What The Shadows Know--What the Palm Reader Sees, Ep. 11
Clean Supernatural Suspense Thriller
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.
Copyright (C) 2026 T.H. Meyer, Author. All rights reserved.
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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.
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What a interesting chapter. I read tarot so don't know much about palm readings. However I love the feel of the fortune teller 😉.