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  • Mourning The Illusion

    When viewing images of the American secret police murdering a woman in broad daylight, I am reminded of a quote from the Battle of Helms Deep that expresses my frustration and helplessness. While under attack, Theodan, king of Rohan mutters “what can man do against such reckless hate.” I have thought about this line often as every day as I am bombarded with more horrors wrought by my own government. 

    My invocation of “Lord of the Rings” may come as a surprise because conservative thought leaders have interpreted Tolkien’s “Lord of The Rings” as a direct allegory to support their ideology. Writers like Curtis Yarvin consistently emphasize the ugliest and most racist pieces of Tolkien, and claim his tale of kindness, brotherhood, and basic decency as their own. As if Tolkien would feel affinity for the collection of tyrants, meddlers, and thieves that control our current government. No, Tolkien’s story was not meant to be straightjacketed into some white supremacists vision of “the west,” but instead is a story about sorrow, memory, and beauty told on the timescale of one life and generations. A story my mind returns to again and again in these evil times. 

    I have long believed that the secret to why Tolkien’s adult fairy tale continues to enchant young and old alike is that he has a remarkable knack for names. This comes as no surprise given his background as a linguist (he did write Quenya before the first lines of Bilbo’s tale), but it is no less remarkable how a simple name can evoke such feelings of peace, dread, or sorrow. Eldar names like Caras Galadohn, or Gil-Galad, Edain names like Minas Tirith, or Numenor, and sites of ancient evils like Angmar, or Barad-Dur conjure entire histories even though a place called Rohan never existed. The history and meaning behind these names add poignancy to key moments within the story, such as when Frodo makes the decision to take the ring to Mordor and Elrond states that his name will be remembered among the great heroes of the first age like Turin Turambar and Earendil. Even if the reader has no knowledge of who these made up people are, it still stirs something within, a feeling that the quest to destroy the ring is not isolated, but fits into a history, a legacy of heroes. 

    What I find most laced through Tolkien’s names, especially those of ancient Eldar or Edain places and people, is an undercurrent of sorrow. A wistful memory of some older time where great deeds were still possible and the power of kindness, friendship, and love were able to overcome evil. When considering Tolkien’s context and personal life, these desires to return to earlier times should not be interpreted as some anti-progressive screed, but instead reflect Tolkien’s desire to return to his life before his experience in world war one. The hope to return to the ancient battles of Beowulf or other myths should be understood as contrasts to the modern charnel house that greeted him in the trenches of France, not as a power fantasy of some sword wielding alpha male. 

    See, Tolkien never, not even with the Return of Aragorn to the throne in Minas Tirith, allows that ancient glory alluded to in those names to be recaptured. The greatest example of this is the Eldar. The elves who stayed to fight the War of the Ring do not remain to make Middle Earth Great again, restoring the old kingdoms of the Sons of Feanor. No, they depart, over the sea, to the far green country never to be seen again. With them, they take magic, and beauty, and peace, making Middle Earth much less wondrous. The connection between the leaving of the Eldar and the end of the wonder of youth that we all feel as we grow old, gather scars, and meet the world as it is, not just how it could be, is the power of Tolkien, not the ideological project that Thiel and Yarvin embrace. If you don’t believe me, just ask Tolkien himself who famously said that he “disliked allegory in all its manifestations.” 

    Towards the end of The Return of the King, after the Shire has been saved and the evil of Sauron defeated. Galadriel, one of the oldest of the Eldar ever to walk Middle-Earth begins her voyage to the undying lands. She stops in the Shire, and engages in all manner of Hobbit-like revelry, dancing and drinking with the rest of the Shire-folk. Galadriel also brings with her a few seeds of the Mallorn tree from Lothlorien to plant in the Shire before she leaves forever, never to return. Her gift is not wasted, and Samwise plants the seeds which grow into the last Mallorn Tree that ever stands in Middle-Earth. Even when Lothlorian fades, and magic leaves Middle-Earth, the Mallorn tree still stands as just a piece of what was lost. 

    I always found this episode at the end of the story moving. The Mallorn Tree seemed to reach outside the pages of “The Lord of the Rings” and be a small piece of the story I could take with me out of Middle-Earth and into the “real world.” I wonder if Tolkien was able to preserve his Mallorn Tree through the trenches of the Great War, so that even when he was surrounded by suffering and death he could still remember a better time, or a better place.

    “A Mallorn in the Shire” by Ted Nesmith

    And it’s not like Lothlorien was perfect, or that the days during the War of the Ring were peaceful, or that the Eldar that lived within the trees were pure. One of the other inconvenient facts of Tolkien’s wistful and melancholic view towards the past fascists hate to grapple with, is that every one of those ancient and great nations of Middle-Earth were riddled with corruption, evil, and hatred. Whether the kin slaying done by the Sons of Feanor, the tyranny of Az-Pharazon as he listened to Sauron’s council and made war against the Valar, or the greed of the Dwarves as they dug in Moria, no great nation that inspires songs and tales was an uncomplicated force for good much less perfect. But when they are remembered in bleaker times, the realities of their greed and ambition fall away, and when the name Numenor is whispered on the streets of Minas Tirith the parts that were are what is remembered. 

    “The Temple of Melkor” by Todd Nesmith

    When young hobbits look at the Mallorn tree, they do not think of the War of the Ring or the hatred between the Elves and the Dwarves, instead they think of the beauty that was once in the world that has passed away. The Mallorn tree stands to show that Lothlorian was once a place, and at least some parts of it were beautiful. 

    As I watch masked men of the American secret police roam the streets, I cannot help but think of the Mallorn tree and feel wistful for better times. I know my melancholy is not universal, those who were ground under the heel of Numenor surely do not see beauty in its edifices, but I also do not feel like I am alone. Perhaps I am a fool for ever believing that in the words of Martin Luther King Jr. we could “transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood.” Or the words of Abraham Lincoln when he said “that government of the people, by the people and for the people shall not perish from this earth.” I mourn that living up to those words seems less and less likely every passing day, even if they always were an illusion. 

    I think of the Mallorn tree in the Shire, and hope to plant my own. Not to hold up the past as an uncomplicated better time or to ignore the evil, hatred, and corruption that have plagued America from the beginning, but instead in these evil times to just remember that America was once a place, and at least some parts of it were beautiful.

    “Minneapolis Skyline Art” by Justyna Jaszke
  • End of Year Reflections

    Hi all!

