(Results are from both Author K.D. Hendrix’s, my son’s, book launch + info on my upcoming one)

There is a unique kind of thrill, and a healthy dose of madness, that happens in the post-launch phase of publishing a book, after it’s been flung into the world. Between updating websites, creating a novella (my son’s), and ALL the little admin and marketing tasks, launching a novel is equal parts creative marathon and behind-the-scenes hustle.

I’ll be breaking down this deep-dive post into 3 sections. The three parts:

1. Free-for-all content

2. Readers who are paid subscribers

3. The nuts-n-bolts for us geeky writers and authors launching a book, whether it’s soon or “one day” (for paid subscribers)

What PAID subscribers will find in this article:

• Exclusive (never-before-seen) cover reveal of my supernatural thriller (release coming in October) + My Behind-the-scenes book progress

• My Real-time Checklist for KD Hendrix’s Book Launch (as marketing manger) with tools and promo sites

• A Look at the FREE Reader Magnet for The Weston Chronicles & how we’re using it to build his email list, sharing the platforms

• A Plethora of additional Sites, Promo platforms, Review strategies, & Real-time Feedback

• Cost of AD’s, what’s working and what hasn’t (so far)

• Doing group promos and where you can find them

• Building an A+ Page: What it is, Why you want one, & the link for step-by-step instructions

• Plus Future marketing strategies

[Reader’s Vault]

Reviews Are Critical: The Not-So Obvious Reasons

Think of Amazon reviews as oxygen for a new book, and the algorithm as a ridiculously picky plant that refuses to grow unless you shower it with attention.

Without reviews, a book sits in the loneliest, darkest corner of the internet’s basement, while Amazon’s algorithm acts like a pretentious bouncer refusing to let it into the "Recommended for You" party.

Leaving a quick review tells the digital overlords, "Hey, an actual human read this and didn't hate it!" Which instantly convinces the system to stop hiding a book behind page forty-seven of the search results and actually show it to readers.

For a debut author like K.D. Hendrix (ahem, my son), author of The Weston Chronicles, our primary goals focus on 2 major things right now: Reviews and building his email list. Whether you leave a short line or a detailed breakdown, every single review directly influences how the algorithms help readers find it!

If you love clean medieval fantasy and have a bit of time plus a review to spare, you’d truly make this indie author’s whole year.

The Weston Chronicles is on sale for $2.99 at Amazon for the month of September. FREE advanced reader copies (ARC), are available on a case-by-case basis. Just message me for the FREE link.

The best way to support an author is reviews, reviews, reviews. Any and all are much appreciated! And may your coffee stay hot and your favorite characters survive the chapter!

Speaking of ARC’s

If your ideal weekend involves stalkers, serial killers (oh my!), angels, shadowy demons, and a heavy dose of redemption, without the gratuitous gore, I’d love to recruit you for my launch team. My goal is to have ARCs ready by the second week of September, and I would love to build a small, dedicated launch team to help bring this story into the world. Official Book Release: first week in October.

To refresh your memory on the premise: “What if the most dangerous thing hunting you isn’t a human? A traumatized woman hunted by a serial killer discovers that the darkness stalking her from the shadows may be far more ancient, and far more personal, than any human predator. Watch Beth’s slow burn from fringe to faith, terrorized to triumph, haunted to healed. For fans of novels by Frank Peretti, Ted Dekker, and C.S. Lewis’ “The Screwtape Letters”.

Think clean, faith-based novel with suspense. As a team member, you’ll also snag the exclusive cover reveal and a front-row seat to the final draft from opening line to the very end. Drop me a note on Substack or reply directly to this email if you’re brave enough to join!

A+ Amazon Page: Authors Will Learn More About It Further Down & How to Create One

As a reader, I LOVE these A+ pages. If you’re an author who has ever wondered what an Amazon A+ page actually is and why it can give a book an edge, stick around, paid subscribers!

But first, here’s a peek at what one looks like in the wild. We just finalized and uploaded this for The Weston Chronicles this week. You'll find it sitting right below the main book description on Amazon.

What’s a Book Launch Look Like on Launch Day?

We scheduled an in-person event. Here’s a SMALL sample of what went into that:

• Book copies before the Amazon release of The Weston Chronicles: we used Book Vault. The quality of the book seemed slightly better than Amazon. And it was easy, with books arriving within a couple of weeks.

• Additional items for launch day: We ordered a tall book banner, created custom bookmarkers, bought special paper (that looks old) to make “scroll” letters from the author, and a Square device (to pay by tapping a card or sliding it).

• Launch day book signing: We chose (our local) Deep Routes Coffee. Mainly because my son knows the owners from church, and they also do a phenomenal job with marketing. We also made the Amazon book live the same day (started the process earlier in the week). Overall, it was a great experience. We arrived with 2 boxes of books and completely emptied one box and sold over 30 books! We have more in-person, local events coming in October.

If you want to follow along, Author K.D. Hedrix’s FB page is the best place. Here are some pics from the launch:

{I’m putting the rest of this breakdown behind the paywall for my paid supporters so we can geek out over the nitty-gritty marketing numbers. If that sounds like your personal version of bedtime reading, don't worry. I won't judge! I’ll be back with plenty of free news and updates once I clear this current, slogging mountain called editing. Thanks so much for being here, and stay tuned for what’s next!

Read more

{A traumatized woman hunted by a serial killer discovers that the darkness stalking her from the shadows may be far more ancient, and far more personal, than any human predator.}

Previously on Episode 24:

Beth snatched the receiver, assuming it’d be Paul.

“Forgot something?”

The receiver hissed with static.

Beth held her breath, waiting.

Seconds dragged by.

Beneath the white noise, a sharp pop cut through the line, a tiny sign that someone was on the other end, listening.

She switched the phone to her other ear, her skin prickling. “Hello?”

Only the endless hiss replied.

Then came a heavy, metallic click, and the line went dead.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER 24 | CHAPTER 26 | START FROM CHAPTER 1

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February in a small town south of Atlanta comes in cold, a chill settling into the bones rather than nipping frost outright. Mornings often linger under the veil of a low fog, clinging to the pines until the midmorning sun burns it away.

The air smells of woodsmoke drifting from chimneys and moist red clay. Bare pecan trees rattle their naked branches in a wind that never quite decides how hard it wants to blow.

Some days surprise with a crisp, high blue sky and frost silvering the grass. While other days settle into a fine, freezing drizzle that seems to soak into everything. Georgia winters never fully commit to the calendar’s timeframe.

When Beth and Jake had worked the Sammy case together, searching for the missing girl, Jake confessed his love for her fast.

Faster than felt real, looking back.

All her former worries slipped to the back burner, if only temporarily.

She’d admitted she was attracted to him, and from that day on, he made it his mission to prove, daily, how much she meant to him.

Flowers.

Notes.

His hand found the small of her back in rooms full of people, like he was marking territory disguised as affection. Within weeks, he was talking about moving in together.

But Jake didn’t exactly move in. He liked his freedom too much for that. Said so more than once, like a warning dressed up as honesty.

So instead, he stayed for long stretches, long enough that his coat hung on the hall hook and his boots by her door.

But never long enough to call it official.

Never long enough that he couldn’t leave.

One of his female coworkers had pulled Beth aside once, voice low, eyes darting like she didn’t want to be seen saying it. “Be careful with him,” she’d said. “You could do better.” When Beth pushed for more, the woman just shook her head and walked away, leaving the warning, unexplained, in the back of Beth’s mind.

Beth told herself the woman was jealous. Jake certainly said as much, later, when she mentioned it. A quick, easy dismissal, delivered with a laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes. People don’t like to see others succeed. He’d said that.

She’d believed him. It was easier than not.

Jake made her feel like the center of his universe. Not the way River used to try and mold her into the shape of his own world. Instead, Jake had built his world entirely around the shape of her.

He asked what she wanted before she’d finished the thought. He remembered things without her saying it twice. Being wanted like that, after so long feeling invisible, felt like being handed something she didn’t know she’d been starving for.

Being this happy felt like a sin. Like a shoe would drop any moment.

Shattering her world to smithereens.

A part of her didn’t think she deserved a love like this. And some nights, lying awake, she wondered if that was fear, or something closer to instinct.

Putting her thoughts of Jake aside, Beth made a call, needing to catch up from her mom’s latest doctor visit. “How are you feeling?”

“Better. But they want me to come back in 6 months for a follow-up,” her mom said.

“So diabetes? Strange…..Didn’t know it ran in the family,” Beth said.

“My parents, that’d be your grandparents, came from a different culture. They didn’t talk about these things.”

“And we can’t ask them.”

“No, we can’t.” Her mom’s voice lowered before trailing off.

Memories of a pearly-white stone etched with names and dates stood like sentinels. In the middle of a country lane, far from city streets, a black wrought-iron fence marked the entrance. Tall pines left beds of needles. Live Oaks arched their branches to the ground like invitations for ghosts to sit.

If not for the rows of markers lined up as silent memorials, one would think it was a park.

Not a cemetery.

First her grandfather went. Beth was too young to remember much of him. Then her Granny, years later.

She could still picture the needle-point crafts, paint-by-number canvases, and balls of yarn. Each visit, Granny brought gifts. Never empty-handed.

And with each visit, she calmed the storm always brewing under the surface.

One time, they sat alone in the front living room. Beth’s family was gone, running an errand. Granny took her favorite spot, a small leather chair with a large side table beside it. Beth sat in the other chair, the table between them.

Together they worked their crafts. Beth focused on her latch hook project of a butterfly.

“Your momma told me about your dreams.” Her Granny stopped, eyes on Beth, penetrating.

Beth pulled her thread through the tiny square, without looking up. “Mom calls them that. But I’m not asleep when it happens.”

“That’s because your Momma never saw them.”

Beth’s head jerked up, her eyes squinting at her Granny before Beth returned to concentrating on her next thread.

The grownups didn’t believe her. They never understood.

She kept quiet. No amount of explaining ever did her any good.

Then her Granny stopped working her long crochet needles that were creating the makings of a scarf. She leaned across the table between them, as if someone might overhear them.

“You know, it runs in the family.”

Beth’s eyes darted to the matriarch, looking for any sign of jest. But she saw none. Instead, Beth’s hazel eyes locked with her Granny’s brown eyes that resembled sparkling garnets. A glint seemed to radiate from behind them, only a steady gaze offering a knowing look.

A history that ran in her DNA.

Copyright (C) 2026 T.H. Meyer, Author. All rights reserved.

Thanks for reading Faith & Fringe! This post is public. Feel free to share it.

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The most interesting question in a medieval fantasy isn’t, “Who will win?” Sometimes it’s, “Who will they become if they do?”

Ranger’s Apprentice meets Brandon Sanderson in this gripping medieval fantasy debut. Perfect for YA and Adult readers who crave rich world-building, intense psychological stakes, and a complex hero fighting internal spiritual battles. My son’s (K.D. Hendrix’s) book is now available on Amazon. Ebook is now $2.99

• Clean medieval fantasy

• A mysterious magic once lost now must be rediscovered

• Brotherhood, loyalty, and betrayal

• A prince raised in exile

• A broody mentor bound by duty

• A female assassin torn between two lives

In the Weston Chronicles, the greatest battles are the ones fought within, where the difference between a king and a tyrant is the quality of one’s heart. Weston may have the right to Radamond, but will the crown cost him his soul?

Look for a behind-the-scenes post the first part of July—Free but to Subscribers, only: Want the true behind-the-scenes stories from What The Shadows Know? I’ll be releasing a Director’s Cut, periodically—Only to subscribers. It’ll include narrative stories about my supernatural encounters, my Christian faith behind the words, and inspiration for characters, scenes, or events in the episodes.

If you want to support my work another way, I’d be honored if you’d consider buying A Life of Creative Purpose—Embrace Uniqueness, Explore Boldness, Encourage Faith.

Your unique talents aren’t accidental—they are your compass. Through a powerful blend of personal journey and practical strategy for your personal growth, A Life of Creative Purpose helps you pinpoint the invisible barriers standing between you and your God-given calling. This foundational guide serves as a timeless go-to whether you are just starting your faith journey, looking to reignite your passion for God’s call, or struggling to understand what God has for you. These truths transcend the trends of the day.

{A traumatized woman hunted by a serial killer discovers that the darkness stalking her from the shadows may be far more ancient, and far more personal, than any human predator.}

Previously from Ep. 23….

“But…” Paul’s voice cut through the noise, reaching her. “We have a choice, too.”

Beth’s mind began to buzz, dread clouding her thoughts, reminding her that she never had a choice.

It was taken from her.

Branded her without permission.

“Beth, you have a choice, too.” He said it slow, punctuating each word like arrows piercing her heart and through the fog.

“I don’t have one,” she argued. “Never did.”

PREVIOUS CHAPTER 23 | CHAPTER 25 | START FROM CHAPTER 1

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Beth’s thoughts tumbled out in a single, breathless rush. “People tell me I have this ‘power’. That I can control this ‘energy’, that I’m ‘Special’. But it doesn’t feel like it. Or that it belongs to me at all. And carrying this has been exhausting. ”

She stopped, glancing at her free palm, the one the Palm Reader said was cursed.

“I’ve been marked, you said so yourself.” Beth swallowed, her throat tight, a hard lump forming. “After the Amelia case, people started calling me a witch. And my father...” She cut herself off, pressing her lips into a tight line, not wanting to talk about the grief and anger tangled in her chest. “Let’s just say I didn’t cry at his funeral.”

Beth shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut, glad that Paul couldn’t see her through the line.

“I’m broken. Damaged. That’s all there is to it. Why would this God care about someone like me?” The last of her breath pushed the words out into a thin whisper.

Paul waited, silence stretching between them to give her space. “That’s the point, Beth. Every single one of us has felt that way. Even me.” He chose his words carefully, his voice grounded. “You’re focused on this mark, but there’s a better one. And you don’t get it by digging deeper into yourself. It comes from Someone else who already took it, took your mark, to give you a new one.”

“Someone,” she murmured. A flicker of curiosity broke through her fatigue. The word landed oddly in her chest, like a door she hadn’t realized was standing ajar.

“Think of it like being stuck in a dark room.” Paul continued, gently. “You’ve been in there so long you’ve learned to navigate by feel. You know where all the sharp edges are. Maybe even convinced yourself the dark is just how the room is. How it’ll always be.”

“Okay.”

“But the switch is right there on the wall. You just have to reach out for it.” He paused. “Or don’t. No one’s going to force you to turn on the light.”

“And if I do?”

“Everything changes in the light,” Paul said. “Most people just choose to stay in the dark because it’s familiar.”

Beth stayed quiet. Was it really that simple? Just reach out, snap her fingers, and fix everything? If only.

Her mind drifted to the shadow’s realm, the universe manifesting, and the veil she didn’t fully understand.

“You don’t have to fully understand it for it to exist.” Paul sensed her hesitation. “Take gravity. It holds you down whether you believe in it or not.”

“I need more proof, Paul. Something real to hold onto.” Beth said it, even as she questioned what she believed, too exhausted for much of anything at the moment.

“I get it.” Paul’s voice held a hint of sadness.

“Can I call you again? If I have questions?”

“Anytime.” The certainty in his answer tugged at something deep inside her, echoing the strange pull she’d felt from the heirloom book.

“Beth...” Paul started, hesitating on the line.

She managed a faint smirk, cutting in before he could finish. “...you’ll be praying.”

A soft chuckle drifted through the receiver. “Yeah. That.”

“Good. I’m holding you to it.” Beth teased even though she meant every word of it.

They said their goodbyes, but as the call ended, the room felt instantly different. The air grew dense, charged. Like shadows and light swirling the way winds do before a storm, hot and cold clashing. An unseen struggle, between light and shadow, warred for the room’s atmosphere. It reminded her of a tornado she’d watched roll across Texas. Massive, dark clouds twisted violently around an eerie, silent center.

She sat in the eye of one right now.

A bone-deep weariness pulled at her limbs. She sank onto the couch, her body carving a heavy crater into the cushions as her brain struggled to process everything through a cloud of fatigue.

Forcing herself up, she made a slow break for the bedroom.

As she crossed the threshold, sharp flickers of white light sparked in the periphery of her vision. Bright bursts cut through the dark, wrestling. For a split second, a radiant, towering figure seemed to stand beside her doorway before vanishing.

She rubbed her eyes.

I need sleep.

The moment her head hit the pillow, the bedside phone blared.

Beth snatched the receiver, assuming it’d be Paul.

“Forgot something?”

The receiver hissed with static.

Beth held her breath, waiting.

Seconds dragged by.

Beneath the white noise, a sharp pop cut through the line, a tiny sign that someone was on the other end, listening.

She switched the phone to her other ear, her skin prickling. “Hello?”

Only the endless hiss replied.

Then came a heavy, metallic click, and the line went dead.

