Facebook status updates from beyond the grave

A new messaging service from beyond the grave has been launched, allowing you to post a final message to your Facebook wall after you've shuffled off this mortal coil.

The 'If I Die' app allows you to choose three Facebook 'trustees' who will verify that you're no longer breathing and give you the opportunity to record videos or craft any number of Facebook posts to be published posthumously.

Just because you're dead doesn't mean that you should let your social media presence slide – and if you're not posting regular Facebook updates, who knows how it will affect your 'friend' numbers?

A few years ago, a similar service was launched called The Last Messages Club, which offered busybodies and those who always insist on having the last word – even if they're dead – the opportunity to keep popping up in people's inboxes for decades.

For a small fee, members were given the opportunity to write up to 100 emails that can be released at times of their choosing, such as when a loved-one marries, has a child or needs prompting to put the green bin out on a Friday.

In other words, both services are like really low-level hauntings.

Rather than all that pointless banging on the pipes at night, moving objects or causing people to feel a chill down their spine, you can just email them from the grave and cut out the worry that your message might be misunderstood.

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For example: when you were causing the lightbulbs to flicker, your relative might not have realised that you were alerting them to the fact that the Mondeo insurance was about to expire. An email gets the job done, efficiently and without the need for Yvette Fielding to crash about in the dark asking for you to give her a sign.

My only concern is that there are so many matters I'd want to stick my nose into after my demise that I'm minded to dedicating the rest of my life to writing emails about them just in case I drop dead without any notice.

After all the important, heartfelt stuff ('always get two quotes for building work!') I don't think I'd be able to pass up the opportunity to send a few unsettling emails to people who have wronged me in life.

You know, a few titbits about the afterlife to give them food for thought: eternal burning lakes of fire, demonic servitors of Belial, hell's uncanny resemblance to the queues at the till in Ikea on a Bank Holiday Monday, that kind of thing.

It's important to me to know that I won't be forgotten when I'm gone. And I just can't sign up to physical hauntings – I hear it's white sheets only and you know I only wear black.