    It has been a hell of a year. Professionally, politically, and personally 2025 had higher highs and lower lows than any year I can remember. The publication, launch, and promotion of Profane Beasts is easily one of the greatest peaks not just of this year, but of all my journeys around the sun. Profane Beasts had a successful launch at the wonderful Abi’s Books and Brews, was discussed on the excellent ‘Drinks in the Library’ podcast, was featured on a curated Ingram Spark list for horror around Halloween, and was one of Ingram Spark’s Horror Selections for their Editorial list sitting alongside other horror standouts like Nat Cassidy and Phillip Fracassi!(OMG)

    Other highlights included participating in Shelf Life RVA’s BrewHoHo with ten other incredible writers, discussing Profane Beasts with a book club, and seeing my book on the shelves at independent bookstore stalwarts in Richmond like Fountain Bookstore and Shelf Life Books RVA. Taken together, I can’t call the publication of Profane Beasts anything but an overwhelming success. It feels so good to make the move from someone who is ‘working on a book’ to someone who is ‘available now in local bookstores!’

    None of this, and I mean none of this, would be possible without the thriving local bookstore scene in Richmond. As billionaires and tech barons continue to try and become the only game in town when it comes to all expression of human creativity, Richmond’s independent bookstores remain a source of light. With the internet drowning in all forms of AI sludge, and monopolies tightening their grip on the distribution process, now more than ever I think it is important to meet together at these spots to laugh, argue, and embrace books.

    As for the future, I sincerely hope that Profane Beasts is not the end of my authorial journey, but instead a beginning. Right now, two projects have my attention. I can’t say much more, but for now let’s call them SciFi Project #1 and SciFi Project #2. Don’t worry horror fans, both projects are heavily influenced by some of my favorite outer space haunted houses (The Nostromo, the Ishimura, the 343 Guilty Spark Level in Halo and so much more!) I’m beyond excited for both of these projects, and have hope that at least one of them will be ready sometime in 2026!

    That’s not to say Profane Beasts is in the rearview. Copies are availible locally at Abi’s Books and Brews and available in store and to order at Fountain Bookstore and Shelf Life Books RVA. An e-book version is also in the works so stay tuned for further announcements!

    Alright, I have to stop here before I overpromise. Thank you to everyone who has supported me over the past year. You have given me a gift I can never repay, and here’s looking forward to 2026 and all the years to come.

  • BrewHoHo and Other Profane Beasts News

    When I first published Profane Beasts back in September, I truly did not expect the level of success the book has had in the first three months of publication! So far in supporting Profane Beats I have…

    -Seen Profane Beasts stocked at my favorite local bookstore (Thanks Fountain!)

    -Had an amazing launch Party at Abi’s Books and Brews

    -Appeared on a local Richmond Podcast (Thank you so much GiGi and Drinks in the Library)

    -Discussed the book with a book club that all read the novel and fielded actual questions about the book!

    -Been invited to a local Richmond Book Event (BrewHoHo) where a collection of incredible Richmond authors are also going to be there!

    -Been on not one but two curated lists on Ingram Spark for new Horror releases!

    Truly I am so grateful for the success of Profane Beasts, and I wanted to give an update on a few events in the near future.

    1) I’m going to be at BrewHoHo at Afterglow Coffee from 7-9 PM on December 6th! I am frankly starstruck by the authors who will be in attendance. S.A. Cosby, Clay McLeod Chapman, and a collection of other all star authors will be there! Come by to get books signed, say hi, and support some local businesses!

    2) I’m running a giveaway! Post your rating or review of Profane Beasts on Goodreads at the link here to be entered into a raffle for a chance to win a $25 gift card to bookshop.org!

    I wish you all the best this Holiday Season, and so does the Seven Eyed Tree!

    N.L. Buchholz

  • SKiN

    Happy Halloween to one and all! On this most frightening of nights, please enjoy this offering of a chilling tale written when my partner travelled internationally for the opportunity of a lifetime. It was the first time I ever lived alone, and I couldn’t help but wonder if something else was in the apartment, watching, and waiting…

    TW: Gore

    1

    Thaddeus trudged up the stairs to their apartment. Over three hours ago he dropped Lena off at the airport. A full tank of gas, the crawling traffic of I-95, and a few select curses later, he made it home. 

    “You’ll come to visit soon?” she asked. 

    “As soon as I can.” 

    “It’s not too long, only twelve months. Years can just fly by,” she cupped the small of his back and smiled. 

    Thaddeus memorized every inch of her face before pulling her into a hug.  

    “I’ll see you soon,” the ends of her hair tickled his nose and chin. 

    “Goodbye Thad,” she whispered.  

    At the door of his apartment, Thaddeus wiped the last bit of tear residue from his eyes and pulled out his keys. The tumblers in their apartment door released, and he walked in. 

    A mournful cry from the tuxedo cat inside reminded him he wasn’t quite alone. Billie helped Lena with the transition to Richmond years ago, now the cat would help Thaddeus learn how to live on his own. Tail stretched to the sky, Billie sauntered over.  

    The cat rammed his wet nose into Thaddeus’s hand. 

    A few headrubs later, Billie looked back out the window.

    “I know bud, she’ll be back soon enough. It’s just us now,” Billie purred and consented to a few more scratches behind the ears. 

    Across the living room, at the dinner table the two of them shared for months sat a closed sketchbook and tray of sketch pencils. Thaddeus settled into the dining room chair and opened the book. 

    “You should draw more,” Lena had told him some time back after looking through a few of his old college sketches. “These are really good.” 

    The smell of the pencils and the feel of the sketch paper under his fingers slowed down his heartbeat. Instead of a million worries about her flight landing, making her connection, and what this all meant for the two of them, he could concentrate on something else. 

    The only problem was, he didn’t know what to draw. 

    Inspiration was overrated, at least that was what counted for wisdom in all the how to draw books he had read. Practicing the movements and lines on the page where what mattered, building a fundamental feel for where to set the eyes, extend the nose, or place the ears.   

    A few pencil strokes later, Thaddeus created the outline of a face. A set of circles that signified the edges of a skull, ears, and eyes. A hairless, wide eyed imitation of a human took shape. The nose little more than a line that bisected the face, and the mouth nothing but a dash. 

    Thaddeus stuck the eraser in his mouth, and leaned back in the chair. The outline was there alright, but no details, he couldn’t see the shape of the eyelashes, the curve of the hair, or the edges of the mouth with any clarity. 

