parked my car and dashed inside the airport, my eyes scanning the crowds for any sign of Jane and Dan.

There! I spotted them in the distance. Jane, with her bright red suitcase, and the man, his back to me, were heading toward security. “Jane!” I called out as I pushed through the crowd.

As they reached the security checkpoint, they seemed to blend into the flow of passengers.

I managed to reach the security barrier just as they placed their bags on the conveyor belt. I tried to follow them, but a security officer stopped me.

“Ticket and ID, ma’am,” he said firmly.

“Look, I need to get through. It’s urgent!” I explained.

But the officer didn’t budge. “Without a ticket, I can’t let you through.”

I watched helplessly as Jane and the man made their way through the checkpoint.

Noticing my defeated expression, the security guard softened and asked if I was worried and needed help. I shook my head and stepped back. It was too late.

My best friend and ‘dead’ husband approached the boarding gate, showed their tickets to the gate agent, and disappeared out of my sight. Yes, the man was Dan.

I stood there, watching the plane taxi to the runway and lift off, soaring into the sky until it was just a speck of clouds.

I was heartbroken once again. But this time, the heartbreak didn’t make me weak. I was bent on getting to the bottom of whatever was happening.

I drove to a police station and explained everything to a detective.

Detective Martinez, the officer on Dan’s case, looked into Dan’s accounts and said, “Your husband’s accounts are currently frozen due to the outstanding debts. If those are settled, the accounts will be unlocked, and we can track him… in case he makes any transactions.”

I reasoned that I could repay the debts if I sold my house. It was risky, and I could lose everything, but I was prepared for whatever happened now.

I sold my house to settle the debts and rented a small apartment. The cops were already watching Dan’s account for any activity, so all I had to do now was wait.

Finally, a break came. One afternoon, my phone rang when I returned from the grocery store. It was Detective Martinez. He asked me to come to the station, and when I arrived, I learned the cops had tracked the money withdrawn from Dan’s accounts to Austria.

I was baffled. “Austria?”

“Yes. It’s a significant lead,” Detective Martinez told me. “But all the money’s gone. It was taken out in cash.”

I feared losing Dan again. “Wha-What does that mean for finding my husband?” I asked.

“It means we have a location to work with,” Officer Martinez replied.

But it was a risky operation. The days that followed were a blur. I took a part-time job at a local bookstore to keep myself busy. Then, one day, while I was shelving books, my phone rang again. This time, Detective Martinez had good news.

“Your husband has been in touch with someone in Austria, Mrs. Johnson. We found an email. It was encrypted, but we cracked it. We think it’s about… relocating again. But don’t worry, we’re working with Austrian authorities. If he tries to leave the country, they’ll know.”

I felt a flicker of hope, and a few days later, I got the call I was waiting for.

Dan and Jane were arrested while trying to cross the border into Switzerland.

I was at the station, watching them confess. Dan revealed he was desperate when his business failed. He couldn’t handle the failure and the debts.

So, he and Jane planned to fake his death using a homeless man’s body. They apologized and said they felt helpless. Dan also confessed he was cheating on me with Jane. He thought by faking his death, he could start fresh with her.

Well, I’m glad he and Jane faced their karma. While their deceit caused me pain, I had closure and a chance to start fresh and move forward with my life.

These three stories really make us think about how unpredictable life can be. It’s hard to imagine, but sometimes people do the unthinkable and pretend they’re no longer here.

Tell us what you think about these stories, and share them with your friends.

If you enjoyed reading these, here’s another story where people learned shocking truths about their dead relatives.

Note: These pieces are inspired by stories from the everyday lives of our readers and written by a professional writer. Any resemblance to actual names or locations is purely coincidental. All images are for illustration purposes only.