Copyright (C) 2026 T.H. Meyer, Author. All rights reserved.

Thanks for reading Faith & Fringe! This post is public. Feel free to share it.

Share

Blurb for What the Shadows Know:

What if the most dangerous thing hunting you isn’t just a serial killer?

Becky Cane carries her childhood like a wound that never fully closed. Marked—she’s always felt an invisible brand set her apart, drawing the wrong things toward her. With a fractured family, new age practices, and too many questions, something has followed her since childhood. Patient, deliberate, and waiting to destroy her.

Then a stranger appears. Cryptic, unsettling, and armed with riddles rather than reassurance, he begins to unravel the mystery shrouding her life. But every answer pulls back the curtain on an ancient, vast darkness.

When a serial killer enters her world, she tells herself fear is rational. But when her visions bleed into her waking hours, they don’t belong to just her nightmares anymore. And no amount of desperate searching through her own “power” can explain what is coming for her.

Becky’s search for truth will shatter everything she’s ever known. A truth the shadows already know in this spine-chilling supernatural thriller that weaves spiritual warfare, psychological suspense, and a raw hunger for faith until the final, breathless page.

For fans of novels by Frank Peretti, Ted Dekker, and C.S. Lewis’ “The Screwtape Letters”. Watch Beth’s slow burn from fringe to faith, terrorized to triumph, haunted to healed.

Want a different read? My son’s book is now available on Amazon.

Ranger’s Apprentice meets Brandon Sanderson in this gripping medieval fantasy debut. Perfect for YA and Adult readers who crave rich world-building, intense psychological stakes, and a complex hero fighting internal spiritual battles.

• Clean medieval fantasy

• A mysterious magic once lost now must be rediscovered

• Brotherhood, loyalty, and betrayal

• A prince raised in exile

• A broody mentor bound by duty

• A female assassin torn between two lives

In the Weston Chronicles, the greatest battles are the ones fought within, where the difference between a king and a tyrant is the quality of one’s heart. Weston may have the right to Radamond, but will the crown cost him his soul?

Look for a behind-the-scenes post the first part of July—Free but to Subscribers, only: Want the true behind-the-scenes stories from What The Shadows Know? I’ll be releasing a Director’s Cut, periodically—Only to subscribers. It’ll include narrative stories about my supernatural encounters, my Christian faith behind the words, and inspiration for characters, scenes, or events in the episodes.

If you want to support my work another way, I’d be honored if you’d consider buying A Life of Creative Purpose—Embrace Uniqueness, Explore Boldness, Encourage Faith.

Are you feeling stuck in a cycle of “busy” but lacking a sense of true fulfillment? Do you feel a tug at your heart to create, to lead, or to serve, but aren’t sure how to bridge the gap between where you are and where God is calling you?

Your unique talents aren’t accidental—they are your compass. Through a powerful blend of personal journey and practical strategy for your personal growth, A Life of Creative Purpose helps you pinpoint the invisible barriers standing between you and your God-given calling. This foundational guide serves as a timeless go-to whether you are just starting your faith journey, looking to reignite your passion for God’s call, or struggling to understand what God has for you. These truths transcend the trends of the day.

{A traumatized woman hunted by a serial killer discovers that the darkness stalking her from the shadows may be far more ancient, and far more personal, than any human predator.}

Previously from Chapter 22…..

Paul's book still sat behind her couch, right where she'd left it. She pulled it out, cracked the aged cover, and let the pages fall open wherever they wanted. One verse rose off the page like it had been waiting for her.

You shall have no other gods before Me.

Gods?

Plural. As in more than one. What did that even mean?

Beth traced the words with her fingertip, then noted the reference, Exodus 20:3. Like she might need to find her way back here.

That was when it hit her. She’d never finished making that call to Paul. Over a couple of months now. Jake had called, interrupting her. Before Sammy’s case had swallowed her whole.

She didn’t know if she should try now, or what she’d even say if he picked up.

But she dialed anyway.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER 22 | CHAPTER 24 | START FROM CHAPTER 1

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Beth squeezed the phone, pressing it hard against her ear. She stared at the number she’d copied onto a scrap of paper. What if this was a mistake? Maybe she should hang up.

The line picked up on the second ring. “Hello, Beth.”

She froze, eyes cutting to the empty room around her like she’d find someone standing there. How did he know it was her?

“Caller ID is nice.” Paul seemed to sense her question despite her silence.

He didn’t sound surprised that she’d called. Not the way most people would be, after several months of nothing. Almost like he’d been expecting it.

Like his prayers had already told him.

“What’s been going on?” he asked.

“A lot,” she said, thinking of everything the past couple of months had dragged up. “Not sure where to start. You must be busy.”

“I have time. It’s Saturday.” A pause. “Besides, I live alone now. Ever since my wife died.”

Beth hadn’t pictured him married. Hadn’t pictured him as anything, really, beyond the mystery man who prayed. A widower hadn’t crossed her mind at all.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said.

“Thanks. It’s been a long while now. My son spends time traveling for his work, so I don’t get to see him as much as I like.”

“Any other kids?” Beth asked, not sure why.

“My ‘kid’ is a few years older than you.” He didn’t seem to mind her prying. “But he’s the only one.”

“Are y’all close?” Beth wasn’t sure if Paul would consider the question too personal.

“We are. Very,” he said before switching back to her. “So what have you been up to since we last talked?”

She assumed he wanted her to get to the point. But she didn’t know what the “point” might be, even if pressed. The call was more of an impulse or from curiosity. A restlessness that she didn’t understand, stirred from that mysterious book he’d given her.

“I don’t know why I called, really.”

She considered ending it there, embarrassed, when he cut in. “Don’t need a reason.”

Although practically strangers, Beth felt comfortable talking to him. Reaching for a way to describe it exactly, she searched for a word when one blinked like a neon sign in her mind. Oddly enough, she felt “safe”. But she quickly reminded herself how silly that would be since she barely knew this person.

Trying to make sense of the man on the other end, she said it out loud before she’d fully thought it through. “I guess I don’t know much about you.”

She wanted to understand him. Where he came from, what made him tick. Ever since the book showed up in her mailbox, and especially since that riddling talk of “looking for light” during their last call, he’d stuck in her mind like a splinter she couldn’t quite work loose.

“It’s boring. I’ll just give you the cliff notes,” he said before continuing. “I grew up in Tennessee. Married the love of my life, straight out of high school. Struggled with infertility for many years, but by our late 20’s, had our son, John. Spent a lot of our time at church or with friends or family gatherings. Lots of good memories. Then my wife got sick...” His voice cracked as it trailed off, not wanting to finish.

“What happened?” She instantly regretted the question. But it was too late.

“She died.” The words came out soft and gentle.

They stayed silent, each locked in their own memories. It was as if Beth could feel his pain. A grief worn smooth, not like the sharp thing she carried from her father’s funeral. How different his family must’ve been from hers.

She wondered what kind of husband Paul had been. Gentle, probably. Faithful. The kind who noticed when his wife was tired, who remembered anniversaries without being reminded. A hugger. Kind and patient.

Nothing like her father.

“Doesn’t sound boring to me,” Beth said. “Sad, maybe. But not boring.”

“I have John and my church family.” His voice softened at the mention of them, steady and calm. Almost like joy, though she couldn’t be sure that’s what she was hearing.

He surprised her.

“So where did the book come from? The one you sent me? Looks like a family heirloom. I’m sure you want it back.” Beth suddenly felt guilty for keeping it so long.

“No, I gave it to you. No strings attached. And you’re right. That book was passed down from generation to generation, so it’s quite old.”

Beth sat, stunned. He gave a stranger, someone off the street, a family treasure. “Why me, though?” She blurted out. “A random person?”

“Beth, you are not a random person. God put you on my heart when I saw you on TV standing at those courthouse steps….He picked you.”

Her eyes stung with tears, same as last time. One slipped free before she could catch it, leaving a thin, wet trail down her cheek.

Beth had built a hard exterior. Not on purpose, exactly. It had gone up brick by brick without her ever deciding to lay the first one. Self-preservation didn’t ask permission.

It just built.

Some days she wondered if she was even capable of feeling anymore, or if she’d buried that part of herself so deep under survival that it had suffocated down there, dormant and still.

If Paul’s God was real, she already knew where she stood. Her past had made that decision for her, a long time ago.

“Do you believe….” Beth paused, not sure she wanted to finish or to start.

“Believe what?” He asked tenderly.

“Do you believe people can be marked? From birth?”

There it was. She said it, bracing herself for his answer, half-expecting him to see some scarlet letter burned across her forehead for anyone who looked close enough.

Out came a quick, “Yes.”

So it was true. No help. No rescue. No escape. The words hit like a door slamming shut, one after another. The shadows owned her. They always had.

But then he spoke, slowly, breaking through her spiraling thoughts. “We...are all marked…at birth, Beth.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.” She said it more to herself than to Paul, before fully registering the meaning of what he’d said. Her chest tightened around the words, accepting what she’d always suspected.

“But…” His voice cut through the noise, reaching her. “We have a choice, too.”

Beth’s mind began to buzz, dread clouding her thoughts, reminding her that she never had a choice.

It was taken from her.

Branded her without permission.

“Beth, you have a choice, too.” He said it slow, punctuating each word like arrows piercing her heart and through the fog.

“I don’t have one,” she argued. “Never did.”

Copyright (C) 2026 T.H. Meyer, Author. All rights reserved.

Thanks for reading Faith & Fringe! This post is public. Feel free to share it.

Share

Blurb for What the Shadows Know:

What if the most dangerous thing hunting you isn’t just a serial killer?

Becky Cane carries her childhood like a wound that never fully closed. Marked—she’s always felt an invisible brand set her apart, drawing the wrong things toward her, separating her from peace.

As Becky’s fractured family crumbles, the new age answers she’s chased only multiply her questions. She accepts that she is cursed. Something has followed her since childhood, patient and deliberate, waiting to destroy her.

Then a stranger appears. Cryptic, unsettling, armed with riddles rather than reassurance, he begins to unravel the mystery shrouding her life. But every answer pulls back the curtain on an ancient, vast darkness.

When a serial killer enters her world, she tells herself fear is rational. But when her visions bleed into her waking hours, they don’t belong to just her nightmares anymore. And no amount of desperate searching—through her own “power”—can explain what is coming for her.

Becky’s search for truth will shatter everything she’s ever known. A truth the shadows already know. What the Shadows Know is a spine-chilling supernatural thriller that weaves spiritual warfare, psychological suspense, and a raw hunger for faith until the final, breathless page.

For fans of novels by Frank Peretti, Ted Dekker, and C.S. Lewis’ “The Screwtape Letters”. Watch Beth’s slow burn from fringe to faith, terrorized to triumph, haunted to healed.

Want a different read? My son’s book is now available on Amazon.

Ranger’s Apprentice meets Brandon Sanderson in this gripping medieval fantasy debut. Perfect for YA and Adult readers who crave rich world-building, intense psychological stakes, and a complex hero fighting internal spiritual battles.

• Clean medieval fantasy

• A mysterious magic once lost now must be rediscovered

• Brotherhood, loyalty, and betrayal

• A prince raised in exile

• A broody mentor bound by duty

• A female assassin torn between two lives

In the Weston Chronicles, the greatest battles are the ones fought within, where the difference between a king and a tyrant is the quality of one’s heart. Weston may have the right to Radamond, but will the crown cost him his soul?

Look for a behind-the-scenes post—Free but to Subscribers, only: Want the true behind-the-scenes stories from What The Shadows Know? I’ll be releasing a Director’s Cut, periodically—Only to subscribers. It’ll include narrative stories about my supernatural encounters, my Christian faith behind the words, and inspiration for characters, scenes, or events in the episodes.

If you want to support my work another way, I’d be honored if you’d consider buying A Life of Creative Purpose—Embrace Uniqueness, Explore Boldness, Encourage Faith.

Are you feeling stuck in a cycle of “busy” but lacking a sense of true fulfillment? Do you feel a tug at your heart to create, to lead, or to serve, but aren’t sure how to bridge the gap between where you are and where God is calling you?

Your unique talents aren’t accidental—they are your compass. Through a powerful blend of personal journey and practical strategy for your personal growth, A Life of Creative Purpose helps you pinpoint the invisible barriers standing between you and your God-given calling. This foundational guide serves as a timeless go-to whether you are just starting your faith journey, looking to reignite your passion for God’s call, or struggling to understand what God has for you. These truths transcend the trends of the day.

Previously, from Episode 21:

The vision wouldn’t leave her. The murky shadows, the fresh dirt, the man walking away from it all. And the way he’d stopped, turned, and looked through whatever had let her see him through the veil, straight at her.

She’d tried blinking it away a dozen times already this morning. It clung anyway, the way a horror movie does, playing behind her eyes long after the screen’s gone dark.

She wished, more than anything, that she could unsee it.

“You okay?” Lily ducked her head, trying to catch Beth’s eyes over the rim of her cup.

“Yeah.”

Beth forced her mouth into something like a smile. But it didn’t hold.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER 21 | CHAPTER 23 | START FROM CHAPTER 1

{A traumatized woman hunted by a serial killer discovers that the darkness stalking her from the shadows may be far more ancient, and far more personal, than any human predator.}

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“So, Jake, huh?” Lily quickly switched the conversation after Beth stared at the table as if it had transported her into another dimension.

Finally a smile, her eyes squinted at Lily. “Mom can’t keep a secret.”

“Not a one.” Lily took a sip of her coffee, hiding a grin.

“I don’t know, since River left and then the whole Sammy thing, he has been there, you know?”

“Gracious, sounds serious.”

Beth raised a hand as if she were taking a pledge, “Speed dater at your service.” Beth gave a half smile. “Except this is not high school so I’m a bit rusty.”

“Don’t have to say that twice.” Lily teased her, remembering their days in junior high and high school.

“Besides, back then, I thought boys only wanted one thing. Mom had drilled it into our heads.” Beth shook her head, remembering all her mom’s dire over-the-top warnings. “I preferred flirting more than the other stuff, anyway. But look at you, found your soul mate in junior high.”

“We make it, best we can, somehow.” Lily’s eyes darted about the coffee shop, avoiding Beth.

A new waitress headed their way, then stopped at their table, “You ladies need anything else? Another coffee? Food?”

“Two breakfast burritos, please,” Beth answered.

“Coming right up.” The waitress turned, heading to the counter.

Lily watched the waitress walk away when Beth said, “So, you wanted to talk about Mom?”

“Think there’s more she ain’t tellin’ us?”

“Maybe. But the tests haven’t shown anything.”

“I feel like we oughta go see her. All of us, together.” Lily carefully placed her cup on a saucer, staring off, lost in thought.

“Sounds nice. I know a good restaurant.”

The words barely registered before the house rose up, in Beth’s mind instead. Their childhood home. She could smell it even now, if she let herself. Pine Sol from scrubbed linoleum floors, sausage and bacon over the weekends, or the sour tang of whatever was left too long in the sink.

Beth remembered lying awake watching the ghostly tree branch’s silhouette move on her wall, the pale light of the moon not enough to protect her from the otherworldly shadows that haunted her nights.

Near the end of her father’s life, his anger had thinned out some, gone quiet and hollow instead of sharp. She hadn’t understood it then. She understood it now, or thought she did. Maybe it was the particular kind of silence of a man running out of ways to distance himself from a guilty conscience.

“I was thinkin’.” Lily spoke slowly, deliberately. “Mom needs us—at home.”

The waitress headed back towards them with two plates, placing one in front of Beth and one in front of Lily. “Enjoy! Just holler if you need anything else. Name’s, Dawn.” The waitress shuffled off as she seemed to waddle across the shop to customers on the other side.

“You’re right. Let me think about it,” Beth said.

Lily took a dainty bite, leaving a small half-moon shape in the bulging burrito. “Oh, this one’s a keeper!”

“The best. But I’m biased, living just blocks away.”

“Speaking of, I hear Jake might be movin’ in.” Lily raised her eyebrows hinting she already knew, watching over the rim of the cup as she sipped.

“She really cannot keep a secret.” She smiled, faintly, as talk of their childhood home stirred mixed emotions. Beth made a motion with her hand that her lips were sealed.

“Hey, no pleadin’ the fifth, now. I have my ‘inside’ source an’ she’ll rat ya out like a federal snitch.” Lily tried to suppress a laugh, but couldn’t help herself, amused by her own banter.

“Never a truer statement.” Beth shook her head, grinning. “And yes, he plans to move in, I think.” Beth’s mouth felt dry, a bit tongue-tied.

“You deserve to be happy, Beth Ann.” Lily paused for emphasis, focusing all her attention on her sister with a long suspended look.

“Thanks. Not sure I ‘deserve’ it. But I’ll take it.”

“You better! Or else.” Lily eyed Beth with mischief.