    The face would stay undefined, close to human, almost living, a blank slate. 

    He frowned and tried again.

    Over and over the first steps of a face appeared on his paper. A circle for the skull, two lines below to signify the neck, and a pair of oblong orbs for the eyes. The almost faces filled up the page of his sketchbook, technically perfect. 

    But none of the creatures had any life. The page was a mausoleum of blank slates.

    A low growl in Thaddeus’s stomach pulled him out of his creative mood. Outside the sun had already set, and Billie was meowing beside his dish. Thaddeus walked over and opened the pantry, scanning to try and find the special wet food she would want him to feed the cat. The small can was right in front of his face. 

    He doled out the correct portion, set the tray down on the ground, and grabbed a piece of pizza from the fridge for himself.  

    Halfway through the slice of cold pizza, he glanced back over to the collection of almost people on his sketch sheet. All empty, all waiting for him to make them more than strange in between things that looked into his soul. 

    He slammed the sketchbook shut, he’d make them real in the morning.  

    Thaddeus couldn’t move. Sweat caked the back of his neck and his forehead.

    This wasn’t the first time he woke up paralyzed. Three major attacks shook him while he lived with Lena. Every time she reassured him he was safe, and nothing could hurt him. 

    When he was a child he sometimes would wake, and saw dark shapes at the edge of his vision, or the foot of his bed. Lena’s comforting voice seemed to sing the creatures away. 

    But now he was alone, he couldn’t even see Billie. 

    On his right was the closet that still held much of Lena’s clothes and half of her scarf collection. Coats and hangers covered both closet walls framing a hatch in the center of the ceiling. 

    To his left was a screen door to the outside deck. A set of vertical blinds covered the glass doors from curious eyes. 

    A shape was on their porch, casting a broken shadow onto the carpet. The shadow stretched to the base of the bed. 

    Billie meowed from the hallway. 

    “It’s not real,” Thaddeus clenched his jaw. The shadow disappeared from the window. The moment must be ending, he thought, in just a second, he would be able to move again. 

    A thump came from the side of the apartment, then another, as if something was climbing up the wall, or treading on the roof.

    Like the uncoiling of a twisted spring, he could move his limbs again. 

    His fingers found his phone and he hit the flashlight. In moments, every light in the apartment was on. After illuminating every corner, he approached the porch. 

    His hands trembled, and he yanked back the blinds. 

    Nothing was there, only the small table and chair that they bought last summer. 

    Thaddeus sighed and sank to the base of the bed. The phone clock read almost three in the morning, in only four hours was his report time for work. His middle school students wouldn’t care that the love of his life was flying thousands of miles away. 

    Billie walked up and purred. Thaddeus reached out his hand, and the cat curled up around his arm. 

    “I guess that’s the first time I’ve had an episode alone in years,” he ran his hands through Billie’s fur a few more times. The worst attacks had been before his college graduation, and during his first year teaching. 

    Heightened periods of stress seemed to be a trigger. The last few days certainly counted. 

    He rubbed his eyes, he needed to get back into bed, he didn’t want to fall asleep on the floor. Before long he was curled under the covers and ran his hand over the empty spot beside him. 

    “Wish you were here.” 

     

    A pounding sound woke Thaddeus. Light came through the window and he scrambled to his phone. The clock read six ten so he was alright, he still had a little time. 

    Thaddeus recognized the pounding as the bathroom door. He leapt from his bed and ran down the hallway. A pitiful meow came from behind the closed door and Thaddeus sighed. 

    Billie had never been declawed because Lena would have more likely cut off her own fingers than hurt the cat. As a result, Billie knew if he hooked his claws under the door, he could cause enough of a racket to wake the dead. 

    Mumbling a few curses, Thaddeus turned the doorknob. A streak of black and white fur sprinted to freedom. 

    A quick sniff of the air confirmed his suspicions. Small pools of alternating cat vomit and urine covered the floor. Thaddeus looked at Billie, who had taken up position in the living room. Both of the cat’s wide eyes were studying him, daring him to say something. 

    “You couldn’t have used the toilet?” said Thaddeus. 

    Billie licked himself, blinked and walked away. 

    In twenty minutes Thaddeus repaired most of the damage. The garbage bin clicked after 

    receiving the last few clorox wipes sacrificed for the struggle.  

    Thaddeus scratched his face feeling stubble. He pulled out a razor and shaved, one of the only things that separated him from the middle school children was that his facial hair was neatly trimmed. 

    After washing his face he was certainly late. The bowl of the sink was covered in facial hair, if Lena were here she would want him to clean it. 

    But she wasn’t, and he had to go. 

    He pulled the messenger bag over his shoulder and gave Billie one more glare before he pulled the door shut behind him. 

    2

    Thaddeus swung the door open, and stepped inside the apartment.

    Billie was sitting on top of the bookshelf on the right side of the apartment. The cat blinked and meowed out the window.  

    “Not for a couple hundred more days buddy,” Thaddeus rubbed Billie’s head. The cat purred a bit but kept his eyes scanning for Lena’s familiar silhouette.  

    Thaddeus sat on the couch, took off his shoes, and rubbed his eyes. The sun dipped below the horizon, faculty meetings were always long days. 

    Especially given the minimal sleep he had gotten due to last night’s episode. 

    After a few moments to rest his feet, he walked into the kitchen. The fridge was barren 

    except for the last two slices of pizza he hadn’t finished the night before. 

    Thaddeus sighed, he’d have to find something real to eat later. 

    The pizza sizzled in the microwave, and Thaddeus knew he was forgetting something. A chore he needed to do, a reason he thought Lena would be upset at him. 

    The buzzer on the microwave went off. He pulled out the pizza and took a bite. Halfway through his second slice, he remembered the hairs in the sink. 

    He strode to the bathroom and opened the door with his right hand, holding paper towels in his left. He flipped on the lights and his eyes adjusted to the bright bulbs. 

    The sink was empty. 

    Thaddeus ran his finger over the porcelain, and peered below the pipes. Other than the faint smell of cat piss, the bathroom was spotless.

    A meow echoed behind him, Billie rubbed himself up against Thaddeus’s legs. 

    “Did you clean the sink?” 

    Billie meowed, stood up on his hind legs and batted at Thaddeus’s thighs. 

    “I guess it’s your dinner time,” Thaddeus tossed the last few paper towels into the 

    bathroom trash and flipped the light off. Maybe the water turned on at some point during the day, or he hadn’t left that much of a mess. 

