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This fast-paced, spiritual thriller will leave your heart pounding. When Matthew Light discovers his family's secret, he finds himself marked by dark forces and facing attacks from all sides. With his best friend, Jeremiah, locked in a battle of his own and their church threatened with destruction, Matthew must unlock the power within and fight for his own survival. If you enjoyed the suspenseful spiritual journey of Dean Koontz's The Eyes of Darkness, you'll be captivated by Matthew's fight against evil in Shadows of the Ark. Buy now before the price changes!
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What readers are saying about the series:
"This story had what looked like magic, but it really is the hand of God."
"A glimpse into the supernatural realm that a true believing family faces."
"Every chapter made me want to keep reading and loved the ending!"
"This is a fantastic book!"
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Enjoy a sample of Shadows of the Ark!
Chapter 1 - Tidal Wave
Matthew watched Jeremiah drive away as his heart filled with bittersweet feelings. He would miss J, but he was happy for him. He admired J’s action, considering the horrible recurring dream that flooded his friend’s mind every night. As Matthew thought about it, maybe it was the dream that was driving J toward action more than all the other recent events.
Matthew got into his car and stared at the steering wheel, keys still in his hand. J’s dream replayed in his mind. The introduction was creepy enough, the empty train with emotionless family and friends staring at him as he raced past, let alone the worm growing into a snake, then the snake into a dragon, and finally, the beast slamming its giant, horrible jaws on J, Matthew, and Ashley in one fluid motion.
Matthew felt a shiver down his spine as J described the dripping teeth that bit right through them, like a fork piercing tender sausage.
Besides the adventure of seeing Europe, J was going after his long-lost love, and Matthew admired that as well. It was a romantic addition to the impromptu trip to Europe that Matthew couldn’t imagine himself doing. Liz’s heart seemed to flutter at the thought when Matthew told her. No hotels booked, a one-way ticket, and minimal routes scouted beforehand. But J was a confident man. He was going to Boston to see Ashley and win her heart, and then off to Europe. With a map of Paul’s New Testament journeys stuffed into his only piece of luggage, his backpack, J was going to show up, then let God guide his path.
Matthew stopped looking off in the distance and started the car. He felt the vibration of his truck underneath him as he pulled out of the parking lot. His mind backtracked from J’s departure and the description of his dream. He thought back to Isaiah’s funeral. Matthew had surprised himself by not breaking down into tears for the entire service. He was watery-eyed the whole morning before the service, and had broken down at the viewing the night before when he hugged his mother. But as he led his two daughters and wife Liz into their family’s church for the open casket service, he held it together. He held his copy of the family Bible, and the ancient artifact hidden within, on his lap as they took their seat.
Matthew felt at peace as his father, Zechariah, the lead pastor in their family’s church, led the service.
Zech gave an emotional eulogy and asked if anyone wanted to come to the front and share a story, a memory, of Isaiah. This was Matthew’s cue.
Liz leaned over their two daughters and looked at Matthew.
“You okay?” she said. “You don’t have to go up. Your brothers can handle it.”
“I’m fine,” Matthew nodded. “And if they’re going, yes, I ‌have to go up.” He smiled at Liz.
Luke, Mark, and Matthew, along with J, had all agreed beforehand that they would be the first ones to speak. They all stood in unison and walked toward the front of the church. Each would discuss the most memorable time with their grandfather. They agreed nothing too dragged out, nothing too sappy, but heartfelt, clear, and concise. Exactly the way Isaiah would have given it.
Matthew wasn’t sure he could communicate his memory without breaking down into tears, but there was no way he’d leave his brothers and J up there without him. He never felt overly emotional, but weddings and funerals hit him right in his tear ducts. And being the last of the four in their predetermined order, by age, gave him plenty of time to think of his watery eyes.
Luke took the stage first, and Matthew knew he would be fine. Matthew’s oldest brother was the owner of a regional chain of vehicle repair shops through the Atlanta metro area. His leadership during the early stages of funding, recruiting, and then rehiring labor had embedded extraordinary confidence in different situations. He spoke like a seasoned speaker, giving pauses in all the right spots as he addressed the congregation directly and connected with the audience.