“Or else, what?” Beth’s face lit up with a challenge, daring her sister to say more.

“I’ll think of something.” Lily laughed and shrugged at her weak comeback as her bulky, padded shoulders bobbed up like a football player.

They finished their coffee and savored the rare, precious time of being in each other’s company. Able to pick up where they left off, seemed to heal a little of their relationship in some way, even if they came together for their mom’s sake. They needed more times like these to regain what they’d lost.

A lot more.

“I wish you didn’t have to leave so soon.” Beth sighed, looking at her watch.

“Me too. But I do appreciate you comin’ on such short notice.”

After both sat quietly, Lily broke the silence. “‘Member how momma made those big breakfasts ever’ weekend when we were kids?”

Beth nodded, picturing the table stuffed with pans of eggs, pancakes or waffles, and biscuits. They barely had room for their plates.

“Maybe we can start a new tradition.” Lily stood up, more burrito on her plate than in her stomach.

“Done.” Beth gave a weak smile, hoping it could be true as they walked to the counter to pay.

Dawn, their waitress, met them at the register. “How long y’all been friends?”

The sisters looked at each other. “Since kids,” Beth answered.

“Aw, that’s sweet. Must be nice.”

“It is,” they both said in unison, giving each other a knowing glance.

“I’m glad we did this,” Lily said. “Should’ve done it sooner.”

“Totally agree,” Beth said.

“Let’s try harder.” Lily glanced at Beth, chin up, determination in her eyes.

“Let’s,” Beth said, thinking that maybe they really could build on today, hoping it was possible.

After a quick hug and a wave, Beth said, “Tell Grant I said hello.”

“Fo’ sure!”

Beth stood on the sidewalk, watching Lily get into her car, waving one last time before her sister drove off. Only then did Beth turn to walk the few blocks to her house.

Once inside, she sat on her couch, replaying her visit with Lily, having gone better than she had imagined.

But talk of Sammy dredged up that dark night. It’d been several weeks, yet the vision still pricked Beth’s chest as if a needle punctured her heart. It didn’t stop at one puncture, either.

The images came again and again, each one a fresh needle driven into the same raw point, until she felt sewn together from nothing but wounds, her thoughts stitched shut around a pain that never got the chance to heal.

Was this really what her life amounted to? A legacy defined by endless pursuit, reaching for some vague, shape-shifting power, or waiting on the next vision for solving crimes? Forced to carve out her own fate from nothing, to will a destiny or “manifest” it into existence?

Paul’s book still sat behind her couch, right where she’d left it. She pulled it out, cracked the aged cover, and let the pages fall open wherever they wanted. One verse rose off the page like it had been waiting for her.

You shall have no other gods before Me.

Gods?

Plural. As in more than one. What did that even mean?

Beth traced the words with her fingertip, then noted the reference, Exodus 20:3. Like she might need to find her way back here.

That was when it hit her. She’d never finished making that call to Paul. Jake had called, interrupting her. All before Sammy’s case had swallowed her whole.

She didn’t know if she should try now, or what she’d even say if he picked up.

But she dialed anyway.

Copyright (C) 2026 T.H. Meyer, Author. All rights reserved.

Thanks for reading Faith & Fringe! This post is public. Feel free to share it.

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Blurb for What the Shadows Know:

What if the most dangerous thing hunting you isn’t just a serial killer?

Beth Cane carries her childhood like a wound that never fully closed. Marked—she’s always felt an invisible brand set her apart, drawing the wrong things toward her, separating her from peace.

As Beth’s fractured family crumbles, the new age answers she’s chased only multiply her questions. She accepts that she is cursed. Something has followed her since childhood, patient and deliberate, waiting to destroy her.

Then a stranger appears. Cryptic, unsettling, armed with riddles rather than reassurance, he begins to unravel the mystery shrouding her life. But every answer pulls back the curtain on an ancient, vast darkness.

When a serial killer enters her world, she tells herself fear is rational. But when her visions bleed into her waking hours, they don’t belong to just her nightmares anymore. And no amount of desperate searching—through her own “power”—can explain what is coming for her.

Beth’s search for truth will shatter everything she’s ever known. A truth the shadows already know. Follow this spine-chilling supernatural thriller that weaves spiritual warfare, psychological suspense, and a raw hunger for faith until the final, breathless page.

For fans of novels by Frank Peretti, Ted Dekker, and C.S. Lewis’ “The Screwtape Letters”. Watch Beth’s slow burn from fringe to faith, terrorized to triumph, haunted to healed.

Look for a behind-the-scenes post the first part of July—Free but to Subscribers, only: Want the true behind-the-scenes stories from What The Shadows Know? I’ll be releasing a Director’s Cut, periodically—Only to subscribers. It’ll include narrative stories about my supernatural encounters, my Christian faith behind the words, and inspiration for characters, scenes, or events in the episodes.

If you want to support my work another way, I’d be honored if you’d consider buying A Life of Creative Purpose—Embrace Uniqueness, Explore Boldness, Encourage Faith.

Are you feeling stuck in a cycle of “busy” but lacking a sense of true fulfillment? Do you feel a tug at your heart to create, to lead, or to serve, but aren’t sure how to bridge the gap between where you are and where God is calling you?

Your unique talents aren’t accidental—they are your compass. Through a powerful blend of personal journey and practical strategy for your personal growth, A Life of Creative Purpose helps you pinpoint the invisible barriers standing between you and your God-given calling. This foundational guide serves as a timeless go-to whether you are just starting your faith journey, looking to reignite your passion for God’s call, or struggling to understand what God has for you. These truths transcend the trends of the day.

Previously: A serial killer isn’t just hiding; he’s watching Beth through the veil, pulling her deeper into the shadows.

From Chapter 20: Near a fresh mound of dirt, a man walked toward a car, his back to her. She strained for the license plate. Nothing. Just a smear of tan or beige, the car itself nondescript, forgettable.

He stopped. Slowly, his head began to turn, a hat dipped low, shadowing his face. She willed him to look as she locked her gaze on him, begging for his face to catch the light.

A scar, a jawline, any detail she could take back with her

His head lifted to the sky, searching. Then, impossibly, his glance found the exact spot where she somehow hung suspended, invisibly watching.

Could he see her?

It wasn’t possible. She wasn’t really there. This was a vision, vivid and sharp as a hyper-real movie, unfolding while she was awake. Yet, his shadowed face, still hidden under the hat, pointed right at her.

He couldn’t see her. Right?

But his head held steady, unflinching, in her direction. A shockwave rippled through her as she gasped, the air catching in a single sharp breath.

He knew she was there. He wasn’t just looking up. He was looking right at her.

As if he could see her.

But how?

PREVIOUS CHAPTER 20 | CHAPTER 22 | START FROM CHAPTER 1

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The week after Christmas settled into a gray, quiet stretch of winter. Many decorations returned to boxes and pine trees were hauled off, the excitement fading into the long slog of dreary days.

The cafe buzzed with a low murmur of regulars, but the walls looked bare without tinsel and lights. After the merry-making of the season, it felt stripped down, bereft, the same as everything else lately.

Beth chose to sit in the back, out of view of the window, the smell of burnt coffee and maple syrup doing little to settle her stomach. Booths lined the far wall, their green vinyl cracked with age that stuck to the back of your legs during the humid, summer months.

Beth’s knee bounced under the table, causing the booth to shake. Her eyes stayed locked on the entrance, coffee going cold and untouched in front of her.

Every nerve braced for the door to open. Then, without warning, a face bobbed up above the booth seats.

She sprang from her seat, a knee slamming against the table’s support. Beth ignored the pain throbbing in her leg.

Her sister, Lily, entered tall and regal, wearing classy Ralph Lauren slacks and a chunky blazer, its wide-shouldered padding announcing her before she said a word. A thin gold chain caught the light at her throat, one diamond flashing even in the dim wash of the cafe.

Lily paused, scanning the room when her eyes lit up.

Beth closed the gap between them, going for a hug as they always did. They leaned in at the same angle, noses nearly colliding. Both laughed, just enough to smooth the awkwardness a little.

“Well, let’s get a look at ya.” Lily pulled out of the hug, her hands on Beth’s elbows with her at arm’s length to see her better. No matter how much Lily had moved up in social status, she’d kept her southern drawl. Beth, however, had lost most of her twang and also lived a less refined life than her sister. But she didn’t mind.

“It’s been a while.”

“You ain’t lyin’.” Lily followed Beth as they returned to the booth she’d been occupying just a moment before.

Beth glanced around the shop to see if anyone noticed them, but some customers stared at their coffee, others at a newspaper, while the rest talked to the person next to them.

Silence settled between the two sisters, a familiar one, as they sat across from each other. The old rhythm of having a shared past somehow let them fall back into each other with ease.

So why did it never last? Why could they not make it stick once they walked away from each other?

A waitress in a dingy white apron came over to get Lily’s order, replacing Beth’s cold coffee with a fresh one, adding a glass of water. With a pen in hand, she held her small notepad, ready.

Lily smiled, warm with affection. She greeted the waitress as if they’d known each other all their lives. No matter how much money she (or her husband) had, she wasn’t one to turn her nose up at strangers.

Beth admired that about her. More than her money or status. Beth didn’t care a fig about any of that. But to engage with open-hearted kindness? That was something she hadn’t mastered.

“Just a coffee, sweetie.” Lily opened the coarse napkin, the silverware rolled inside, while carefully placing the white paper over her lap.

“How have you been? Mom said you seem happy. Spent Christmas at the in-laws.” Beth attempted to start the conversation, having become out of practice at talking to her own sister. It’d been so long since it’d been just the two of them.

“Bless their hearts, they know how to throw a party! Otherwise, life is the same ol’ same ol’.” Lily glanced around the shop before looking back at Beth, lowering her voice. “Mama said you’d been helpin’ with that Sammy case? How’d that go?”

“Well. It was different from the one with Amelia.” Beth took a slow sip of her lemon water, throat tight, stomach roiling like it might revolt right there at the table.

“At least they found her. Lawd, horrible what happened. Both of’em, but ‘specially Sammy, poor thang.”

“Pure evil. Straight up, evil.” A sinking boulder seemed to hit the bottom of Beth’s stomach. Acid bubbled up her throat, burning like a trail of fire. Less than two months ago, the case had ended, but it lived on in her nightmares, worse than any other.

“You, Beth Ann, cracked that case wide open — don’t you dare let anybody tell you differen’. Doesn’t matter one bit that nobody else’ll know it. You’ll know. And that oughta be enough.”

Beth wrapped both hands around her coffee mug, allowing the heat to seep into her palms as she stared at the pale swirls floating across the surface of her latte. Anything to keep her eyes from drifting, from landing on Lily’s face and giving away what she couldn’t say out loud.

The vision wouldn’t leave her. The murky shadows, the fresh dirt, the man walking away from it all. And the way he’d stopped, turned, and looked through whatever had let her see him through the veil, straight at her.

She’d tried blinking it away a dozen times already this morning. It clung anyway, the way a horror movie does, playing behind her eyes long after the screen’s gone dark.

She wished, more than anything, that she could unsee it.

“You okay?” Lily ducked her head, trying to catch Beth’s eyes over the rim of her cup.

“Yeah.”

Beth forced her mouth into something like a smile. But it didn’t hold.

Copyright (C) 2026 T.H. Meyer, Author. All rights reserved.

Thanks for reading Faith & Fringe! This post is public. Feel free to share it.

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What the Shadows Know—Beth Cane’s glass-house life sits on the shifting sands of New Age promises and unhealed echoes of a traumatic childhood. After being haunted by creeping shadows and disturbing visions, she accepts that she was marked at birth—cursed. But when she encounters a cryptic stranger, his riddles penetrate through the heavy veil of darkness and confusion.

In a world of magic and self-help, the brightest light reveals the blackest shadow once a possessed stalker starts hunting Beth and her family. Hell’s fury appears in both the flesh and the unseen realm, where trust is blurred, and deception is a matter of life or death. In an epic showdown to escape the entities seeking to destroy her, Beth must embrace a mysterious and ancient truth. One that will shatter everything she’s ever known.

Watch Beth’s slow burn from fringe to faith—terrorized to triumph—haunted to healed. For fans of novels by Frank Peretti and Ted Dekker. Expect a bumpy but redemptive ride—eventually.

Look for a behind-the-scenes post the first part of July—Free but to Subscribers, only: Want the true behind-the-scenes stories from What The Shadows Know? I’ll be releasing a Director’s Cut, periodically—Only to subscribers. It’ll include narrative stories about my supernatural encounters, my Christian faith behind the words, and inspiration for characters, scenes, or events in the episodes.

If you want to support my work another way, I’d be honored if you’d consider buying A Life of Creative Purpose—Embrace Uniqueness, Explore Boldness, Encourage Faith.

Are you feeling stuck in a cycle of “busy” but lacking a sense of true fulfillment? Do you feel a tug at your heart to create, to lead, or to serve, but aren’t sure how to bridge the gap between where you are and where God is calling you?

Your unique talents aren’t accidental—they are your compass. Through a powerful blend of personal journey and practical strategy for your personal growth, A Life of Creative Purpose helps you pinpoint the invisible barriers standing between you and your God-given calling. This foundational guide serves as a timeless go-to whether you are just starting your faith journey, looking to reignite your passion for God’s call, or struggling to understand what God has for you. These truths transcend the trends of the day.

Previously: A handsome reporter lures Beth back into the dark realm of a missing person’s case, putting her in the crosshairs of a killer. In a local cafe, Beth reluctantly considers joining forces with him, so long as she stays absolutely anonymous.

From Chapter 19—

Together they both sat quietly, each lost in their own thoughts.

A deep breath filled Beth’s lungs, causing her shoulders to rise, then slowly sink as she let the air out. “Let’s just see what happens with this missing case.”

Her gaze met Jake’s, her brow furrowed with concern.

“I can’t promise anything.”

PREVIOUS CHAPTER 19 | NEXT CHAPTER 21 | START FROM CHAPTER 1

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“I have faith,” Jake said, grabbing her hand in a gesture of reassurance.

Yanking her hand back, Beth shoved it into her lap. She glanced at him, her eyes wavering on his tanned face before they dropped to his rugged jaw. Jerking her head to the side, she peered out the window, watching the bitter wind tug dead leaves down the sidewalk.

“Looks cold out there,” he said, even though his eyes stayed on her while she nodded.

Taking a deep breath, she turned, faced him, and reached for her half of the muffin, holding it up in the air. With her eyes, she signaled for him to pick up the other half.

Each holding their piece, they did a little “cheers”, tapping their halves together. When the slender blonde waitress watched from a distance, frowning, Beth raised her half-muffin in the blonde’s direction as if toasting.

Unaware that the girl had stormed off, Jake said, “A few days from now? Same time, same place?”

“Sure,” she said. “Let’s report back then. Or sooner if anything comes up.”

Jake insisted on paying for her items as Beth thanked him, before they left in opposite directions.

Living only a couple of blocks away, she walked home. Her legs felt cast in iron, each step as if the pavement itself pulled at her soles. Doubt rode low and heavy in her chest, asking the question with the same insistent voice as she stepped onto her porch.

Why had she let herself get tangled in Sammy’s case at all?

Once inside, the door clicked shut behind her. She slumped into it, shoulders pressing against the wood. Her heartbeat thudded loud in her ears, a tightness winding through her body, when the phone shattered the silence.

Beth answered. “Hello?”

“Hey, Hon.”

“Hi, Mom. I planned on calling. What did the doctors find out?”

“Nothing so far. They are scheduling me for more tests after Christmas.” Her mom’s voice sounded deceptively upbeat.

Beth squinted, her forehead furrowed as she listened, not trusting the good news. “Just a waiting game, I suppose.” She rubbed her arm, trying not to think the worst.

“How are things with you?”

“Oh, you know, a failed marriage, and a mom with a mystery illness. Really got it all together over here.” Beth’s laugh came out thin, more air than sound. She pressed her thumbnail into the pad of her finger, hard enough to leave a mark.

“You, ok?” Her mom asked. “You seem distracted. You’re not worried, are you? Because I’m not.”

“No…maybe. Just a little, I guess. But they haven’t found anything, so that’s good.”

“What is it, Hon?”

“You have enough on your plate.”

Beth twisted the phone cord in one hand, wrapping it between her fingers, wondering whether to tell her mom about the recent case. Sitting down on the couch, the line stretched like a slinky spring from the kitchen.

“Spill the beans, it’ll help me take my mind off these stupid tests.”

Kicking her shoes off, Beth tucked her feet under her. “Remember Jake, the reporter?”

“Of course. Handsome fella. I think he knows it too,” her mom remembered.

“He found me and called. We’ve been meeting the last couple of weeks.”

“You’re dating?!”