    Thaddeus scooped out a bit of wet food to appease the now howling cat. He finished his dinner and crawled into bed refusing to look at the empty gulf next to him. 

    Something in the apartment was chirping. Thaddeus sat up, happy to have use of his muscles.

    The chirping was coming from the closet, persistent as a leaking showerhead. After he realized the noise wasn’t going to stop, he threw off his covers and turned on the closet light. 

    Billie was sitting on the dresser at the far closet wall. His yellow eyes were fixed on the small maintenance hatch in the center of the ceiling. Every few seconds, Billie would chirp and dart his head, following something on the other side of the hatch. 

    “There’s nothing there,” Thaddeus reached to pick Billie up but the cat darted away. The closet was silent and Thaddeus listened, wondering if he could hear whatever rodent was scurrying around on the roof. 

    The hatch stayed silent.  

    Thaddeus turned around and shut the door behind him. The bed was warm and, his eyes started to droop.

    Before sleep took him, he heard claws scratch at the closet door. 

    “Come on,” Thaddeus tried to shoo Billie away from the door from the bed but the cat wouldn’t budge. He grasped for the cat to get it to move. 

    Billie sprinted  away into the other room. Thaddeus followed him and shut the door, in his dresser was a doorstop that would foil the cat’s door slamming instincts.  

    As soon as his head hit the pillow he fell back asleep. 

    The morning alarm woke Thaddeus. He felt like he laid down only moments ago, but the bit of light streaking in from the window made it clear he had to get up. 

    He turned his phone’s alarm off and rubbed his face. 

    The closet door was open. Cracked a bit, it must have come open sometime during the night, or perhaps he hadn’t closed it properly. 

    A small pain bothered Thaddeus in his right forearm. He scratched it for a second, and wondered if Billie had perhaps cut him when he put the cat out of the room. 

    After pulling out the doorstop he went into the other room to feed the howling cat. 

    After mollifying his furry roommate, Thaddeus stepped into the shower.  

    The warm water washed over his scalp and he took a deep breath. He read somewhere that people took longer showers when they were lacking human contact. 

    Lena had always made fun of him for his long showers, but the warm water almost felt like her arms wrapping around the small of his back. 

    He stayed under the water for a few moments longer than he should. A sharp pain came from his right forearm when he pulled back the shower curtain. In the pit of his elbow was a small scratch that twinged in the cold air. 

    He scratched at it a few times and the irritant subsided. He flipped the sink on and running water started to pour inside the bowl. The bristles of the toothbrush ran over his teeth and he felt one wobble. 

    A bit of blood gushed into his mouth and he dropped the toothbrush. Leaning closer to the mirror, Thaddeus saw the offending tooth. It was a front canine, on the right side, stained red. 

    He knew his gums were bad, but wasn’t aware that they were one of his teeth might fall out bad. A call to his dentist was a part of his future. Hopefully distant future.  

    The itch in his forearm would not stop, so he examined it again. It was a round scratch, almost like a puncture right at the vein. Two summers ago, Thaddeus had gone to a plasma donation site in the hopes of making a bit of extra cash. The scars from the improperly placed needles had never really healed. 

    The mark on his arm was similar. 

    The ringing of Thaddeus’s alarm penetrated the door and he ran to stop it. He must have just reset the alarm instead of turning it off. After canceling the alarm, he saw the time. 

    “Shit,” he was going to be late this morning. 

    He tried not to think about the strange mark on his arm as he pulled on his shirt.  

    Thaddeus woke up with a mouth full of cotton. Somewhere deep in the back of his throat, he felt the tin aftertaste of blood. 

    He checked his phone, his alarm was set to go off within the next twenty minutes. No point in trying to go back to sleep, so he rolled out of bed. 

    The cream he applied to the cut on his arm had not helped, it made the cut even more red and angry. He heaped more cream on top of the wound not knowing what else to do.

    He turned on the faucet to brush his teeth, cycling the toothbrush under the water a few times until he could get some feeling in his mouth. He ran the brush over his left canine, both bottom incisors until the toothbrush scraped his gums. 

    There was a hole where his right canine should be. 

    He ran the toothbrush over the empty space, hoping his mouth was just still too numb. He bared his teeth and looked in the mirror. 

    “What the hell,” Thaddeus leaned closer to the mirror, feeling around the cavity in his mouth with his tongue. 

    The tooth was gone. 

    Back in his bedroom he pulled off all of the sheets scrambling to find the missing tooth. He searched in between the mattress, under the bed, and in the pillowcases, but could find no sign of the missing bone.  

    Billie meowed for his breakfast. 

    “Give me a second,” Thaddeus said as he threw away one of his pillows in frustration. Taking a deep breath, Thaddeus pulled out his phone hoping to figure out what to do next. 

    A few fruitless searches later his time was running out again. Feeling returned to his mouth, not pain but it was hard to keep his tongue out of the void where his tooth used to be. The fleshy opening that his tongue seemed almost drawn to run over.  

    He was halfway out of the apartment when he saw Billy stretch out on the floor. Thaddeus scratched the cat behind the ears and wished Lena was here to help him figure out what to do. 

    “Not till next Tuesday? That’s the earliest you can see me?” Barked Thaddeus into his phone. 

    “I’m sorry sir, but your situation doesn’t really qualify as an emergency, we can still replace the tooth with a crown next week.” 

    “Fine,” Thaddeus hung up the phone before the woman could respond. All day his mouth tasted like tin. 

    He turned into the parking lot of their apartment complex and tried to take a deep breath, but his breathing was ragged. The itch from his arm, and the strange feeling in his mouth seemed to blot out any other thought, and the lack of sleep from the last two nights made everything hazy and undefined. He had another two days to get through the rest of the week, and his third floor apartment loomed above him. 

    He took two deep breaths, pulled out his phone and dialed Lena’s number. 

    A few moments later he reached her voicemail, he knew she must be doing something important. The phone beeped prompting him to leave a message. 

    “Hi, it’s me. I just wanted to see how you were? It has been a few days, I know that you’ve been busy but it would just be nice to hear your voice., I just wanted to say I missed you, and I wish you were here, alot.” 

    Thadeus clicked the phone off. She would respond when she could. He stumbled up the stairs and into the apartment. The kitchen had nothing suitable to eat, and he couldn’t stand the thought of going back out. 