“I got into a lot of trouble in my teenage years,” Luke led off, “and I know my parents were praying for me every night. But… for whatever reason… my dad just couldn’t get through to me. It was like God had hardened my heart.” Luke smiled as he looked to the side of the platform, toward his father. A small laugh came from the audience as Zech shook his head with a mocking stare of an angry father.
“But it was Isaiah who finally broke through to me. I had moved out, was on my own for years, and he began coming over, asking me to go on walks and telling me stories of when he and Grandma started their church. I couldn’t believe those stories. He was like an action hero with a Bible. I hung on every word. Totally captivated.”
Luke nodded as his eyes watered. “But it was his stories of dedication that stuck with me. The sermons he prepared for and gave with all his heart, even though only the same poor crowd showed up. I was turning wrenches every day, taking no accountability for my life, and here was my grandfather, sharing similar details, except he had a purpose. God was leading his life, and he was doing everything he could to help. All those sermons, all those empty pews, but he stuck with it, and he showed me what a little effort, applied every day, can grow into.”
Luke stepped back as Mark stepped forward. Mark hugged his older brother and took the microphone.
Matthew knew Mark would cry, but somehow, he was still coherent. The former financial guru who handled all the biggest Silicon Valley IPOs had turned missionary years ago. All the acclaim and financial success only led to situations that pushed Mark away, leading to his calling for international missions.
Mark used his emotions when he spoke. He could connect with people on a deep level, and Matthew admired him for it, yet couldn’t help but feel like an inadequate speaker as his brother began his memorial.
“Grandpa was always so consistent, so steady. He seemed to grow stronger when challenged, like he knew it was his purpose to run toward a fight instead of away. I had friends who thought he was a former Marine instead of a pastor all his life.”
Mark wiped his eyes, smiled before he sniffed, and continued.
“There was a point in my life where I was looking away from what I knew was right. I started taking the easy road and was prospering financially because of it. I talked with Grandpa, and he told me the story of how he once carried a young man in need, on his back, for miles through thick woods over unsteady ground. He said he could have left the boy, and he probably would have been fine. He would have woken up the next day and figured out how to get home. But Grandpa knew the right thing to do was TO DO THE RIGHT THING! He hoisted the young man on his back and eventually got him home to safety. Grandpa helped me do the right thing, even when it wasn’t easy.”
Mark paused and wiped his eyes again. Tears rolling down his face but breathing steady, he turned to J.
J stepped forward on the podium. The funeral attendees knew Pastor Jeremiah well. He was the second in command to Zechariah for years, as well as Matthew’s best friend and, for all intents and purposes, the fourth Light boy. After his father Micah died when J was a young age, he spent more time at the Lights’ house than at his own.
“I became a pastor because of my late father and Pastor Zechariah Light.” J motioned to Zech off to the side of the main stage. “And they wouldn’t be pastors if it wasn’t for Pastor… I mean, Grandpa Light. He held firm to his convictions and turned the key that unlocked this church and, eventually, my new family. I owe this family more than I could ever repay and I’d give my life for this church…” J looked down at his bandaged hand. The arm that only weeks earlier pushed up Ignace’s shotgun and saved Matthew’s life. The shell spray that took a swath of J’s forearm and two fingers with it. J turned back to Matthew and smiled. “I’d give my life for this family because I know they would do the same for me, and because Isaiah gave his life protecting us.”
Without looking back at the crowd, J stepped toward Matthew, and the two hugged. J handed him the microphone and Matthew stepped forward.
Luke was a business leader, Mark was an international missionary, and J was a pastor. Matthew was simply an engineering director at a local firm. He had practiced his speech and watched intently as the others gave theirs, trying to learn anything else he could in the last seconds.
Matthew gulped as he stepped up and faced the crowd.
“I don’t have a… a specific memory of Grandpa…” Matthew stopped and blinked many times. He was trying to hold back the tears, to stay with his thoughts. He swallowed and imagined pushing the emotions back down as he looked at Liz and the girls. Beth and Lyn were red-eyed and sniffing as Liz held a tissue at the ready to wipe their noses. Liz was calm and collected. She never cried. Matthew joked with her that God formed her tear ducts from steel.
She smiled at Matthew as he looked deep into her eyes and continued, as if he was talking to her alone and not to the hundreds of families, friends, and church members in attendance.