“No!” Beth said, blushing. “Goodness,” she chuckled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s about Sammy.”

“Oh.”

Her mom went quiet, the kind of quiet that said more than words could. She’d been following the Sammy case too, after all. Beth could practically hear the worry pooling on the other end of the line.

“I’ll be an anonymous source. That’s why we’ve been meeting,” Beth said, trying to smooth the worry out of her tone.

“Last time it was hard on you, Beth. You sure?”

“I feel I have too,” Beth said, the words coming out firmer than anything else she’d felt all day. “Besides, I’ll be behind the scenes. No one’s ever going to know.”

“You’re a grown woman. Just be careful, Hon,” her mom said, her voice soft with concern. “Hate to be a party-pooper, but I need to go. Just wanted to update you.”

“Thanks, Mom. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

~~~

—a couple days later—

Tomorrow Beth was due to meet Jake again. But the last two nights had left her empty-handed, just a silent, pale hush. Nothing had reached her from beyond the realm or wherever visions were supposed to come from.

Just as she’d feared, her “power” had failed her, if she’d ever really had one to begin with. A cold, greasy sweat prickled along her neck and created a sheen on her palms. Even in the drafty room, a deeper cold settled into her bones, a shiver that had nothing to do with the temperature.

What will she tell Jake?

And Sammy. What if — no. She wouldn’t finish that thought, not when Sammy’s family was already drowning in it. The not-knowing had teeth; it gnawed at everyone, and worse at Sammy’s family who woke to it every morning like a fresh wound.

Beth’s stomach twisted, acid scalding the back of her throat. She swallowed hard, forcing down the thought before it could take shape.

They needed answers.

She needed one.

Just a single result. One clue. That’s all she was asking.

Maybe this was more than she could handle. But the case was going cold by the hour, and she could feel it slipping through her fingers like sand.

Doubt crept in, persistent.

Tonight, she’d give it one last try, recreating the night Amelia had come to her, down to the silence, down to the stillness of the room.

She squeezed her eyes shut, and Sammy’s face rose behind them the way Amelia’s once had. Color bloomed against her lids, resolving into that smile from the news segment, frozen and too bright. She let her mind go untethered, urgency clawing at her chest.

She needed this to work.

But her failures crowded in instead. Her divorce. Her sister, gone quiet for months. Her mom, still waiting on results. The deadlines stacking up, untouched. You can’t even hold your own life together, the voice in her head said. What makes you think you can find her?

She shot up from the couch, pacing the length of the room and back, then dropped down again, jaw tight with frustration. She tried again, eyes shut, willing the noise in her head to quiet.

Come on, give me something.

Minutes stretched, thick and shapeless, until they felt like hours.

Eventually, the hair on her neck lifted, prickling. The air went static, charged with a low-frequency ring needling in her ears. Fear clawed its familiar path up her spine, vertebra by vertebra.

Her limbs were unmovable, pinned by something she couldn’t see, couldn’t fight. She strained against it and found nothing to push against. Just a stillness, absolute and wrong.

Shadows shifted at the edges of the room. The temperature dropped in a single plunging breath, and her body shook from the cold or from terror. She couldn’t tell which, and it didn’t matter anymore.

The shadows knew. They knew she was looking for Sammy.

Perhaps she’d misunderstood them all along. What if they hadn’t come to haunt her? What if they’d come to help? To show her the way. To hand her the answer she’d been begging for.

As hard as it was, she made herself go slack, let the electricity crawl unchecked across her scalp. Surrender, she realized, was the way through, the only way to see what the shadows saw. The room kept dropping in temperature, and she let it, turning her thoughts outward, toward whatever they knew.

A vision rose behind her eyes. She was rising too.

Over the trees in her backyard, over the amber glow of streetlamps, higher, until the lights faded and vanished and there was only the black sprawl of countryside beneath a moonless sky. Goosebumps needled her skin with dread. Wherever this place was, it was silent in a way that felt final.

Sammy.

A suffocating mix hit the back of her throat: copper, damp cellar earth, and the cloying sting of electrified air. Her own breath came ragged and shallow, too loud in the silence.

Near a fresh mound of dirt, a man walked toward a car, his back to her. She strained for the license plate. Nothing. Just a smear of tan or beige, the car itself nondescript, forgettable.

He stopped. Slowly, his head began to turn, a hat dipped low, shadowing his face. She willed him to look as she locked her gaze on him, begging for his face to catch the light.

A scar, a jawline, any detail she could take back with her

His head lifted to the sky, searching. Then, impossibly, his glance found the exact spot where she somehow hung suspended, invisibly watching.

Could he see her?

It wasn’t possible. She wasn’t really there. This was a vision, vivid and sharp as a hyper-real movie, unfolding while she was awake. Yet, his shadowed face, still hidden under the hat, pointed right at her.

He couldn’t see her. Right?

But his head held steady, unflinching, in her direction. A shockwave rippled through her as she gasped, the air catching in a single sharp breath.

He knew she was there. He wasn’t just looking up. He was looking right at her.

As if he could see her.

But how?

Copyright (C) 2026 T.H. Meyer, Author. All rights reserved.

Looking for books to add to your summer reads?

Find a book from this curated, no spice, eclectic list. You’ll also find K.D. Hendrix ‘s (my son) new book, The Weston Chronicles, available DIRECT before it hits Amazon.

SEARCH HERE

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What the Shadows Know—Beth Cane’s glass-house life sits on the shifting sands of New Age promises and unhealed echoes of a traumatic childhood. After being haunted by creeping shadows and disturbing visions, she accepts that she was marked at birth—cursed. But when she encounters a cryptic stranger, his riddles penetrate through the heavy veil of darkness and confusion.

In a world of magic and self-help, the brightest light reveals the blackest shadow once a possessed stalker starts hunting Beth and her family. Hell’s fury appears in both the flesh and the unseen realm, where trust is blurred, and deception is a matter of life or death. In an epic showdown to escape the entities seeking to destroy her, Beth must embrace a mysterious and ancient truth. One that will shatter everything she’s ever known.

Watch Beth’s slow burn from fringe to faith—terrorized to triumph—haunted to healed in this Christian supernatural thriller. For fans of novels by Frank Peretti and Ted Dekker. Expect a bumpy but redemptive ride—eventually.

Look for a behind-the-scenes post this Weekend—Free but to Subscribers, only: Want the true behind-the-scenes stories from What The Shadows Know? I’ll be releasing a Director’s Cut, periodically—Only to subscribers. It’ll include narrative stories about my supernatural encounters, my Christian faith behind the words, and inspiration for characters, scenes, or events in the episodes.

If you want to support my work another way, I’d be honored if you’d consider buying A Life of Creative Purpose—Embrace Uniqueness, Explore Boldness, Encourage Faith.

Are you feeling stuck in a cycle of “busy” but lacking a sense of true fulfillment? Do you feel a tug at your heart to create, to lead, or to serve, but aren’t sure how to bridge the gap between where you are and where God is calling you?

Your unique talents aren’t accidental—they are your compass. Through a powerful blend of personal journey and practical strategy for your personal growth, A Life of Creative Purpose helps you pinpoint the invisible barriers standing between you and your God-given calling. This foundational guide serves as a timeless go-to whether you are just starting your faith journey, looking to reignite your passion for God’s call, or struggling to understand what God has for you. These truths transcend the trends of the day.

From the previous episode:

Jake Foster, who writes for a newspaper in Atlanta, reaches out for Beth’s psychic help. She remembers him when she had worked the Amelia missing person’s case.

She’d read two lines of his letter: “Beth, the public needs your help one more time. I want to talk to you about….” She didn’t need to see the rest, throwing it across her living room.

But then he called.

Wanted to meet.

And she found herself saying “yes”.

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PREVIOUS CHAPTER 18 | Next CHAPTER 20 | CHAPTER 1 «««<

Stepping outside, the leaves rustled overhead as a cool October breeze caressed Beth’s face, replacing the sweltering heat of the familiar Georgia summer. The rich smells of tangy red clay mingled with citrusy pine needles in the crisp air.

Halloween season had arrived. Skeletal figures and cobweb-draped tombstones leered from neighboring lawns. By day, the makeshift pine boxes and tangled ghoulish linens looked almost foolish, like discarded theater props. But when midnight cut the light, the wood seemed to rot into the soil, and the cloths seemed to come alive, reaching out into the dark.

Beth embraced the walk, a refreshing departure from the quiet confines of her home. Thankfully, it was an early Saturday afternoon with plenty of daylight left.

She had been watching the dramatic headlines of another missing 6-year-old, reminding her of Amelia. The police had come up empty. At least that’s what they had shared, publicly.

When Beth saw Samantha’s pigtails and toothless smile on the ten o’clock news, she tuned in just like everyone else. But nothing significant had been highlighted beyond the realm. Devoid of any vision, clue, or hint about the events, her mind was a blank slate despite the numerous announcements.

Sammy.

That’s what her family had nicknamed her. And now, the media did too.

Beth grabbed her sweater, tightening the fabric around her as she shivered while increasing her pace. Her eyes stayed fixed on the cracked concrete beneath her as she arrived at the cafe in record time.

For two weeks, Beth had met with Jake for coffee a few blocks from her older two-story house.

When she went inside, he already occupied what had become their regular spot, a booth near the large picture window facing the street, two mugs already waiting. Every encounter with him, he’d assured her that she would remain an anonymous source.

No publicity.

No name in the press.

No leak that she was involved.

Beth slid into the seat across from him. The sharp, toasted bitterness of freshly ground espresso collided with the sweet, caramelized warmth of steamed milk and a faint, comforting drift of cinnamon.

He cupped his mug with both hands, steam wafting with hints of chocolate and coffee aromas. Once she was settled, he pulled out several pages of neatly typed papers, placing them on the table.

“I brought it, like you asked. My ‘anonymous source’,” he said with a wink.

She couldn’t tell if he was flirting with her or trying to use his charm to get her to sign.

Probably both.

She gave his face a quick, searching glance. “If I sign this, nobody will know I’m involved?”

Holding the pen, hesitant, she chewed on her bottom lip while focusing on the print in front of her.

“Legally bound to keep you confidential,” he said, smiling, showing his straight, dazzling white teeth.

Beth pretended to read the document again, glancing over the words. She paused, the quiet hum of people talking in the subtle backdrop as she weighed her choices.

Her face became rigid, jaw locked, as the image of Sammy and her family flashed in her mind. A cold, heavy dread dropped straight to her stomach, souring it instantly.

As she tried to concentrate, Jake’s charismatic personality made it even harder to think clearly. She avoided eye contact, focusing instead on the weight of her decision.

A slender blonde waitress with a low-cut top sauntered in their direction with a coffee pot, even though their mugs were still brimming.

“Need a refill?” she asked coyly, facing Jake with her back to Beth.

“No, thanks,” he said, smiling.

The server leaned in with one hand on the table, her cleavage on full display. “Anything else I can get?”

Beth interrupted, a bit loudly, “Just one of those giant muffins on the counter will be great.”

Without taking her eyes off Jake, the waitress said, “Two muffins, coming right up.”

“Nope, only one SINGLE muffin. We’re sharing,” Beth said, her stare unwavering at the back of the waitress’ head.

“One? You sure?” She asked, her pouty smile fading as she looked at Beth, then back at Jake to confirm.

Beth’s voice rose, tinged with impatience, as she shot a frustrated look at the blonde. “Definitely one. We like our blueberries, right, honey?” She tilted her head toward Jake, her eyes challenging him to play along.

“Uh…yes, always,” he answered, amusement in his eyes.

The young woman stomped back to the counter, slamming the coffeepot down on the hot plate. The violent clang caused a suspended hush in the entire shop, for a split second, as every head whipped around to look.

“Trying to keep me all to yourself,” Jake said, eyeing Beth.

Beth turned to see where the waitress went and saw her occupied, talking to the other girl on shift. “Don’t get too full of yourself.” Not sure they were out of earshot, she lowered her voice. “How am I supposed to be ‘anonymous’ when googly-eyes over there is listening to every word?”

“You’re right.” He said, grinning as he placed a pen on the table. “So what do you think?”

Beth looked at the paper one last time before grabbing the pen and signing.

For Sammy.

She pushed the pen and papers back to Jake, crossing her arms with elbows planted firmly on the table. “Tell me what else you know so far.”

“Nothing really.” He spoke barely above a whisper, causing Beth to lean across the table to hear him. “The police really have no clues. A true cold file. Also, I overheard them talking about a few old cases where the girls were never found.”

“Old cases? Strange.”

“Yeah. Something about how they’d ‘seen this before’, a possible ‘serial killer’ or a copycat. One from over 20 years ago.”

“That long? Wow. I would’ve been the same age as Amelia and Sammy. Scary to think of.”

“Other than that. I’ve got nothing.”

“Well, I guess, the less I know—the better.” Beth looked down at her hands, remembering back to her first case. “With Amelia, it helped not knowing too much.”

“Think you can do it again?”

“Don’t know. It’s not like I can turn it off and on. Maybe some people can. Not me.”

“Then how does it work?”

“If I knew, I’d be rich.” Beth let out a big sigh, frustrated that Sammy was still missing and nobody knew where she was.

Although she wanted to help, part of her wondered if she was doing it for Jake too.

She hated to admit it.

During her marriage, River didn’t like Jake—called him “Jake the Snake”. And now, Beth was working with him, covertly.

“I just remember how it was during the Amelia case. Media swarming my house like paparazzi.” Beth’s leg bounced under the table, hoping this time would be different.

“You always peeked out the window. I remember that.”

“It wasn’t easy living in a fishbowl.” Beth dropped her gaze to the table, rubbing her hands together, slightly agitated.

“I guess your career took off,” she said, her voice flat, the words coated with a twinge of angst. “Received an award, if I remember correctly? I mean—at least, you got something out of it—or rather, it was good for you, I guess.”

Beth fought to keep her voice level, but the mention of the press brought it all rushing back—the flashing cameras, the shouting, the suffocating feeling of being hunted. Her fingers clamped onto her ceramic mug, squeezing until the blood left her knuckles and her hand began to ache.

“Thanks to you, that is. For the Amelia case and what you did.” Jake said, as Beth refused to look at him.

Suddenly, a plate rattled on the table between them as a waitress plopped it down, interrupting their conversation.

“One blueberry muffin,” said the brunette.

Beth looked around the shop. “Where did the other waitress go? The blonde one?”

“Oh, she had to help other customers,” the new one stated, pointing across the room before walking off and disappearing behind two swinging doors that Beth assumed was the kitchen.

Sitting on a faded, worn plate, Jake and Beth stared at the blueberry muffin the size of a man’s fist. Taking a butterknife, Beth cut the breaded behemoth.

Together they both sat quietly, each lost in their own thoughts.

A deep breath filled Beth’s lungs, causing her shoulders to rise, then slowly sink as she let the air out. “Let’s just see what happens with this missing case.”

Her gaze met Jake’s, her brow furrowed with concern.

“I can’t promise anything.”

Copyright (C) 2026 T.H. Meyer, Author. All rights reserved.

Looking for books to add to your summer reads?

Find a book from this curated, no spice, eclectic list. You’ll also find ‘s (my son) new book, The Weston Chronicles, available DIRECT before it hits Amazon.

SEARCH HERE

Thanks for reading Faith & Fringe! This post is public. Feel free to share it.

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What the Shadows Know—Beth Cane’s glass-house life sits on the shifting sands of New Age promises and unhealed echoes of a traumatic childhood. After being haunted by creeping shadows and disturbing visions, she accepts that she was marked at birth—cursed. But when she encounters a cryptic stranger, his riddles penetrate through the heavy veil of darkness and confusion.

In a world of magic and self-help, the brightest light reveals the blackest shadow once a possessed stalker starts hunting Beth and her family. Hell’s fury appears in both the flesh and the unseen realm, where trust is blurred, and deception is a matter of life or death. In an epic showdown to escape the entities seeking to destroy her, Beth must embrace a mysterious and ancient truth. One that will shatter everything she’s ever known.

Watch Beth’s slow burn from fringe to faith—terrorized to triumph—haunted to healed. For fans of novels by Frank Peretti and Ted Dekker. Expect a bumpy but redemptive ride—eventually.

Look for a behind-the-scenes post the first part of July—Free but to Subscribers, only: Want the true behind-the-scenes stories from What The Shadows Know? I’ll be releasing a Director’s Cut, periodically—Only to subscribers. It’ll include narrative stories about my supernatural encounters, my Christian faith behind the words, and inspiration for characters, scenes, or events in the episodes.

If you want to support my work another way, I’d be honored if you’d consider buying A Life of Creative Purpose—Embrace Uniqueness, Explore Boldness, Encourage Faith.

Are you feeling stuck in a cycle of “busy” but lacking a sense of true fulfillment? Do you feel a tug at your heart to create, to lead, or to serve, but aren’t sure how to bridge the gap between where you are and where God is calling you?