    He was tired, so tired from the late night after he dropped her off, the night Bille wouldn’t shut up about the closet, and being awake early that morning. Just a quick nap, and then he would fix his missing tooth and his empty fridge. 

    3

    Two small points of pressure bore into Thaddeus’s chest. The apartment was pitch dark and he wondered how long he had been asleep. Billie was standing over him, but wasn’t purring. 

    Thaddeus tried to push the cat off of him and check the time.

    He couldn’t move. 

    Every muscle in his body was like an extended rubber band. His eyes were the only thing he could shift. 

    Billie’s yellow orbs focused on the closet, his mouth making small chirps. 

    Hinges squeaked, and the hatch in the closet ceiling opened. Two long legs of a dark shadow slithered their way through the portal. Saliva beaded on Thaddeus’s lips, his eyes turned as far as they could to the dark closet to his right. 

    The figure inched its way down, until its outstretched legs touched the floor. 

    Billie chirped at the shape. 

    It’s not real, Thaddeus thought. In a second the figure would disappear and Thaddeus’s muscles would unclench. 

    The floor cracked as heavy footfalls shook the bed. Billie hissed and bared his teeth. 

    The figure walked by the bed down the hall to the bathroom. 

    The light in the bathroom turned on. 

    Someone was in the apartment with Thaddeus, someone real, and he still couldn’t move. 

    A low voice murmured from the bathroom. It just kept repeating, “blood, hair, and bone.” 

    The chanting ceased and the heavy treads of the intruder came close. A hunched shape of a man stood in the doorway, backlit by the bathroom light.  

    The thing walked to the side of the bed.   

    Billie hissed and clawed at it. The figure picked up the cat and tossed it into the closet. Billie tried to grasp the underside of the door with his claws but the shape reached into the dresser and pulled out the wedge Thaddeus used the other night.

    The cat yowled but could not slam the door. 

    Thaddeus couldn’t move his eyes anymore, they were fixed to the ceiling, frozen like every one of his limbs. A few tears were running down the side of his face, he couldn’t move his mouth to ask the intruder what it wanted. 

    The figure pulled off his comforter and he saw an old face lined with a million wrinkles and with only a few yellow teeth in its mouth. 

    “Up,” it whispered. 

    Thaddeus’s legs moved but he didn’t control where, he stepped off the bed and his skin burst into goosebumps. 

    The breath, and presence of whatever was behind him lingered on the back of his neck. 

    “Time,” rasped the voice behind him. 

    Thaddeus walked towards the bathroom. 

    If he could just open his mouth, he could scream or beg, or ask the creature what it wanted, but he couldn’t do anything but plod ahead.

    At the door Thaddeus turned to enter the fluorescent lit room. The smell of blood flooded into his nose, and he caught a glimpse of the sink which held a small pool of blood mixed with hair. Peaking above the puddle, was a jagged tooth with a red root. 

    On the edge of the sink sat the collection of sharp knives his parents had given him and Lena last Christmas. 

    He inhaled, hoping to harness a scream, but his jaw was clenched shut, and his tongue stuck to the bottom of his mouth. Breath whistled behind his teeth. 

    The invader stopped, but Thaddeus kept walking. He stepped over the lid of the tub and faced the faucet. The drain was right under his feet, and his head bowed beneath the showerhead. 

    The roller ball rings clicked as the curtain was pulled shut. Thaddeus’s eyes were locked ahead at the plastic paneling of the tub. 

    Outside of the tub, on the other side of the curtain, was the unmistakable sound of metal rubbing against metal. A few steel shrieks later he heard whatever was there muttering, “hair, bone, blood, hair bone blood…” over and over. 

    A warm spout of liquid slid down his right thigh and around his feet. 

    He tried to turn his eyes to see what was happening on the other side of the curtain but his muscles were so rigid they trembled. 

    The chanting ended. The apartment settled with a crack, and footfalls came towards the shower. The curtain shifted as the raspy breath returned to the back of Thaddeus’s neck. 

    The creature inhaled like it was about to take a deep plunge then gasped. A sound like tearing fabric or paper filled the bathroom. A warm fluid covered Thaddeus’s feet. 

    It was blood surging from behind him and running towards the drain. The waves of blood grew until they were lapping over his feet, over his ankle, to the base of his shin. 

    His mouth tasted like tin.  

    The blood rushed around the drain until something solid bumped into Thaddeus’s foot. The object bobbed in the pool and turned over. 

    It was an ear. 

    Thaddeus’s vomited, bile dripping down his chest. 

    Behind him, the tearing would not stop, and more and more pieces of matter accumulated around his feet. 

    With one last tear, the sound stopped and the blood drained. Flesh lay coiled on the floor,  much too large to spiral through the pipes. The being behind Thaddeus grunted, and stepped out of the tub. 

    Thaddeus’s feet moved, stepping out of the bundles of flesh. His legs spread themselves, and his arms stretched out, completely open, totally vulnerable. 

    Standing in front of him was the impression of a man. Nothing but right angles and slender lines. The angular first steps of an artists inspiration.

    Just like the nine faces he had sketched days ago.

    The human impression pulled out a black garbage bag and gathered up the different parts that were left in the tub. Each piece of flesh squelched when it was forced inside the bag. 

    The being hung the garbage bag on the towel rack and fixed its empty orbs on Thaddeus. The mouth barely moved as it rasped the word, “time.” 

    Thaddeus’s legs shifted and he turned until he was facing the wall of the bathroom. The different squares of tile mosaic connecting in front of his eyes. 

    A voice murmured behind him, “stretch.” 

    Thaddeus’s muscles tensed harder. With quiet popping sounds his muscles ripped away from the bones in his legs, his feet, and finally his back. 

    Remarkably, he was still standing upright. His muscles tensed until all that was left of him was a shell of flesh, nerves, and organs, detached from the bone.

    The cold steel of a knife brushed the small of his back. 

    Lena walked past passport control and picked up her bags. Thad was waiting for her on the other side of customs with a grin. She ran up to him, and he spun her around with a big hug. She kissed him, grasping the back of his head. 

    “I’ve missed you.” 

    Her hand strayed down to cup the small of his back. His skin was tough and hard like tree bark. She tried to pull up his shirt to explore the scar tissue beneath, but one of his hands brought hers higher up his back. While he embraced her in the airport, she wondered what else had changed about the man she loved.

  • Profane Beasts Launch

    Profane Beasts is out now!

