Beyond the Series
Standalone Novels
Not every confession fits neatly into a series. These are the stories that exist outside the ward — darker, stranger, and harder to forget. No series commitment required. Just pick one and step inside.
The 13th Floor
A Jack Steen Standalone Novel
This asylum has always had a missing floor. The thirteenth. Every Halloween, the building unlocks the door — and this time, it was my turn for an invite. I would have turned it down, but I wasn't given a choice.
When the doors opened, I met a man waiting in the dark. Pastor Cole. A killer who preached salvation and killed you with a smile. I've heard a lot of confessions from the dying, but his was different. He didn't want forgiveness. He wanted witnesses.
He said the thirteenth floor was his church — that the voices behind the walls were his congregation. He said the Matron still keeps his sermons running.
Now the lights hum, the walls breathe, and something keeps whispering my name. I should've never stepped into that elevator.
Only Jack Knows
Origins to Angels — Notes from the Night Nurse
They arrive alive. They always leave dead. But before they go, they tell me everything.
For years, I've recorded deathbed confessions in the dead of night — one story at a time. What began as whispers caught on tape has now been transcribed. Unedited. Unfiltered. Raw. These aren't stories meant to be read so much as listened to, in the quiet hours when even your own heartbeat sounds too loud.
Four confessions that still haunt me: Origins and Death — how it all began. The Dying Kind — a man who proved love can kill faster than hate. A Killer Recipe — a baker who folded murder into his pastries. The Angel Maker — a nurse who claimed she only offered mercy… until her own sins came calling.
Originally told in whispers. This is the world I live in — where the walls listen, the dying speak, and silence is never what it seems.
12 Nights Before Christmas
An Asylum Advent Collection
Twelve nights of dying. One season you won't forget. Twelve patients. Twelve final confessions — each one tangled in the holidays. The Death Ward doesn't take Christmas off.
Pour a drink. Lock your door. Settle in for twelve nights of cold truths from the Death Ward.