Your unique talents aren’t accidental—they are your compass. Through a powerful blend of personal journey and practical strategy for your personal growth, A Life of Creative Purpose helps you pinpoint the invisible barriers standing between you and your God-given calling. This foundational guide serves as a timeless go-to whether you are just starting your faith journey, looking to reignite your passion for God’s call, or struggling to understand what God has for you. These truths transcend the trends of the day.

Previously from Episode 17:

She glanced at him, his entire face beaming. But this time, something peculiar caught her eye. Beth leaned over for a better look. She tried not to stare, but she couldn’t help herself.

Phillip carried an otherworldly light—a glow. It emanated from him.

As if smoldering coals blazed inside.

Even though a couple of people stood near him, the brilliance was only on him—no one else.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER 17 | NEXT CHAPTER 19 | START FROM CHAPTER 1

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She’d read in her new-age books about the concept of people having “auras.”

This was different. Not that Beth had ever seen an aura, unless you count the shadows as one.

Beth risked another look to confirm she had not imagined it. Her eyes darted to his workstation as he whistled.

Yes. There it was.

A glowing countenance rested on him, poured out of him.

Unmistakable.

As if it highlighted his face at the same time.

She scanned the room to see if the others saw it too. But nobody seemed to notice. Why would they? She never did.

Until today.

She could never forget the way a shadowy presence, an angry pulsating presence, had twisted her father’s face as if it possessed him. Like a black hole in a solar system of souls. An imploding star sucking every living thing in its path.

Not a color of gray or black or dark brown, exactly.

More like….the opposite of light.

Beth had become accustomed to seeing only shadows.

But light? This glow?

She didn’t have the vocabulary to describe what it was. Yet it appeared. Opaque, but not exactly white or yellow—but subtly bright.

Definitely glowing.

Is this what Paul had talked about?

Observing her coworker from a distance, she saw he exuded a palpable sense of calm. A peace that was lacking in her own life. Something she wished to have.

Craved, actually.

Growing up, she had rarely known people who went to church or carried this type of…serenity. Only the painting on her childhood wall could evoke such a familiar feeling.

Beth chided herself. She needed to work. Needed to focus and not get distracted, as she clearly had already. Concentrating on her files, she attempted to make some progress. Deadlines don’t resolve on their own, after all.

She spent the rest of the day whittling down her stack of papers, losing track of time. Eventually, people started trickling out, one by one. Each one clocked out at different times depending on what projects they had. Beth was one of the last to leave, gathering her purse to head home.

She’d decided to call Paul. Tell him about Phillip.

She drove the short distance to her house and made a beeline for the phone on her kitchen wall. With the receiver still in hand, she noticed her mail on the counter underneath it. A return address made her stop.

She hung up before dialing. Grabbing the envelope, she was baffled. Turning it over, she studied the front and back, undecided if she should open it.

What could it possibly say?

She didn’t personally know the sender.

Jake Foster.

He wrote for a newspaper in Atlanta. She remembered him when she was working on the Amelia case. All the other reporters were drawn to his charismatic presence.

Slowly, she opened it, unsure of why he’d write her.

She pulled out the letter. Read two lines.

“Beth, the public needs your help one more time. I want to talk to you about….” She didn’t need to see the rest.

She crumpled the paper into a tight ball, throwing it across the room.

Not again!

Not this time. They’ll have to figure it out without her.

Beth was done. She didn’t want to live through that again, especially the scrutiny and barrage of media.

And hate mail? No, thank you.

She’d finally gotten back to a somewhat normal life. This would set her back.

Cost too much.

And the glow? That perplexing light on Phillip. She needed to clear her head.

Paul would know.

Thrusting her hand toward the phone, it suddenly came to life, rumbling under her palm with a loud ring-ring cadence. The sound caused her to jump, heart thumping, as she answered.

“Hello?”

“Beth,” the male voice said. “We need to talk.”

When she didn’t answer, he said, “This is Jake Foster. Can we meet somewhere? It’ll be confidential. Promise.”

Beth closed her eyes, swearing under her breath, her body rigid. She couldn’t believe he was on the line.

How did he get her number?

She opened her eyes, gazing out the kitchen window.

“Beth?”

Silence.

“You there?”

She let out a long sigh.

“I just wanta talk. That’s all.”

She should hang up.

Why was she still listening?

Beth pressed the phone to her ear, her thoughts racing to find a graceful way to end the call. She never would have guessed he’d be the one on the other end. A nervous energy coursed through her, like an electric current, while her heart fluttered like a trapped bird against her ribs.

“Please.”

Her voice felt like a brittle thread as she uttered in a faint whisper.

“Sure….Where?”

Copyright (C) 2026 T.H. Meyer, Author. All rights reserved.

Thanks for reading Faith & Fringe! This post is public. Feel free to share it.

Share

What the Shadows Know—Beth Cane’s glass-house life sits on the shifting sands of New Age promises and unhealed echoes of a traumatic childhood. After being haunted by creeping shadows and disturbing visions, she accepts that she was marked at birth—cursed. But when she encounters a cryptic stranger, his riddles penetrate through the heavy veil of darkness and confusion.

In a world of magic and self-help, the brightest light reveals the blackest shadow once a possessed stalker starts hunting Beth and her family. Hell’s fury appears in both the flesh and the unseen realm, where trust is blurred, and deception is a matter of life or death. In an epic showdown to escape the entities seeking to destroy her, Beth must embrace a mysterious and ancient truth. One that will shatter everything she’s ever known.

Watch Beth’s slow burn from fringe to faith—terrorized to triumph—haunted to healed. For fans of novels by Frank Peretti and Ted Dekker. Expect a bumpy but redemptive ride—eventually.

I’m working on the next episode of the Director’s Cut! Look for a behind-the-scenes post the middle of July—Free but to Subscribers, only: Want the true behind-the-scenes stories from What The Shadows Know? I’ll be releasing a Director’s Cut, periodically—Only to subscribers. It’ll include narrative stories about my supernatural encounters, my Christian faith behind the words, and inspiration for characters, scenes, or events in the episodes.

If you want to support my work another way, I’d be honored if you’d consider buying A Life of Creative Purpose—Embrace Uniqueness, Explore Boldness, Encourage Faith.

Are you feeling stuck in a cycle of “busy” but lacking a sense of true fulfillment? Do you feel a tug at your heart to create, to lead, or to serve, but aren’t sure how to bridge the gap between where you are and where God is calling you?

Your unique talents aren’t accidental—they are your compass. Through a powerful blend of personal journey and practical strategy for your personal growth, A Life of Creative Purpose helps you pinpoint the invisible barriers standing between you and your God-given calling. This foundational guide serves as a timeless go-to whether you are just starting your faith journey, looking to reignite your passion for God’s call, or struggling to understand what God has for you. These truths transcend the trends of the day.

As writers of “clean,” wholesome, or faith-based fiction, we often face a quiet skepticism. There is a persistent myth in the literary world that to write something powerful, gritty, or deeply resonant, you must include explicit content, graphic language, or visceral bedroom scenes.

But let’s set the record straight: Clean does not mean bland.

Will some readers or writing peers think your work is stripped of immersive storytelling? Will they assume the prose is devoid of rich world-building just because you chose to leave certain things off the page?

Probably.

So why write “clean” at all?

Widening the Net, Not Narrowing It

There is a massive, often quieter, market for stories that don’t require readers to filter out gratuitous content to enjoy a good plot. And this isn’t just confined to “Christian fiction” market boxes.

When you write clean fiction, you aren’t shrinking your audience pool—you are widening it. You are writing for:

• Families and Book Clubs: Multigenerational readers who want to share a book without awkwardness.

• Teens and Young Adults: Next-generation readers looking for compelling journeys.

• The Content-Weary: Everyday readers of all backgrounds who crave stories aligning with core human values, redemptive arcs, and the ultimate triumph of good over evil.

• Faith-based readers: Reaching those who are sensitive to certain content.

Some people want the pure escapism of a Hallmark movie—and there is beautiful value in that. But for those of us writing high-stakes, deep-cutting narrative fiction, “clean” doesn’t mean easy-breezy heroes walking through fields of rainbows and butterflies.

“Today’s Christian fiction leads with quality storytelling and is worthy of trial by readers of ‘clean’ fiction in a wide range of genres.” —Karen Watson, publisher at Tyndale Fiction (Publisher Weekly, Redefining Christian Fiction)

The Light Shines Brighter in Darkness

You can explore the deepest, heaviest depths of human trauma, moral conflict, spiritual struggles, and visceral evil without being explicit. In fact, bypassing the crutch of shock-value profanity or graphic violence forces us to become better craftsmen.

Look at my own work: I serialize a clean, supernatural suspense thriller. It’s creepy. My readers walk alongside my main character, Beth, through a thick sense of dread rooted in childhood trauma. She deals with an abusive relationship, a stalker, and a serial killer. She grapples with a faith she’s deeply skeptical of, making messy choices and inviting real spiritual darkness into her life.

It is gritty. It is heavy. But it remains entirely free of cursing, sex scenes, and gratuitous, nihilistic violence.

The Core Truth: A lit match shines brightest in a pitch-black room. When you write real darkness and moral conflict into your stories, the light of redemption, hope, and resilience contrasts even more brilliantly.

You craft stories in a dark world that still show resilience, human character challenges, overall positive themes, or uplifting arcs without sacrificing the stakes.

“Readers may arrive for clean content or faith alignment, but repeat sales come from emotional precision. The story has to deliver desire, conflict, conviction, and a resolution that feels earned. Clean content sets expectations. It does not supply momentum, chemistry, or reader satisfaction by itself.”—Barker Books

The World is Starving for Triumphant Stories

Turn on the news any day of the week, and you’ll see a world starved for justice. People are exhausted by a culture steeped in cynicism, where wrongs are rarely righted, and heroes never arrive.

Clean fiction does not mean watered-down stories that avoid trauma.

Your readers want to know that the struggle matters. They want to see characters endure horrific trials and emerge on the other side victorious, even if that triumph doesn’t arrive until the very last chapter.

Do not let anyone minimize your calling or your craft. Writing faith-based or clean fiction isn’t about hiding from the reality of a broken world; it’s about showing people how to overcome it.

Keep writing the hard things. Keep raising the stakes. And keep holding up the light.

“The people who walked in darkness
Have seen a great light;
Those who dwelt in the land of the shadow of death,
Upon them a light has shined.” —Isaiah 9:2 NKJ

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Curated “Clean” Substack Reads:

Want a list of “clean” Reads? I’ve updated my list! These are writers who said they write “clean”. As much as I tried to look through content, I didn’t read every single story. So dm me if you see anything.

Substack Live on Writing “Clean” Horror & Supernatural Thrillers

If you missed it, Tricia Goyer and I did a Substack live on the “clean” but gritty, atmospheric world of writing thrillers and horror through the lens of faith. We share our hearts behind why we chose to step into the shadows, exploring how darker themes allow us to highlight deep truths, redemption, and light in unique ways.

We’ll also chat about how this high-stakes storytelling is a massive shift from what we’ve written in the past. And how challenging (or intimidating) it has been to step into these genres, not knowing how others would receive it.

Listen in on 2 authors talking about their process and what they hope readers find in these new-to-them styles of writing.

Another post, on my personal journey on writing a creepy thriller novel.

Blended Thriller: Mixing Demons, Faith, and Serial Killers

How a sunny-side-up nonfiction writer ended up giving herself nightmares--Faith with Flesh-and-Blood Evil.

If you want to support my work another way, I’d be honored if you’d consider buying A Life of Creative Purpose—Embrace Uniqueness, Explore Boldness, Encourage Faith.

Are you feeling stuck in a cycle of “busy” but lacking a sense of true fulfillment? Do you feel a tug at your heart to create, to lead, or to serve, but aren’t sure how to bridge the gap between where you are and where God is calling you?

This foundational guide serves as a timeless go-to whether you are just starting your faith journey, looking to reignite your passion for God’s call, or struggling to understand what God has for you. These truths transcend the trends of the day.

Previously from Episode 16:

…The book’s words had shut out the haunting that had hounded her. And for the first time in a long time, Beth blissfully rested.

In her deep slumber, she never saw the headlights that flickered on as a car engine roared to life, near the side street. The beige sedan slowly drove away as the burgeoning twilight swallowed the path behind it.

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Beth’s mind felt blank. It’d been over a week, exhaustion weighing on her and clouding her thoughts as Paul’s book faded under a load of weariness. Work brought a welcome change, an escape from the restless nights and haunting dreams.

She stood next to her cubicle, yawning and bleary-eyed. Working with a hodgepodge of folks, they each had their own quirky belief systems and personalities, including her own.

After the Amelia case, Beth had become a spectacle. She didn’t blend in like she used to. Her face had been splashed across the covers of every tabloid imaginable.

In the beginning, when she entered the office, a hush fell, and every head turned. The air had filled with whispers and the palpable tension of awkward stares as she moved through the office.

She regretted it.

Regretted coming forward. The police would’ve found Amelia. At least Beth hoped they would have. In hindsight, her efforts felt vain and foolish.

However, her peers gawked less these days. Perhaps they had decided she was a fluke. Thankfully, their burning curiosity and deep fascination had faded.

Within a large, bunker-style “office,” they worked in an open space. It resembled several conference rooms joined together, with no solid walls in place. Each desk station was a square, with a low bookcase forming two sides and an L-shaped desktop completing the enclosure.

Fluorescent lights droned and crackled, highlighting every mark and imperfection on the linoleum floor.

Because the area offered no privacy, Beth assumed it allowed them to become better acquainted versus being tucked away in a traditional office setting. Common spaces turned into places of conversation at the copier, the coffee station, or dropping papers off from one desk to another.

Feeling utterly drained, Beth collapsed into her chair. At least her work deadlines could provide a reprieve from her nightmares.

Grabbing some files, she noticed Billy walking in her direction. He was a man of few words, preferring his own company, marked by his reserved nature and eccentric habits.

He stopped dead in front of her desk, surprising her. A few uncomfortable seconds ticked by as he stared at her.

“I’m a Satanist,” he said, watching for her reaction.

Her face devoid of emotion, she blinked and looked directly at him. He didn’t look like much of one to her. At least, he bore no resemblance to any of her preconceived notions.

He seemed normal. Mousy even. Beth envisioned a Satanist with dark makeup or piercings or tattoos, or all black clothes.

Not him.

He stood there, his chin raised in a bold challenge, daring her to show surprise.

She smiled, nodded. “Ever seen anything supernatural?”

“No, not yet.” His face dropped in disappointment.

“It’ll scare the living daylights out of you. It seems cool until it happens when you’re all alone.”

He didn’t appear to be listening as he stared at a spot beyond her. When his gaze returned, he said, “I look forward to it,” as if he envied her.

“After which, you’ll never want to again.”

Beth couldn’t imagine someone who’d never had these kinds of experiences. But growing up, she realized it was not as common as she would’ve expected. At least, if it had happened, people weren’t casually talking about it.

Just as abruptly as he appeared, he raced back to his desk as she watched him retreat.

She could hear Phillip, her other coworker, crooning to a melody she didn’t recognize. He was quite the opposite of Billy, randomly breaking out in song.

As Phillip strolled by her desk, now whistling, Beth asked him what the tune was.

“A song from church,” he said before belting out a phrase.

She noticed he didn’t seem bothered that others didn’t have the same faith as him. And the grueling workloads didn’t faze him either, as everyone else snapped in irritation. He continued steadily on, regardless of the grumpy supervisor or the ridiculous drama that delved into its own soap opera.

He sang his way through it all. When the atmosphere felt tense, his voice went up in volume.

Phillip walked back to his desk, near hers. She shook her head, smiling as he switched to humming.

She glanced at him, his entire face beaming. But this time, something peculiar caught her eye. Beth leaned over for a better look. She tried not to stare, but she couldn’t help herself.

Phillip carried an otherworldly light—a glow. It emanated from him.

As if smoldering coals blazed inside.

Even though a couple of people stood near him, the brilliance was only on him—no one else.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER 16 | NEXT CHAPTER 18 | START FROM CHAPTER 1

Copyright (C) 2026 T.H. Meyer, Author. All rights reserved.

Thanks for reading Faith & Fringe! This post is public. Feel free to share it.

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What the Shadows Know—Beth Cane’s glass-house life sits on the shifting sands of New Age promises and unhealed echoes of a traumatic childhood. After being haunted by creeping shadows and disturbing visions, she accepts that she was marked at birth—cursed. But when she encounters a cryptic stranger, his riddles penetrate through the heavy veil of darkness and confusion.