    Thank you to everyone who attended the launch party on September 15th at Abi’s Books and Brews. Publishing my work was a huge leap of faith, and I could not have felt more supported than by the host of close friends that packed Abi’s on a Monday night. Thank you so much to Abi’s Books and Brews for being willing to host a launch for an unknown author and allowing me to use their space. Abi’s has quickly become a big piece of the Richmond community, and I could not have been happier with the kindness they’ve shown me during the launch.

    If you want a signed copy of Profane Beasts, drop by Abi’s for one! I have signed all the copies that are out on their front shelf, and please support Abi’s as they continue making their coffee shop a kind and safe place for all.

    Profane Beasts has also been featured this month on a curated list of indie books on bookshop.org! Just in time for spooky season, Profane Beasts is on Halloween Chills and Thrills on bookshop.org, where every purchase supports independent bookstores instead of acolytes of the seven eyed tree like this guy.

    If you want to see the list of incredible Indie Horror check out this link here for not just Profane Beasts, but also some of the other groundbreaking work horror authors are doing right now!

    https://bookshop.org/lists/halloween-chills-and-thrills?page=1

    And if you are just looking for Profane Beasts check it this link here!

    https://bookshop.org/p/books/profane-beasts/d1d62ef688f58a7e?ean=9798218704049&next=t&aid=2272&listref=halloween-chills-and-thrills&next=t

    Thank you so much for your support and care for this project! More updates on Profane Beasts will be coming soon, but like it’s said in the publishing business… the best way to market your book is to start writing the next one.

    N.L. Buchholz

  • Profane Beasts -Anita Herman Interview

    Five Years After Hurricane Ophelia

    (Anita Hernan is an easy person to find, she likes it that way. Something of a minor internet celebrity, Anita broadcasts her live political show “Whole Truth” biweekly where she speaks to crystal enthusiasts, crash diet salesmen, long shot political candidates, and a few out and out conspiracy theorists. Her audience is a couple thousand strong per her metrics.

                The content of these shows includes Anita’s personal political opinions along with extended advertisements for her list of increasingly ‘alternative’ health and wellness products to her followers. Anita leveraged her time as a meteorologist at (redacted) to build connections with the health and wellness community and establish her presence on social media. Her pushing of radical ideas, such as the belief that Hurricane Ophelia was manipulated by the US government to scare the population into taking action on climate change has isolated her from most of the journalist community, and I didn’t think much more of her than another crank selling insanity to make a buck until I listened to a recording of her show where she mentioned Calvary Baptist Church.

    After a terse email exchange, I agreed to fly out to Sacramento to meet with Anita and hear what she has to say about “the big one.” I politely declined to be a guest on her show, but she enthusiastically agreed to talk to me about the “irregularities” surrounding Hurricane Ophelia. I mostly wanted to just see if she had a connection to Calvary Baptist Church outside of the storm given her incessant mentioning of the name. When I arrived in her studio, she had reams of weather maps laid out on her table and was standing in front of a monitor. I sighed and pulled out my tape recorder. I had figured prying into her personal connection with the church would be contingent on me listening to her various “opinions,” I just hoped it wouldn’t take too long.)

    Anita Hernan – 03/02/2032 

    Speakers are Anita Hernan (referred to as “A” throughout the transcript) and Kellen Faulk (referred to as “KF” throughout the transcript)

    A: Thank you for talking to me today, the mainstream media really has done a number on me recently, going after my sponsors, peppering me with false lawsuits, but they can’t silence the truth.

    KF: The truth?

    A: The truth about how our government keeps us passive and quiet, having all of the right opinions, and all of the right beliefs, and “government approved actions.” That’s why they are coming after me so much, that’s why I’m constantly getting served subpoena and cease and desists and every other dirty trick in the book. Because they know I’m close to uncovering the truth. That I’m so close to figuring out the messed up way they are controlling what we think about our planet and our place in the universe.

    KF: Have you shared this truth with your viewers?

    A: Not all of it, they aren’t ready, not yet. Deprogramming your mind from all the toxic propaganda our government pumps into our heads is a long process, and you don’t want to go too fast too quickly. Most people would go insane if they knew the whole truth, so you have to bring them along gently.

    KF: But you are interested in sharing this mind altering truth with me?

    A: You already know about Calvary Baptist Church, you are already on the path towards truth, I would say you are much farther along than my viewers.

    KF: But what if I was to publish your “truth?” What then?

    A: (Laughs) Come on now, you and I both know you aren’t publishing a word I say. I’m not stupid. Besides, all of the records and physical evidence that I’ve collected is staying right here with me, so if you want to stake your entire career off of my word alone, well I’ll put you in the rotation of frequent guest stars. We pay 30$ an appearance, which I think you’d be needing soon.

    KF: Why Calvary Baptist Church? What’s important about the place?

    A: I have here in front of you, meteorological maps of the city of Chesapeake, printed at every hour of the storm. I’ve got radar, rainfall averages, wind speed readings, all of the tools of the trade for the city during the entire time it was destroyed by Superstorm Ophelia. While Chesapeake never got hit by the apocalyptic winds of the eye wall that passed over Norfolk and Portsmouth, almost every populated area was flooded by the storm surge and several feet of rain that the storm dumped over the area over the two days it hovered across the city.

    Look here at each of the neighborhoods. Great Bridge, mostly flooded out, Hickory, inundated, Greenbriar, buried under thirty feet of storm surge, and all the way out to Virginia Beach, Dam Neck and Princess Ann were devastated by floodwaters. These rainfall totals are beyond belief, some in the forty to fifty inches. Parts of Hickory were under pelting rain for nearly twenty-four straight hours.

    Everywhere in the area was slammed by the storm, except right here on Mt. Pleasant Road.

    (Alice pulls out another set of radar maps zoomed into the area around Calvary Baptist Church. Amidst the deep purples and reds of severe rainfall, the radar in a half a mile diameter around the church is clear.)

    Right above the church, there’s no storm. You can check every moment during the all hands on deck broadcast Billy Vern did on the storm, bless that man. Not a single drop of rainwater according to either the radar, or the rainfall gauges fell on top of Calvary Baptist. It doesn’t add up, hurricanes do not selectively spare areas of impact. They aren’t tornadoes, they don’t skip houses, and the eye of the storm was nearly thirty miles north hovering over the Chesapeake Bay. This right here shows that there is something our government doesn’t want us to know about the storm, it shows that we have the technology to stop storms from striking vulnerable areas! This is huge, it means the government has been letting people die in these superstorms while protecting their key assets in the path of the storm!

