Welcome to the Ghost Web

There’s something weird happening online, and it’s not just another TikTok filter that makes you look like a Victorian child ghost. No, this is worse. Because this ghost is your grandma—and she just commented on your Facebook post from beyond the grave.

Welcome to the Ghost Web: a growing digital underworld where dead people’s online identities live on, sometimes actively. And I’m not talking about memorial pages. I mean full-blown, AI-driven, algorithmically sustained digital phantoms that keep posting, liking, messaging… and selling.

Yeah. Selling.

At first, it seemed like a harmless tribute. Then it got weird.

It Started With “Keep Her Memory Alive”

Originally, it felt sweet. A few companies started offering AI chatbots trained on text messages from the deceased. You upload some texts, a few emails, maybe an old voicemail. What you get back is a digital mimic pretending it’s someone you lost. Reviews got emotional. One widow said, “It felt like having coffee with him one last time.”

Then those bots started getting smarter. And cheaper. And creepier.

Now there are startups scraping public obituary sites and attaching the names to AI-powered text profiles. No consent, no warning. Just… a digital ghost version of you appearing in weird places. Facebook auto-tags them. Their old email gets replies from scammers. And in one case? A dead influencer's profile started promoting a teeth-whitening brand posthumously.

Ghosts With Affiliate Links

Let me repeat that: we now live in a world where synthetic ghosts can be monetized. Real ad money, flowing through fake posthumous accounts. Family members sometimes keep the accounts alive to “honor their memory,” but the memory suddenly has #sponcon.

Imagine your grandpa’s timeline, but he’s suddenly pro-vape and pushing crypto.

It’s not resurrection. It’s marketing necromancy.

The Real Ghosts of Social Media

This isn’t some Black Mirror episode that never aired. It’s already happening. Companies like HereAfter AI let people “speak” to their deceased loved ones using chatbots trained on uploaded messages and voice recordings. Replika, originally built as a virtual friend, now gets used by some people grieving real-world losses. There’s even footage of celebrity accounts like the late Stan Lee continuing to tweet endorsements years after their deaths.

The lines between tribute and exploitation have completely blurred. And the internet doesn’t really care.

Death Has No Log-Out Button

Tech companies have no clear policy on this. Meta lets you “memorialize” an account, but if you miss the form? The algorithm just keeps going. TikTok has ghost videos with millions of views where commenters don’t realize the creator has died.

Some grieving families now sue when bots impersonate their dead loved ones. Others… sign up willingly.

There are even rumors of companies pitching “eternal influencer” contracts — where creators pre-record hours of content and license their likeness to live on after death. Deepfakes. AI voice. The full Ghost Web treatment.

Can You Grieve a Chatbot?

The wildest part isn’t the technology. It’s the fact that people are using it. Some out of loneliness. Others because they can’t bear the silence that death leaves behind. But having your dead mother text you “Goodnight honey” every day doesn’t actually bring closure. It just stretches the boundary between grief and delusion until both break.

We’re not just uploading memories. We’re outsourcing mourning to the algorithm. We’re replacing memory with interaction. Grief with engagement metrics. And eventually, even the raw ache of loss gets smoothed over by push notifications.

What’s Next: Eternal Endorsements?

The Ghost Web isn’t done evolving. Some experts are already raising concerns about digital likenesses being used for political gain. What happens when a deepfake version of your dead uncle suddenly supports a new bill? Or an AI-cloned actress stars in a commercial fifteen years after her funeral?

The future isn’t haunted. It’s sponsored.

So, What Do You Do?

Honestly? You delete what you don’t want to outlive you. Or you write a will that says, “No ghosting me, thanks.” Because if you don’t?

The algorithm might just keep your ghost online forever. Monetized. And probably pushing colon detox tea.

And if that doesn’t scare you? Maybe you deserve to spend eternity selling influencer-brand pickleball gear from the afterlife.

Because when the ghost version of you shows up one day, you won’t be the one controlling it.