In a world of magic and self-help, the brightest light reveals the blackest shadow once a possessed stalker starts hunting Beth and her family. Hell’s fury appears in both the flesh and the unseen realm, where trust is blurred, and deception is a matter of life or death. In an epic showdown to escape the entities seeking to destroy her, Beth must embrace a mysterious and ancient truth. One that will shatter everything she’s ever known.

Watch Beth’s slow burn from fringe to faith—terrorized to triumph—haunted to healed. For fans of novels by Frank Peretti and Ted Dekker. Expect a bumpy but redemptive ride—eventually.

Look for a behind-the-scenes post the first part of July—Free but to Subscribers, only: Want the true behind-the-scenes stories from What The Shadows Know? I’ll be releasing a Director’s Cut, periodically—Only to subscribers. It’ll include narrative stories about my supernatural encounters, my Christian faith behind the words, and inspiration for characters, scenes, or events in the episodes.

If you want to support my work another way, I’d be honored if you’d consider buying A Life of Creative Purpose—Embrace Uniqueness, Explore Boldness, Encourage Faith.

Are you feeling stuck in a cycle of “busy” but lacking a sense of true fulfillment? Do you feel a tug at your heart to create, to lead, or to serve, but aren’t sure how to bridge the gap between where you are and where God is calling you?

Your unique talents aren’t accidental—they are your compass. Through a powerful blend of personal journey and practical strategy for your personal growth, A Life of Creative Purpose helps you pinpoint the invisible barriers standing between you and your God-given calling. This foundational guide serves as a timeless go-to whether you are just starting your faith journey, looking to reignite your passion for God’s call, or struggling to understand what God has for you. These truths transcend the trends of the day.

Previously from Episode 15:

“He knew things….”

Beth stopped, her eyes searching the room as if the walls held the answer.

“You’re making me nervous, Hon. Was it bad?”

“No, no. Nothing like that,” Beth said, trying to explain. “It was as if he could see into my soul.”

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“Really,” her mom said, as if in thought.

“It seemed peculiar.” Beth tried to downplay how much it had affected her.

“Well, someone could say the same about you with visions, dreams, or whatever you call those.”

“When you put it that way…”

“Did he say why he sent it? The book?”

Beth mentally replayed her conversation with Paul, twirling the long phone cord with her finger.

“He said he had prayed.”

“That’s it?” It was more a statement than a question. “Anything else?”

Beth strained to recall the exact phrasing of Paul’s words, trying to clear her head. “‘Look for the light and its source.’ He mentioned that too.” As her words escaped, a cool wind carried the distinct scent of wet pine through an open window. It mingled with the sweet fragrance of pumpkin spice from a pie in the oven, an attempt to mask the smell of paint.

The brisk air embraced Beth, stirring within it a refreshing breath of optimism and hope.

“Hmmm. Sounds strange, but so does the stuff you tell me.”

“He seemed to understand me. Better than most people,” Beth explained, not sure that it made sense. “In a good way.”

“Seems it was positive. But sorry you didn’t get the answer you were looking for.”

“I don’t know what the question should be, let alone the answer.”

“Before we hang up, I need to tell you something,” her mom said slowly.

Beth listened, pressing the phone to her ear as her mom poured out what had been happening over the last several months.

“Just tests, Beth. Probably nothing.”

“Is it serious?”

“The doctors don’t seem to think so.”

“I’ll take you to your next appointment.”

“Let’s just wait for the results.” Her mom said. “I feel fine. I just get tired. That’s all. A precaution.”

“You sure?”

“I am. But let’s talk later, Hon. I have to go for now. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

As the phone clicked, Beth imagined worst-case scenarios in the echoing silence. For several minutes, she stood frozen. Her body refused to budge before she was jarred from her spiraling worry by the incessant buzzing of the oven’s timer. Beth pulled out the pie to let it cool on the stove before walking across the room to close the windows.

Craving a distraction, she admired the mix of rusty bronzes, deep burgundies, and pale yellows mixed in with the evergreen pines that dotted her street. The slanting sunlight skipped across the sidewalk as long shadows announced the day crossing into evening.

She always dreaded the night. And especially after her mom’s news.

Cancer?

Once it was bedtime, Beth tossed and turned, her sleep tormented by nightmares. She dreamt of being chased, someone trying to kill her, pursuing her. A recurring dream that had plagued her since the Amelia case.

Running through the trees, she panted as panic gripped her. The woods were alive with his murdering presence, a faceless person she’d never seen. The branches reached and grabbed, choking out all light. A black-hearted laugh vibrated through the dream-like air. As she sprinted, she seemed to not move at all, as if running in place, when cold, bony fingers clasped her wrist.

Beth shot straight up, every hair standing on end. Wide awake, she clutched the covers to her chest. Even the moon hid its shimmer.

She attempted to calm herself when suddenly, her bed started to shake and move, bouncing under her in the pitch-dark room. Much like it did in a horror movie she’d seen once.

Her mattresses convulsed unnaturally, though not as theatrically as the Hollywood scene. But it moved.

Just the frame and nothing else in the room.

Her eyes adjusted. Nobody was there.

Propelled by terror, Beth leaped off the quaking bed like an Olympian skier soaring over the slopes.

She raced out of the room, slapping on the light switches as she dashed by each one. Earlier, she’d done her nightly ritual of cracking a sliver of a blind to look out, making sure no one was outside, just in case.

But it was what was inside that now frightened her.

The terrifying shadow “man” of her childhood had mutated into a nightly, paralyzing dread that her life was about to end at any second. Every night, the ghastly apparition that had haunted her twisted into a crippling certainty that she was targeted by an unseen assailant, creeping beyond the safety of her walls. The world outside her window was a gaping blackness, and the darkness within her own room pressed in, leaving her gasping for air.

Over the years, she dared not sleep with her back to the door, afraid someone would sneak in, stab their steely evil into her. And her feet never lingered near the edge of the bed, where a ghoulish or fleshly arm could yank it and drag her under. Instead, she jumped in, avoiding the lethal reach of the monstrous edge.

Then the nightmares had begun, more recently.

Her own private hell. A grown adult, terrified by the night’s reign.

But somehow Paul knew.

After racing into the living room with the whole house lit up, she rechecked the perimeter of her yard through a crack in the blind. It was past midnight by now.

Scanning the back corner of an area under the side street’s lamp, she gasped.

Someone stood there. Not just someone.

A boy.

Looking straight at her.

She adjusted her eyes, squinted, and peered once more.

Staring back at her through the smallest slice between the blinds stood a little boy dressed in a 1920’s outfit with a Newsboy cap. He didn’t seem yards away.

He felt inches from her.

His mirthless eyes fixed on Beth without blinking.

She stumbled back from the window, the blind snapping back into place.

With every outside light illuminating her porch and yard, she staggered to the couch before collapsing on it. Her grandmother’s crocheted blanket lay across it as she snatched it before sitting with her feet curled under her, too afraid to move or return to her bed.

“Look for the light,” Paul had said.

She extended her hand to grab his book, which she had placed on the sofa table behind the couch. With shaky hands, she hoped it could give her “answers”, as Paul said it could do. She blindly opened the ancient cover, letting the fine pages fall any which way. The tissue-thin paper fluttered before landing open.

She stared at the words, a power seeming to drip from each phrase.

Beth read and reread the passages, key ones causing her pulse to quicken as if the words jumped from the book.

“You will not be afraid of the terror by night…” Beth stopped, the ancient text speaking straight into her.

She looked at the top of the page, Psalm 91?

The author eerily shared a similar dread, or so it seemed. Beth had lots of fears. And night could be a terror, just as these words revealed.

“You will not be afraid of the terror by night….or of the arrow that flies by day; of the plague that stalks in darkness…”

Darkness stalked like a plague; Beth also knew it well. And yet, the command stood, “You will not be afraid…”

Who was this author?

She went on, “…Or of the destruction that devastates at noon.”

Destruction.

That’s what cancer does. It lays waste.

Beth continued, skipping a few lines, “For He will give His angels orders concerning you, to protect you in all your ways.”

Angels?

If only she could see them instead.

The book gave her courage and oddly comforted her, simply by reading it.

No, this was more than her reading it.

The book was reading her.

Speaking to her.

She searched and found the author’s name—David. Beth studied the Psalm, his faith giving him a prescription, a shield or armor of protection from the lurking menace in the world.

And maybe, one day, it could do that for her too.

She continued until she fell asleep, the book open in her lap. But this time, no horror followed her into her dreams. No nightmares pursued her.

No cursed thing touched her sleep this night.

Instead, the book’s words had shut out the haunting that had hounded her. And for the first time in a long time, Beth blissfully rested.

In her deep slumber, she never saw the headlights that flickered on as a car engine roared to life, near the side street. The beige sedan slowly drove away as the burgeoning twilight swallowed the path behind it.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER 15 | NEXT CHAPTER 17 | START FROM CHAPTER 1

Copyright (C) 2026 T.H. Meyer, Author. All rights reserved.

Thanks for reading Faith & Fringe! This post is public. Feel free to share it.

Share

What the Shadows Know—Beth Cane’s glass-house life sits on the shifting sands of New Age promises and unhealed echoes of a traumatic childhood. After being haunted by creeping shadows and disturbing visions, she accepts that she was marked at birth—cursed. But when she encounters a cryptic stranger, his riddles penetrate through the heavy veil of darkness and confusion.

In a world of magic and self-help, the brightest light reveals the blackest shadow once a possessed stalker starts hunting Beth and her family. Hell’s fury appears in both the flesh and the unseen realm, where trust is blurred, and deception is a matter of life or death. In an epic showdown to escape the entities seeking to destroy her, Beth must embrace a mysterious and ancient truth. One that will shatter everything she’s ever known.

Watch Beth’s slow burn from fringe to faith—terrorized to triumph—haunted to healed. For fans of novels by Frank Peretti and Ted Dekker. Expect a bumpy but redemptive ride—eventually.

Look for a behind-the-scenes post the first part of July—Free but to Subscribers, only: Want the true behind-the-scenes stories from What The Shadows Know? I’ll be releasing a Director’s Cut, periodically—Only to subscribers. It’ll include narrative stories about my supernatural encounters, my Christian faith behind the words, and inspiration for characters, scenes, or events in the episodes.

If you want to support my work another way, I’d be honored if you’d consider buying A Life of Creative Purpose—Embrace Uniqueness, Explore Boldness, Encourage Faith.

Are you feeling stuck in a cycle of “busy” but lacking a sense of true fulfillment? Do you feel a tug at your heart to create, to lead, or to serve, but aren’t sure how to bridge the gap between where you are and where God is calling you?

Your unique talents aren’t accidental—they are your compass. Through a powerful blend of personal journey and practical strategy for your personal growth, A Life of Creative Purpose helps you pinpoint the invisible barriers standing between you and your God-given calling. This foundational guide serves as a timeless go-to whether you are just starting your faith journey, looking to reignite your passion for God’s call, or struggling to understand what God has for you. These truths transcend the trends of the day.

If you’ve already published a book—Congrats! If you’re about to publish your very first one—as release day approaches—you might find yourself waking up in cold sweats with crippling self-doubt.

That’s perfectly normal.

Welcome to the creative process!

It may seem that everyone is a writer on Substack. But that’s because this is where writers hang out. <waving at you> Also, not every Substack creator is looking to publish a book.

In reality, only a small percentage of people end up publishing for various reasons. Finishing a novel is a feat in itself, just one hurdle. But the editing part, the developing and pacing, following tropes, showing character depth, making a draft shine, those parts? That’s an even bigger hurdle. Not everyone will make it to the finish line.

So yay!! You’re here because you have published a book or plan to do so soon. That’s a huge deal!

It can be overwhelming. So remember to breathe. Just do what you can with the time you have.

This is a marathon, not a sprint. It’s ok. I’m about to give you a lot of tools that might make that even more overwhelming.

However, I want this to give you hope and direction. I want you to broaden your readership horizons and, hopefully, your book sales. If nothing else, you’ll definitely broaden your visibility.

So let’s dig in and see what tools you can use to get the most exposure for your book. At the very bottom is a bullet list of marketing tools, but first, here are some helpful things to know.

The rest of this post is for those who’ve opted in. Most of my general subscribers are READERS that I’ve had for over 10 years. I needed a way to share these kinds of articles that my general readership is not interested in seeing.

Putting these kinds of articles behind a paywall allows me to give deeper dives into book publishing and marketing, sharing them with authors or soon-to-be ones. But if you’re an author or plan to publish and you’re interested in getting this post, send me a DM.

Free spots are limited! But I’d love for you to have this resource if it’s something you need. Again, send me a DM and let’s talk.

Read more

The sharp, chemical bite of fresh latex paint hung heavy in the air, coating the back of her throat with the sterile scent. Even with the windows cracked, the thick, chalky fumes felt heavy on the lungs, a demanding reminder of her new place.

Beth shifted her weight as she stood with the phone pressed to her ear.

“How’s Lily?”

“She’s doing well. Lily is Lily. You know how she is,” her mom said.

“Well, actually, I don’t know.”

Beth’s jaw tightened as she tried to hide the bitterness she felt from their lost sisterhood. She wished things were different, regretting the fact that they didn’t talk.

Neither of them had planned for it to turn out this way. When their father died, they were in junior high and high school. Friends and boyfriends took priority over family. They had felt free at first, a little too free. Their mom worked long hours to pay the bills. With minor oversight, anything goes.

And it did.

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They practically raised themselves.

Even though Beth was the more extroverted of the two, she privately poured her emotions into poetry and short stories before stuffing the words into an obscure folder in her bedroom. She kept her musings hidden, only her sister being her trusted reader.

“That’s why I called, Hon.” Her mom cut into Beth’s thoughts. “I was thinking we could all get together for Christmas, like old times.”

“Old times? No thanks. We always had to tiptoe around him.”

Beth paused, trying not to think of it. They both knew she was referring to her father. “Those are not times I want to relive.”

“I know,” her mom said with a hint of sadness. “I thought about the tree, how it wasn’t big enough for all the presents. The gifts spread in heaps across the floor. Remember?”

“How can I forget? Your idea, I’m sure.”

A smile surfaced as she pictured the old living room buried in a ridiculous sea of metallic paper of shiny reds and greens with large bows.

The memory felt fragile now, a distant and faded frame of bittersweet days.

“I guess I was trying to make up for it. Give you girls a happy memory,” her mom said, her voice trailing off.

“Here’s one.” Beth grinned, as a giggle bubbled up, infectious and unrestrained, before she could get out the words.

“Remember the Christmas that you told us—flat out scared the fire out of us—to never ever use roller skates, not even borrow our friends. That we better ‘not be caught dead’ with those things on our feet?”

Beth’s mom belly-laughed, “Yeah, I caught…” she said, trying to catch her breath, barely able to speak. “I caught… you, one time rolling like the dickens…..arms swinging like a wild chicken,” she stopped to restrain herself to finish, “...in time to see you swing around the corner of the neighbor’s garage, so that I would not ‘see’ you…..But I did.”

Beth burst into laughter, her breath sounding more like wheezing. “I thought….I had escaped!” She remembered how much trouble she had thought she was in that day. But when she returned home and her mom said nothing, she felt relieved.

Beth shook her head, giggling. “And then a month later at Christmas, lo-and-behold, roooooller skates under the tree! You really got us! We thought they’d been eternally forbidden.”

Both of their shoulders shook, tears welling in their eyes as peals of laughter echoed through the phone. Her mom, barely containing herself, added, “Then Lily…Lily… put hers on and ‘waaaaalked’ the dog?”

Beth’s laughter turned into a breathless squeak, her chest heaving as the image flooded her mind. “And….he chased… that car…..then, umph! Speed bump….and all!”

They both couldn’t say another word as they remembered Lily zipping at breakneck speed, while who knows what the driver was thinking at Lily’s terrified face that kept in perfect pace next to their car window. A speed bump intended as a warning for the dead end had mutated into a rather bruising and bone-jarring roller coaster for Lily.

But as the giggles stopped, the memory only made Beth feel the sting of their lost sisterhood. An ache that left its own kind of grief in its wake. The chance of them being best friends forever was gone, lost to the past.

“How’s your new place?” Her mom asked.

“I like it. A little noisy from the traffic, but the rooms are big.”

Beth surveyed the long, cavernous living room that opened into the kitchen. A stack of boxes still sat in a corner. An early October breeze rustled the sheer curtains, the crisp air spilling over the sill. In an instant, it pushed out the stagnant warmth of the house as it swept across her bare arms like a cool, silk sheet.