    KF: Calvary Baptist church was a key asset?

    A: It must have been! If the use of weather manipulation technology is confirmed, like it is looking at these maps, then they must have deployed that power at Calvary Baptist!

    KF: Ok, I understand. Now I do have a question that people might ask when this goes public, I know there has to be an explanation, but I think if I was the government, I would simply claim that the weather equipment malfunctioned under the strain of the storm.

    A: Oh I know, that would be how I would twist the truth too. Luckily we have more evidence that Calvary Baptist was kept high and dry while the rest of the area drowned.

    (Anita holds out a picture of seagull, and places two ziplock bags with what looks like hardened bird droppings of different sizes.)

    KF: What am I looking at?

    A: Birdshit.

    (Anita grins at me like I don’t understand a convoluted inside joke.)

    KF: And the birdshit means?

    A: One of the cleanup crews reported an enormous amount of bird feces covering and surrounding the Calvary Baptist property within the half mile area that showed no signs of rainfall. Not only were they bird feces, but feces from terns, albatrosses, cormaments, and other species that generally range out over the Atlantic Ocean. These birds don’t come as far inland as Mt. Pleasant, and they certainly don’t swarm around populated areas, but the diversity and amount of birdshit around Calvary Baptist indicates that there was a huge number of sea-birds just hanging out on the property.

    You see, seabirds have adapted to the faster and more powerful hurricanes we have today, they drift to the center and then chill in the eye of the storm where the winds and rains can’t bother them. Often this is where we find birds who are exhausted, or who don’t have the strength to escape the incredible power of the eyewall winds.

    This birdshit means that those same seabirds were all congregating at Calvary Baptist, far from the eyewall, waiting for the storm to pass, confirming our radar that the church was shielded from the storm. The birds, they showed the government’s hand, showed the special technology they have that can blunt the effectiveness of these superstorms. So while they go on talking about “carbon emissions” and “sea level rise” and “reduced consumption” they’ve got the answer right here to solve the crisis.

    KF: And you are bringing them the truth?

    A: It’s what I do.

    KF: What would you say to the families of (redacted) who recently identified the remains of their loved ones on the banks of the Elizabeth River? If I’m not mistaken, you are being sued for claiming the bodies were “made of rubber.”

    A: I never claimed there were no deaths related to Superstorm Ophelia.

    KF: What about your statements that many people who were confirmed dead during the storm have been spotted vacationing in South America?

    A: If you wish to debate me on the merits of those claims I have a few spots still open throughout this week and the next. Let me see if I can fit you in between-

    KF: I think we’re done here.

    -Interview Ends

    Thank you for reading this sneak peak from Profane Beasts! The book goes into wide release in one short month on September 15th under the watchful gaze of the Seven Eyed Tree. Pre-order today at https://shop.ingramspark.com/b/084?params=tJ8DX5HETKhsRwTt2xvbc4FTWgFKFzVT49NnHbr2q2r.

  • Newsletter!

    If you want to stay in the know for all things Profane Beasts, subscribe to my Newsletter! Simply subscribe to my page on wordpress, or send me a good email for you to stay up to date on all author events, news, and a peak into what I’m reading and watching!

  • Profane Beasts Launch Party

    Come join me on September 15th from 7:00 PM to 8:00 PM at Abi’s Books and Brews located at 1212 1/2 W Cary St, Richmond, VA 23220 to celebrate the launch of Profane Beasts! We will celebrate the release with a book signing, giveaways, and time together in an excellent community space at Abi’s Books and Brews. Thank you so much for your support, and I cannot wait to to share the book with you.

    Fill out the rsvp below to enter yourself into the giveaway! Prizes will be announced in the coming days, and we will draw three lucky winners the night of the launch!

    RSVP link: https://forms.gle/rdEgk3a8EWzUoZ377

  • Profane Beasts Preorder and Release Date

    Thank you to Everyone who came out to the virtual cover review for Profane Beasts! I am so happy to be able to share the cover with you below!

    Profane Beasts releases on September 25th, 2025. The pre-order is now live at the link below!

    https://shop.ingramspark.com/b/084?params=tJ8DX5HETKhsRwTt2xvbc4FTWgFKFzVT49NnHbr2q2r

    If you are still uncertain of whether or not Profane Beasts is for you, check out the second excerpt from the book below, chronicling the final message between the troubled Kelly and her therapist Alice.

    (The following voicemail was left on Alice Crenshaw’s phone by Kelly Harden on August 7th at 3:30 PM. The voicemail left on Alice Crenshaw’s phone at the time of recovery for this investigative report indicating that it was not deleted. The voicemail mentions a photo that was also sent to Alice Crenshaw at 3:35 PM via text. The photograph was saved in Alice Crenshaw’s photos.)

    (Voicemail begins)

    Alice, I’m not surprised you aren’t picking up. Probably fair given all the times I let you go to voicemail. I know now that you were trying to help. I said some cruel things in the email I sent you. The more I thought about it, the worse I felt, especially after all you did for me. If I’m being honest Alice, you’re the first person who seemed to genuinely want to help me. Typical of me to drive you away, it’s a pattern, probably something I should talk to a therapist about.

    But I didn’t call you to talk about those emails, or that night. I called because I think, for the first time in years, I’m getting some answers. Answers about what happened at camp, answers about what happened at Calvary Baptist, answers about this whole fucking city. I can’t tell you over the phone, they could be listening, but I’ve gotten to the root and I feel better than I have in a long time.

    Answers are what I hoped to get talking to you. Tactics and strategies to help me be less anxious, less worried just living my life, more functional whatever that means. I know you did your best, but that wasn’t enough for me, wasn’t what I really needed. What I needed was to understand why, how sending me to camp, all of that poison they put in my mind was connected. Putting together the bigger picture you know? Because only once you understand why something awful happened to you can you do something about it. Now I know things. Things the people here wouldn’t want to get out, wouldn’t want to go public.

    And that’s the thing about it isn’t it? Now that the hateful, dangerous center is exposed I can stop it from hurting anyone ever again. That would make my suffering meaningful.

    Do you remember the testimonies that people used to give during church? Some Sunday morning where a random member of the church would talk about the “dark times” that they suffered through? I remember one time that Ms. Shelly, I guess just Shelly now that we are whole ass adults, stood up there and talked about how Jesus was the reason she had been able to leave her boyfriend. She talked about him selling pot and all the other “sins” she fell into with him. But at the end of the talk, after detailing the long list of wrongs she thought she did, she said it was all worth it because it showed her how much she needed Jesus.

    Maybe it’s the same for me. Maybe I was paranoid and anxious for a reason. Now I’ve gathered the facts and best believe me, when I’m finally ready to tell everyone what has been happening here, I’ll absolutely be in the news.

    I’m going to send you a photo of what happened to my door. Don’t worry, I think it’s good that they are trying to scare me, it means I’m getting closer to the truth. Call me back when you can so we can talk about when you are coming down to help. Make what happened to both of us mean something.

    Talk to you soon!

    (The message sent to Alice Crenshaw held a single photo taken in midday light outside of Kelly Harden’s residence. The residence was a two story town house made out of brick nestled between two other units. In the center of the photograph is a closed blue door beside a bay window. The door bears extensive burns and gouges some over two inches wide and an inch deep.

    The gouges have neat edges and are too symmetrical to be considered accidental damage. Two large gouges between two and three feet long sit around four feet apart in the center of the door. These cuts seem to bloom upwards suggesting the figure of some large tree. Shallower lines of damage appear towards the top of the door giving the appearance of limbs or branches.

    Burn damage is evident in the center of the door between the two deep slashes in the door. Seven circles are placed in seemingly random order between the long cuts. These circles are blackened as if they were placed with a brand or other superheated object. At the center of each of these circles is a small point. The circles are not similarly sized with larger circles appearing at the top of the door and smaller circles appearing at the bottom of the door.

    Near the top of the door are a pair of painted white clouds that are unmarked by the damage. Another set of clouds  have been destroyed by the brands and cuts. Before the vandalism, the door seemed to be a pastel depiction of a sunny day one could find in a child’s coloring book.)

  • Profane Beasts – Sneak Peak!

    In preparation for the virtual cover reveal of Profane Beasts, I am ready to share the introduction of the novel. Below are the official first pages of Profane Beasts.

    Virginia 1st District Court

    Convention v Faulk

    …. The following records in the civil libel case of Convention v Faulk are now unsealed for public viewing. These records include all emails, recordings, voice memos, and other relevant information that went into Mr. Faulk’s article posted on Medium titled “Strong Winds and Bloody Roots: The Dark Secret the Storm of the Century Concealed.” The case was brought to court due to “false” and “sensationalized” reports of the events surrounding Calvary Baptist Church both before and during Hurricane Ophelia. After careful consideration of the evidence, this court found that while the eyewitness testimony, email records, and voice recordings that Mr. Faulk used for his story are remarkable, we do not find that Mr. Faulk knowingly misrepresented any of his sources or showed blatant disregard for the truth.

    The investigation by Mr. Faulk has revealed key information about the whereabouts of three missing people in the wake of Super-storm Ophelia. Alice Crenshaw, Kelly Harden, and Whitney Ellington’s bodies have never been recovered in the wake of the storm, and this court encourages opening new police investigations into their deaths based on the evidence that Mr. Faulk has revealed. While this court agrees that some of the more colorful pieces of Mr. Faulk’s reporting may flirt with the fantastical, one does not have to believe in the strangest accounts of the events surrounding Calvary Baptist Church in order to think that local police have more work to do in bringing closure to the families of Alice, Kelly and Whitney…

    Author’s Note

    Dear reader,

    A feature of these documents that may immediately become clear to you is that unlike most evidence dumps from libel cases, these documents have been structured in the form of a narrative surrounding key people of interest such as Alice Crenshaw, Ernest Mobley, and others. In addition, the evidence is divided into three ‘parts’ with hymns or other lyrics attached to each ‘part’ of the story. This speaks to a design behind the presentation of evidence, and a final document set that reads more like a pulp story or tabloid than evidence dumps from an infamous court case. 

    Believe it or not, the submission of evidence in this manner was not my decision, but instead insisted upon by the people trying to ruin my name and my bank account. Their claim was not necessarily that I lied about the actual content of Alice Crenshaw’s voice memos or Ernest Mobley’s interviews, but instead that I had “put the documents together to imply patently false information about both Calvary Baptist Church and the Convention at large.” In response to the charge, I assembled the evidence together in the order that it appeared in the medium article.

    As for the charge of misusing the evidence from Alice Crenshaw’s phone as well as the other interviews I’ve collected about what exactly hap-pened at Calvary Baptist Church while Hurricane Ophelia devas­tated the Hampton Roads area, I will leave that verdict in your hand’s dear reader. Believe Alice and Ernest or not, it’s up to you, but at least now you have the opportunity to hear their remarkable story.

    Best,

    -Kellan Faulk

    ‘P.S’. As you read, you will notice several important organizations, individuals, and entities are not named, but have instead been redacted from these documents distributed to the public. I hope you can understand that as someone who has just lived through one life altering lawsuit that took my job, my home, and almost cost me my marriage, that I hope to reduce the number of future lawsuits I am exposed to by as much as possible. I deeply hope to go the rest of my life without ever seeing the inside of a courthouse again.

    Thank you,

    -KF

    ‘P.S.S.’ Please be advised that the following documents include depiction and discussion of neglect, religious abuse, anti-queer hate crimes, severe night terrors, self-harm, suicide, murder, mutilation, and torture. Remember that at any point if you find these pieces of evidence too harrowing to look through, that the power is in your hands to put down the book, take a sip of a preferred beverage, and go on a brisk walk during a mild day. I truly believe that reading is one of the most consensual relationships a person can have to a piece of media, and if you feel yourself reaching your limits, feel free to put this upsetting document away for a time.

    I do still encourage you to read it through the end, as I believe that encountering what is inside these documents in the comfort and safety of your bedroom, study, or coffee shop is important enough to face some psychic discomfort. Alice, Ernest and all the others never had the chance to just look away from what faced them at Calvary Baptist Church, you have the privilege to take a break and step away if it gets to be too much. I expect you not to waste such a generous opportunity.

    -KF

    Join me this Saturday at 7:30 on google meet for the official cover reveal and reading of another excerpt if you wish to dig to the bloody root of what happened at Calvary Baptist Church during the storm.

    I can’t wait to share it with you all!

    https://calendar.app.google/79PjDiJ7NrEgw7qY9: Profane Beasts – Sneak Peak!