The farm where she’d lived with River had been too far from the city for her, now that she was by herself. Besides, Beth could better manage the rent in Well Springs on just her income.

Finding an older two-story house, she knew why it was cheaper than most. The bustling cars and semi-trucks discouraged families with small kids, and the constant roar of motors and mufflers from the noisy street discouraged everyone else.

“Any reporters hanging around since moving to town? Media hounds?”

“I think I’m old news, thank goodness,” Beth said. “They’re always chasing another crisis or headline.”

“Hey, you never told me how your talk went with that strange guy. Paul, right?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Mom.”

“Whatya mean, you ‘don’t know’?”

“He knew things….”

Beth stopped, her eyes searching the room as if the walls held the answer.

“You’re making me nervous, Hon. Was it bad?”

“No, no. Nothing like that,” Beth said, trying to explain. “It was as if he could see into my soul.”

PREVIOUS CHAPTER 14«««<

CHAPTER 1 «««<

Copyright (C) 2026 T.H. Meyer, Author. All rights reserved.

Thanks for reading Faith & Fringe! This post is public. Feel free to share it.

Share

What the Shadows Know—Beth Cane’s glass-house life sits on the shifting sands of New Age promises and unhealed echoes of a traumatic childhood. After being haunted by creeping shadows and disturbing visions, she accepts that she was marked at birth—cursed. But when she encounters a cryptic stranger, his riddles penetrate through the heavy veil of darkness and confusion.

In a world of magic and self-help, the brightest light reveals the blackest shadow once a possessed stalker starts hunting Beth and her family. Hell’s fury appears in both the flesh and the unseen realm, where trust is blurred, and deception is a matter of life or death. In an epic showdown to escape the entities seeking to destroy her, Beth must embrace a mysterious and ancient truth. One that will shatter everything she’s ever known.

Watch Beth’s slow burn from fringe to faith—terrorized to triumph—haunted to healed. For fans of novels by Frank Peretti and Ted Dekker. Expect a bumpy but redemptive ride—eventually.

Free but to Subscribers, only: Want the true behind-the-scenes stories from What The Shadows Know? I’ll be releasing a Director’s Cut, periodically—Only to subscribers. It’ll include narrative stories about my supernatural encounters, my Christian faith behind the words, and inspiration for characters, scenes, or events in the episodes.

If you want to support my work another way, I’d be honored if you’d consider buying A Life of Creative Purpose—Embrace Uniqueness, Explore Boldness, Encourage Faith.

Are you feeling stuck in a cycle of “busy” but lacking a sense of true fulfillment? Do you feel a tug at your heart to create, to lead, or to serve, but aren’t sure how to bridge the gap between where you are and where God is calling you?

Your unique talents aren’t accidental—they are your compass. Through a powerful blend of personal journey and practical strategy for your personal growth, A Life of Creative Purpose helps you pinpoint the invisible barriers standing between you and your God-given calling. This foundational guide serves as a timeless go-to whether you are just starting your faith journey, looking to reignite your passion for God’s call, or struggling to understand what God has for you. These truths transcend the trends of the day.

This week, I’m writing the epilogue to my supernatural thriller. Nobody will see it for a while, except for my reluctant “beta” readers, aka family members. In the past, I’ve shared about the overall general process of writing (more on that at the bottom).

But what has it really been like to write a supernatural thriller, specifically?

Well, for one, apparently writing creepy scenes requires a whole other set of brain cells.

As someone who primarily wrote nonfiction, I found that some aspects of it carried over. Such as storytelling. I’ve always included that, so yay!

Check that block.

But scary scenes? Creating dread and a plot (story) that looked bleak and traumatic (especially in the beginning)? That’s been harder. I’m a sunny-side-up, glass-half-full, or running-over kind of girl.

Horror? Not so much.

Atmosphere & Dread

Pulling up the words (or the thesaurus) to write scenes that created an atmospheric mood was a challenge.

So, why “torture” myself to write this kind of book?

I mentioned in one of my subscribers’-only Director’s Cut articles that this thriller had originated from one of my shelved (non-published) nonfiction books. But don’t get me wrong. About a quarter of the way in, the novel goes completely off the rails from the nonfiction I’d based it on.

However, some nonfictional elements remained, sprinkled throughout.

But the stalking or killer aspect? All new. And why a serial killer?

Before adding this plot twist, the chapters had poured out—at first. The words flowed. The scenes happened. I enjoyed learning a new-to-me style of writing with a supernatural thriller, the original (and ONLY) nemesis being the spiritual enemy of our souls.

Then it hit.

Cue the Psycho Music

I got bored. Not with the story overall, just with the outline and the direction I’d plotted for the last half of the book. Not because the enemy of our souls is boring, but this particular story just sagged in the middle.

The trajectory lacked oof.

Which in turn made writing the later chapters drag because—yawn.

Enter the serial killer.

Throw in one of those? Sure, why not? And boy, did the pace pick up. My brain started firing a ridiculous amount of ideas, red herrings, clues, etc.

But the plot seemed bigger than I could handle. It was a significant development with a tricky climax.

And I was supposed to be writing a supernatural thriller. Not a serial killer, thriller. I mean, how does one make those blend? Mixing demons, new age, faith, angels, mysterious strangers, trauma, and a serial killer?

Seemed like an uphill battle.

I wasn’t sure if I could make it work.

One Awful Night Made It Click, Curiously

And then, writing one scene where I introduced the killer, totally creeped me out.

Cold sweats.

Dread.

Feeling like the shadows I was writing about were really reaching for me, and just might get me.

Insert big eye emoji here.

Pure middle-of-the-night awfulness.

Why did I think this was a good idea?

All my old fears (just like my main character’s), popped up. Irrational ones. But supernatural ones. Ones rooted in, well….fear.

I’d taken authority over that a long time ago. Twenty-eight years to be exact.

What I Learned from My Mistake

I’d gone to bed before finishing the scene. I’d left my main character dangling with her evil nemesis.

Boom! I’d dropped my character off in the middle of a creepified scene.

Ghosted her. Decided I need to sleep.

Some good that did me.

Yeah, that didn’t work out so well. Seems I’d also left my dangling self inside the middle of said terrible scene—now terrified in real life.

The next morning, I jumped my bleary-eyed, mangled-hair self out of bed and finished that stinking scene. No evil will be winning or overpowering around these book-ish parts if this writer has anything to do with it.

Closing that one scene? All better.

But also, I learned something.

Supernatural vs. Flesh-and-blood Evil

That’s when the puzzle pieces started to fit together. A serial killer was the perfect physical representation of the evil we all know. The one that steals, kills, and destroys.

The good news? The plot sag is gone, the outline is fixed, and I am officially writing the epilogue.

The better news? I’m finally sleeping through the night again. It turns out that giving flesh and blood to the enemy was exactly what this supernatural thriller needed to find its footing.

I ended up working out the plot twists in my outline. Got back to developing the story and again, was excited to write the chapters.

I might be a sunny-side-up, running-over kind of girl by nature, but I’ve learned my lesson: you never leave a scene with evil winning before you go to bed.

Spoiler alert: Faith wins in the end.

The puzzle pieces are finally together. The tension is right where it needs to be. And I can't wait to guide you through the shadows—safely into the light.

Writing Books & Beta Readers?

Finishing a book is hard. Sure, you can tap out some lines, form paragraphs, and a chapter or two. But to develop the story? To give it pizzazz? To stick with it when you lose ALL confidence that it makes a lick of sense? Hard.

Fighting with yourself and your draft. Hard. As in perseverance—hard.

It’s been invaluable to run ideas or brainstorm with my husband, my sister, and my youngest son, who is also writing a book. Bless their big ol’ patient hearts for listening to my hair-brained ideas until their eyes glazed over.

Speaking of beta readers, I might need some in July. But for now, my youngest son has been my biggest beta reader. I recommend that if you’re writing a story or book, you find a trusted person you can do this with.

Or if you just need more information on creating or writing a book, I’ve included a couple of links below to help you get started.

Perseverance is the real secret sauce of finishing. Having a trusted sounding board can make the uphill battle a whole lot easier. My son has done all of this while pouring his own heart into his upcoming book launch.

As a massive thank you for keeping me sane—and because I am immensely proud of the writer he has become—I’m ending on this.

Pulling back the curtain, here’s his official, brand-new cover reveal for his debut medieval fantasy, The Weston Chronicles, set for a late July release!

Thanks to his cover designer for the beautiful work:

The Weston Chronicles: The kingdom toppled in a night of bloodshed and murder. One young prince is snatched from the prying hands of evil, only to be thrown into a world filled with corruption and deceit. Weston Deliniard may have escaped, but a dark ruler now hunts down the last heir to Radamond’s throne. At seventeen years old, he lives as a royal fugitive, torn from his rightful crown.

Possessing a mysterious power, Weston seeks training from his mentor, Raymond. But in a world of malice, corruption, and stolen thrones, can heroism bring him back to kingship, or will his growing darkness destroy his legacy forever?

In the Weston Chronicles, the greatest battles are the ones fought within, where the difference between a king and a tyrant is the quality of one’s heart. Weston may have the right to Radamond, but as bloodlust grows within, will the crown cost him his soul?

Want to Publish a Book?

1. If you’re interested in publishing but don’t know where or HOW to start, I wrote this comprehensive article that includes a Substack live with a prolific author with over 100 published books, Tricia Goyer, in A Comparative Guide to Indie and Traditional Publishing, When the path looks like a maze designed by a caffeinated squirrel

2. Also, I’ve written more on my writing process in an article, From Writing Non-Fiction to a Supernatural Thriller: 8 Lessons That Still Apply.

If you want to support my work another way, I’d be honored if you’d consider buying A Life of Creative Purpose—Embrace Uniqueness, Explore Boldness, Encourage Faith.

Are you feeling stuck in a cycle of “busy” but lacking a sense of true fulfillment? Do you feel a tug at your heart to create, to lead, or to serve, but aren’t sure how to bridge the gap between where you are and where God is calling you?

Previously from Chapter 13:

What if he is a serial killer?

Her mom’s words flashed in her mind.

“Have you been stalking me?!”

Beth blurted out the question, her eyes darting around the kitchen. She knew she should hang up, but something compelled her to wait for his answer.

The phone hissed, the static being the only sound except the blood thumping in her ears.

“Remember the book I sent?”

She nodded as if he could see her head bobbing on the other end of the phone. Of course she remembered. It was the reason why she had called.

“It holds the answers,” he said, his voice a warm caress that sent a comforting sensation through her, “The ones you’ve been looking for.”

She closed her eyes, surrendering to the gentle cadence of his words, which acted like a dam against the tide of panic she’d been feeling.

He continued, “You know, how the brighter the sun, the more noticeable the shadows? That’s how it is. More light causes a darker shadow—light exposing dark.”

He seemed to know about that too–the ‘shadows’. Who would have believed her? A phantom shadow or shadows haunting her? Strangers would think she was crazy or hallucinating.

But here he was, talking about it like it was real. And normal.

She waited, wondering what else he knew about her life

“Like the sun, if there are shadows, there must be light,” he said, pausing as if he were letting it sink in before adding, “Look for the light.”

“You mean, for the ‘soooource’ of the light,” she said, chuckling, half-joking.

“Yes, that is correct,” he said, unfazed. “And the words in the book will also guide you.”

“But it is like reading Greek or staring at a puzzle.”

“The source, Beth. Read it with the correct power source,” he explained as if that would make sense to her.

“Riiiight,” she said, rubbing her temples. “I’ll try. The ‘light’s source’, whatever that means.”

“Good. And Beth…,” he paused one last time. “I’ll be praying for you.”

Her eyes suddenly stung, tears surprising her with a foreign tenderness that bubbled up out of nowhere. Sniffling, she said softly, “Thanks.” Then hung up before completely losing her composure.

Beth felt a thin thread tugging at her, like a yarn attached to the ball when she crocheted with her grandmother as a child. One pull on the string, and it’d unravel. It was as if a knotted ball in the pit of her stomach now bounced across the floor like it did when she worked the needles.

She was not a crier. It was her “superpower”, according to her friends. Nothing affected her.

But that came at a price. It had become a wall. One that kept her from getting too close to people or feeling the compassion she did as a kid. Not that she minded it, per se. However, she envied friends who could wear their hearts on their sleeves. Some days, she missed the younger version of who she once was.

Light and its source? Beth had never given it much thought. She’d been in survival mode her entire life, either guarding herself, protecting others (which hadn’t worked out so well), or just trying to cope with everything happening, from the seen and the unseen.

Her head throbbed as she tried to understand what Paul was not saying. What was he holding back?

What if she were incapable of seeing light through the veil? Maybe she had looked at the shadows too long, like when you go blind by staring into the sun? What if all she could see was darkness?

She no longer believed she controlled the shadows. She no longer believed in “manifesting” her destiny. River could’ve told her until he was blue in the face, or until she was, but she’d concluded that it was not her power.

Shadows had their own power. And as Paul said, their own source. A source that was definitely not Beth’s.

Maybe the palm reader was right, that she was marked–at birth. A life not her own. That she had inherited the shadows and they belonged to her, or her to them. That it had become too much a part of her.

No, not a ‘part’ of her—but all of her.

A perpetual curse seemed to cling to her, a melancholic shroud that mirrored the sorrow etched in her soul. Maybe she deserved it. Maybe she was too defiled.

Too broken.

Or maybe, she was the darkness itself.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER 13«««<

CHAPTER 1 «««<

Copyright (C) 2026 T.H. Meyer, Author. All rights reserved.

Thanks for reading Faith & Fringe! This post is public, so feel free to share it.

Share

What the Shadows Know Blurb—Beth Cane’s glass-house life sits on the shifting sands of New Age promises and unhealed echoes of a traumatic childhood. After being haunted by creeping shadows and disturbing visions, she accepts that she was marked at birth—cursed. But when she encounters a cryptic stranger, his riddles penetrate through the heavy veil of darkness and confusion.

In a world of magic and self-help, the brightest light reveals the blackest shadow once a possessed stalker starts hunting Beth and her family. Hell’s fury appears in both the flesh and the unseen realm, where trust is blurred, and deception is a matter of life or death. In an epic showdown to escape the entities seeking to destroy her, Beth must embrace a mysterious and ancient truth. One that will shatter everything she’s ever known.

Watch Beth’s slow burn from fringe to faith—terrorized to triumph—haunted to healed. For fans of novels by Frank Peretti and Ted Dekker. Expect a bumpy but redemptive ride—eventually.

Free but to Subscribers, only: Want the true behind-the-scenes stories from What The Shadows Know? I’ll be releasing a Director’s Cut, periodically—Only to subscribers. It’ll include narrative stories about my supernatural encounters, my Christian faith behind the words, and inspiration for characters, scenes, or events in the episodes.

If you want to support my work another way, I’d be honored if you’d consider buying A Life of Creative Purpose—Embrace Uniqueness, Explore Boldness, Encourage Faith.

Stop Wondering Why You’re Here. Start Living the Life You Were Designed For.

Are you feeling stuck in a cycle of “busy” but lacking a sense of true fulfillment? Do you feel a tug at your heart to create, to lead, or to serve, but aren’t sure how to bridge the gap between where you are and where God is calling you?

Your unique talents aren’t accidental—they are your compass. Through a powerful blend of personal journey and practical strategy for your personal growth, Meyer helps you pinpoint the invisible barriers standing between you and your God-given calling. This foundational guide serves as a timeless go-to whether you are just starting your faith journey, looking to reignite your passion for God’s call, or struggling to understand what God has for you. These truths transcend the trends of the day.

“So, you’re just going to call him?” Her mom said over the phone.

“Aren’t you curious?” Beth asked, standing in the kitchen near the phone on her wall.

“What if he’s a serial killer?”

“Well, I guess he could be. But how do you explain the book he sent with those verses?” She tried to convince her mom, needing an ally for courage.

Beth continued to think about the stranger who had sent the note and the odd pages marked with highlights. She had found an unusual solace in the words as they seemed to resonate with her in a bizarre way, a sharp departure from the icy panic that gripped her after the palm reader’s unsettling session and dire warning. Ever since she’d left that day, a presence like an endless night of sinister shadows had followed her, disrupting her days.

No time felt safe anymore.

When she was a child, the morning’s arrival meant she could either forget what had happened or pretend it never did. The piercing sunlight and beaming orb of day would chase away the night’s terror as if the world were filled with promise and hope.

But now, nothing was sacred.

The creatures beyond the veil crept in, even at noon, the darkness slithering in the midday.

Closing in on her.

“What’s his name?”

“Paul, I think,” Beth said.

“It wouldn’t hurt to call. You going to do it right now?”

“Yes, or I might lose my nerve.”

“Well, good luck. Call back if you need anything.”

“I will.”

They said their usual “I love yous”, then hung up.

With the phone still cradled in her hand, Beth opened the old, weathered book that sat on the counter near the sink. The pages splayed apart to the placeholder where she kept the handwritten paper folded inside. Pulling out the note, she read the phone number at the bottom.

Before thinking, she dialed. After the first ring, a male voice came on the line.

“Hello?”

“Is this Paul?”

“Yes.”

“Um, this is Beth. I don’t know if you remember me,” she said, her throat crackling like she had swallowed sand, “but you sent a book.”

“Beth Cane. I remember,” he paused, “How have you been?”

“Good, I guess,” she said for lack of a better response. “I was wondering…”

“Why I sent that to you?” He finished for her.

“Yes.”

“Prayer.”

“Ex-excuse me,” Beth stuttered, not sure she heard correctly, “Did you say prayer?”

“That is exactly what I said.” The phrase rolled off his tongue as if he said it every day.

“I don’t know that I believe in prayer.” She paused, wondering what kind of “prayer” he was referring to. “Like talking to yourself?”

She heard a soft chuckle on the other end. Not a mocking one like she was used to hearing from others. His response seemed genuine, even though slightly amused.

“So not talking to yourself,” she corrected.

“No,” he said softly, Beth sensing a hint of tenderness in his voice before he changed the subject. “The vision of Amelia, when she was missing, where did it come from?”

“Nobody. I just saw it.”

“And what was the source of what you saw? Of the vision?” He gently asked. His almost warm-hearted approach reminded her of when she was a kid at the playground with a friend, whose dad had a voice as soft as her feathered pillow. No pulsating shadow of anger clouded her friend’s father. Quite the opposite, he exuded kindness and…safety.

“I was the source,” she said, confused.

“You, all by yourself?”

“I mean, River used to say it is my power, inside me, but yes.”

“So there’s a source? Like when you plug a fan into a wall socket—a power source. It can’t move or blow without one,” he explained.

“Power, yes,” she said, not sure where this was going.

“I believe in power, too, Beth. It comes from a source. One we don’t usually see with our eyes. One arriving from the unseen realm, like the flow behind the wall to the fan.” He stopped as if thinking of what to say next, then continued, “Just think about the source. That’s all.”

“What do you mean?” she asked. “Are we talking about the vision or something else?”

“More like someone else,” he said quietly. “You’ve been through a lot. Your father wasn’t always the safest person. I know you still jump into the bed, as a 20-something-year-old, because of the darkness you fear under it. I know you feel cursed,” he said, with a bit of sadness.

Beth snatched the phone back, her eyes wide and questioning, as if it held some secret power, before demanding, “How could you possibly know that?”

These weren’t details plastered in newspapers. Her father was a saint according to the public. Not even her friends or most anyone knew except the three who had lived in their house on the dead-end street.

A hero.

The media lauded him as a star.

Her father’s sins and their past were buried with him in the cemetery, under a heavy marble stone. Beth had walked away, swearing never to be like him. She’d plunged her old life deep into the earth.

Promised herself to create a new one. A life she would choose, on her own terms.

But here was Paul. He exhumed her secret life, revealing details not even River knew.

What if he is a serial killer?

Her mom’s words flashed in her mind.

“Have you been stalking me?!”

Beth blurted out the question, her eyes darting around the kitchen. She knew she should hang up, but something compelled her to wait for his answer.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER 11«««<

CHAPTER 1 «««<

Copyright (C) 2026 T.H. Meyer, Author. All rights reserved.

Thanks for reading Faith & Fringe! This post is public, so feel free to share it.

Share

What the Shadows Know Blurb—Beth Cane’s glass-house life sits on the shifting sands of New Age promises and unhealed echoes of a traumatic childhood. After being haunted by creeping shadows and disturbing visions, she accepts that she was marked at birth—cursed. But when she encounters a cryptic stranger, his riddles penetrate through the heavy veil of darkness and confusion.

In a world of magic and self-help, the brightest light reveals the blackest shadow once a possessed stalker starts hunting Beth and her family. Hell’s fury appears in both the flesh and the unseen realm, where trust is blurred, and deception is a matter of life or death. In an epic showdown to escape the entities seeking to destroy her, Beth must embrace a mysterious and ancient truth. One that will shatter everything she’s ever known.

Watch Beth’s slow burn from fringe to faith—terrorized to triumph—haunted to healed. For fans of novels by Frank Peretti and Ted Dekker. Expect a bumpy but redemptive ride—eventually.

Free but to Subscribers, only: Want the true behind-the-scenes stories from What The Shadows Know? I’ll be releasing a Director’s Cut, periodically—Only to subscribers. It’ll include narrative stories about my supernatural encounters, my Christian faith behind the words, and inspiration for characters, scenes, or events in the episodes.

If you want to support my work another way, I’d be honored if you’d consider buying A Life of Creative Purpose—Embrace Uniqueness, Explore Boldness, Encourage Faith.

Stop Wondering Why You’re Here. Start Living the Life You Were Designed For.

Are you feeling stuck in a cycle of “busy” but lacking a sense of true fulfillment? Do you feel a tug at your heart to create, to lead, or to serve, but aren’t sure how to bridge the gap between where you are and where God is calling you?

Your unique talents aren’t accidental—they are your compass. Through a powerful blend of personal journey and practical strategy for your personal growth, Meyer helps you pinpoint the invisible barriers standing between you and your God-given calling. This foundational guide serves as a timeless go-to whether you are just starting your faith journey, looking to reignite your passion for God’s call, or struggling to understand what God has for you. These truths transcend the trends of the day.

The hair on Beth’s arm tingled as she asked, “What is it?”

“Death,” the woman said casually.

“Are you sure?” Beth asked, an icy finger of fear sliding down her spine. The candle’s flame danced erratically, painting the walls with ghostly shapes that seemed to writhe with a life of their own.

“Right there. Your lifeline is cut short.”

Beth looked at her palm. She saw a line split in two, but it made no sense to her. The creases looked like large wrinkles, nothing more.

“How long?” Beth asked, dreading what the answer might be.

“Hard to say. Avoid a blue four-door,” the palm reader said, as if that helped, keeping her eyes on Beth’s hands.

“But I already drive one.”

Ignoring her response, the woman continued to grip her hands, looking from one to the other. “I’ve never seen a lifeline do that, on both hands.”

The reader’s head snapped up, her eyes wide as if she’d suddenly witnessed something else entirely.

She stared at Beth, her gaze penetrating, searching.

“This is….special.”

Beth remembered Mr. Banks, who had visited her class when she was young, had claimed she was one of the “specials” described in his books on E.S.P. Yet, most days, an emptiness echoed within her like a hollow cavern. Or anxiety twisted her thoughts into painful knots.

Mr. Banks and River had called it ”her power”. Other books that she’d read called it listening to the “universe”, “manifesting”, or a “spirit-guide”.

Whatever it was, it hadn’t felt like her power.

Definitely not.

Not anymore, anyway.

The palm reader held tight to her hands. “Perhaps not death,” she said, deep in thought. “Could be a mark.”

“Like a birthmark?” Beth whispered, her voice cracking as the flame cast long, distorted shapes that began to twirl. Shadows slithered on the peeling wallpaper like grasping claws, surrounding the table in a sinister dance.

With a violent recoil, the palm reader snatched back her hands, as if a powerful electric shock had jolted her. The wooden legs of her chair screeched in a raw, piercing wail as she yanked it backward across the floorboards.

Jumping up, she announced, “The session is over.”

“Wait, that’s all?” Beth asked, still seated. Still needing answers, not ready to leave.

The palm reader bolted toward the velvet doorway, then paused and said over her shoulder, “A man will enter your life. He’ll move in soon after you meet.” With that, she yanked the curtain aside and vanished.

In the profound quiet, Beth heard the distinct ticking of a clock. She hadn’t noticed it before. But now, the sound surged into a relentless tidal wave, a deafening roar in her ears.

Mocking.

Reminding her of time.

Beth squeezed her eyes shut—her breathing erratic.

She needed to leave.

Her mind still stunned, she slowly raised her eyes from where she sat. In the corner of the room, she noticed a misshapen darkness, the grotesque shape of a gaping-mouthed shadow. Its soulless eyes fixed on her.

Beth’s throat tightened as a desperate, silent plea died on her lips.

She sensed it wanted to speak.

To say something to her.

She had first laid eyes on it when it murmured to her father and sister, ages ago.

Beth scrambled to her feet, a strangled cry escaping as the chair crashed to the floor, elevating her mounting panic. Without a backward glance, she dashed through the beaded velvet “door”, thankful she’d paid in advance.

Outside, she welcomed the daylight with a raw, jagged breath, almost tripping on the top step of the porch. Grabbing the railing, she steadied herself before she half-ran, half-stumbled the rest of the way to her car.

She leaped inside, the click of the locks causing relief as she secured them.

Looking at her palms, her gaze darted back and forth between them. Scrutinizing the lines and creases.

Did she hold death in her hands?

A curse?

Had she been marked at birth?

Beth didn’t know where to drive. She zoomed off, completely unaware of her surroundings. Lost in thought, she paid little attention to the vehicles that zipped past. The bright, zesty scent of a lemon-pine air freshener, coupled with the smooth steering wheel under her fingers, only heightened the fact that she was driving a blue, four-door car.

The exact one the palm reader had warned about.

Copyright (C) 2026 T.H. Meyer, Author. All rights reserved.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER 11«««<

CHAPTER 1 «««<

What the Shadows Know Blurb—Beth Cane’s glass-house life sits on the shifting sands of New Age promises and unhealed echoes of a traumatic childhood. After being haunted by creeping shadows and disturbing visions, she accepts that she was marked at birth—cursed. But when she encounters a cryptic stranger, his riddles penetrate through the heavy veil of darkness and confusion.

In a world of magic and self-help, the brightest light reveals the blackest shadow once a possessed stalker starts hunting Beth and her family. Hell’s fury appears in both the flesh and the unseen realm, where trust is blurred, and deception is a matter of life or death. In an epic showdown to escape the entities seeking to destroy her, Beth must embrace a mysterious and ancient truth. One that will shatter everything she’s ever known.

Watch Beth’s slow burn from fringe to faith—terrorized to triumph—haunted to healed. For fans of novels by Frank Peretti and Ted Dekker. Expect a bumpy but redemptive ride—eventually.

Thanks for reading Faith & Fringe! This post is public, so feel free to share it.

Share

Free but to Subscribers, only: Want the true behind-the-scenes stories from What The Shadows Know? I’ll be releasing a Director’s Cut, periodically—Only to subscribers. It’ll include narrative stories about my supernatural encounters, my Christian faith behind the words, and inspiration for characters, scenes, or events in the episodes.

If you want to support my work another way, I’d be honored if you’d consider buying A Life of Creative Purpose—Embrace Uniqueness, Explore Boldness, Encourage Faith.

Stop Wondering Why You’re Here. Start Living the Life You Were Designed For.

Are you feeling stuck in a cycle of “busy” but lacking a sense of true fulfillment? Do you feel a tug at your heart to create, to lead, or to serve, but aren’t sure how to bridge the gap between where you are and where God is calling you?

Your unique talents aren’t accidental—they are your compass. Through a powerful blend of personal journey and practical strategy for your personal growth, Meyer helps you pinpoint the invisible barriers standing between you and your God-given calling. This foundational guide serves as a timeless go-to whether you are just starting your faith journey, looking to reignite your passion for God’s call, or struggling to understand what God has for you. These truths transcend the trends of the day.

The sign read, “Palm Reader. Know Your Future, Here.” Beth stood on the sidewalk, looking at the modest house in front of her.

She had imagined a gothic two-story structure with pointy roofs poking like bony fingers in the sky. Or a Queen Ann with turrets, curved glass windows, and half-rounded walls that creaked and popped in a thunderstorm. Or at least, a third-floor attic, one cloaked in cobwebs where boxes or trunks held secrets or a few treasures.

Not a plain, decaying one-story house.

Beth had arrived at the correct spot. The sign clearly told her she had. But the dingy white paint peeled like scabs, causing her to hesitate. Had she not parked several blocks away, she would’ve left.

It’d been a couple of months since River had left divorce papers for her to sign. She knew it was for the best.

But the approaching finalization brought a profound ache with the echo of failure. An immense emptiness consumed her, blunting her mind and muting her senses.

She felt numb. Her thoughts cut off from her.

It’s what brought her here.

It’s why she needed this.

Steeling herself, she climbed the steps to the porch. A ghostly swing swayed, its skeletal chains screeching from time in Georgia’s rust-inducing humidity. As Beth opened the door, the hinges groaned under the weight, scraping against the pine floor. Bells above the door shattered the silence, causing her to jump.

“Hello?”

Beth squinted inside the dark place. The macabre black wall and equally jet-black ceiling snuffed out what little light there was inside.

Across the room stood a bar or counter with a doorway behind it, cloaked with beads and a heavy purple velvet cloth. Only candles provided light with their wavering glow, casting mournful silhouettes that were consumed by the darkness.

An incense burned, giving off a warm, earthy smell of sandalwood, leaving a line of gray ash as a smoky ribbon weaved toward the ceiling.

It wasn’t too late to leave—unsure if anyone was home. As she turned to go, a voice emerged from the counter behind her.

“You must be Beth,” the woman said.

“Yes,” she answered, turning toward the voice. “I’ve never done this before. I can come back if it’s not a good time,” Beth said, shifting nervously from one foot to the other.

The small front room felt intimate, as if she were invading the owner’s private space.

“No, no, this is fine. Follow me.” The woman turned and left Beth no choice but to join her.

Past the beaded doorway with its curtain, another room opened, and this one was slightly bigger with a large wooden table supported by chunky legs. One lone candle sat in the middle of it, long veins of wax dripping into flesh-colored trails.

“Sit,” said the woman, pointing toward a chair. “How can I help?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.” Beth looked at the woman across from her. She wore a flowy dress that brushed the floor, with sleeves that billowed at the wrist. Jewelry adorned both arms and around her neck. Gold pieces clinked every time she moved or leaned over, interrupting the awkward quiet between pauses.

“Let me see your hand,” the woman said as she put out both of her hands on the table, waiting for Beth’s hand.

“Which one?” She asked, holding up both hands.

“Naturally, the right one,” the woman said, her voice patronizing.

“I didn’t know if you needed the hand I write with,” Beth said, as she felt heat rising up her neck to her cheeks. “I’m left-handed,” she tried to explain.

“Well, I can look at both,” the woman assured her.

With Beth’s right hand firmly in her grasp, the woman opened Beth’s fingers so far apart that it felt like the skin would tear apart. The reader leaned over, peering at her palm.

“Hmmmm....”

Beth looked down. But she only saw a bunch of squiggly creases on her palm.

“Aw, yes. Interesting…,” she trailed off. “Let me see your left hand.”

Beth obeyed and extended her left one. Again, the woman opened her palm, fingers stretched out, and peered into it.

“That is strange,” the woman said without looking up.

The hair on Beth’s arm tingled as she asked, “What is it?”

“Death,” the woman said casually.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER 10«««<

CHAPTER 1 «««<

Copyright (C) 2026 T.H. Meyer, Author. All rights reserved.

Thanks for reading Faith & Fringe! This post is public, so feel free to share it.

Share

What the Shadows Know Blurb—Beth Cane’s glass-house life sits on the shifting sands of New Age promises and unhealed echoes of a traumatic childhood. After being haunted by creeping shadows and disturbing visions, she accepts that she was marked at birth—cursed. But when she encounters a cryptic stranger, his riddles penetrate through the heavy veil of darkness and confusion.

In a world of magic and self-help, the brightest light reveals the blackest shadow once a possessed stalker starts hunting Beth and her family. Hell’s fury appears in both the flesh and the unseen realm, where trust is blurred, and deception is a matter of life or death. In an epic showdown to escape the entities seeking to destroy her, Beth must embrace a mysterious and ancient truth. One that will shatter everything she’s ever known.

Watch Beth’s slow burn from fringe to faith—terrorized to triumph—haunted to healed. For fans of novels by Frank Peretti and Colleen Coble. Expect a bumpy but redemptive ride—eventually.

Free but to Subscribers, only: Want the true behind-the-scenes stories from What The Shadows Know? I’ll be releasing a Director’s Cut, periodically—Only to subscribers. It’ll include narrative stories about my supernatural encounters, my Christian faith behind the words, and inspiration for characters, scenes, or events in the episodes.

If you want to support my work another way, I’d be honored if you’d consider buying A Life of Creative Purpose—Embrace Uniqueness, Explore Boldness, Encourage Faith.

Stop Wondering Why You’re Here. Start Living the Life You Were Designed For.

Are you feeling stuck in a cycle of “busy” but lacking a sense of true fulfillment? Do you feel a tug at your heart to create, to lead, or to serve, but aren’t sure how to bridge the gap between where you are and where God is calling you?

Your unique talents aren’t accidental—they are your compass. Through a powerful blend of personal journey and practical strategy for your personal growth, Meyer helps you pinpoint the invisible barriers standing between you and your God-given calling. This foundational guide serves as a timeless go-to whether you are just starting your faith journey, looking to reignite your passion for God’s call, or struggling to understand what God has for you. These truths transcend the trends of the day.