“There isn’t one specific memory I have of Grandpa, because they all seem to blend into one image, one persona that I remember him as. He seemed to see everything, whether in this church or at home. A new believer that was drifting, he’d know, and he would go find them before they left the building. He didn’t want to take the chance that they’d never come back. At home, even when Grandma was still alive, he was the one who always, ALWAYS, knew you took some candy from their jar.” He laughed to himself. “As kids, we figured out how to silence the glass jar by wrapping a towel around it, but he always still seemed to know.
“He ran a growing church, was deeply involved in the community. He usually hosted the entire family for holidays or whatever family event. He had so much going on, so many people to talk to, but even though I was the smallest grandkid he had, he always noticed me. I would look up at this figure, my grandfather, that was larger than life, with such history and stories and all that you heard from my brothers before me. But it never failed, whether mid-conversation or taking a turkey out of the oven. He’d see me and he’d wink. He’d wink at me and smile. I always knew that no matter what, I was important to him. He saw me. The man who saw everything, saw the smallest kid there who was just trying to survive.” Matthew paused and swallowed. He wasn’t worried about crying anymore. He was speaking from the heart and the spirit was guiding him.
“I pray that I have the same sight that Isaiah had. That I don’t miss what is right in front of me.”
Matthew thanked the crowd and caught his two daughters’ eyes as he walked off the stage, winking at each of them. He handed his father the microphone and hugged him tight. Matthew’s mother, Mary, stepped up from the first pew and gave him a hug, just as she did to the other boys. The four men all made their ways back to their pews and their individual families.
The memory of the funeral faded as Matthew continued his long drive back home, his eyes on the road ahead and his mind on the past.
He reached over to the passenger seat and laid his hand on the Bible. The harsh flicker of pain shot through him, followed by a loving and welcoming feeling that flowed through his body. He closed his eyes with a long blink and took it in as he sped down the long two-lane road that tunneled into the woods. The radio was off, and the sound of the engine filled his ears with a peaceful hum.
He opened his eyes and noticed dark clouds building on the horizon. The forecast was clear that day, but the humid North Florida air of early summer unleashed near-daily thunderstorms.
He dismissed it and drove along. Glancing in his rear-view mirror, the empty road rested beneath another set of angry storm clouds.
“Inland and the coast?” he said to himself as he pushed on the radio. Searching for a weather report, he skimmed his presets, but only various Christian, country, and pop songs played along.
As the clouds grew in front of him and behind, the sounds from the radio faded into static. The building storm grew darker, blacker, and seemed to eat everything in the atmosphere: the light, the radio waves, even the tops of tall pine trees seemed to disappear behind the thick mud in the sky.
Matthew leaned over his steering wheel, looking above him where the furious clouds met. They converged directly over him as he sped along. Wind gusts pushed the truck, at first gently, then more ferociously. He gripped the steering wheel tight, centering the four-door truck on the narrow two-lane road.
Looking to see if a tornado was cresting, he saw the clouds roll like waves. They reminded him more of an upside-down ocean, a black sea filled with fury, as if it would spit out a squall or launch into a hurricane at any moment.
White-knuckled on the wheel, he fought against the winds as they grew stronger and stronger. He pushed the gas pedal, hoping to get ahead of the worst of it. “Eyes forward, get through, come on Lord, let’s get through,” he repeated to himself. His arms tired as he tensed on the wheel, fighting the wind. Sweat beaded on his forehead.
Then, looking ahead, he eased off the gas and felt like a toothpick in the ocean as the storm clouds were on the ground. An opaque cloud rushed toward him like a black tidal wave. The trees bent under the wave’s force, flexing their trunks and snapping off branches.
He slammed his foot on the brake and spun the wheel, forcing the truck into a 180-degree turn. The wind sideswiped the truck, forcing it from the road and off the shoulder. Grass and dirt flew up like water from a fountain as his tires dug into the earth.
He took his foot off the brake and stomped the gas, trying to get the truck out of the heavy roadside grass and driving the other direction. The spinning tires sank into the loose earth, spewing clumps of earth into the nearby forest as they failed to get traction.
Matthew turned his eyes away from the oncoming tidal wave and looked down the road previously behind him, where he was attempting to flee. His heart sank and his foot lifted off the pedal when he saw it.
Another wave barreled toward him from behind.
He looked through the trees on the sides of the road and saw them shake in the distance as the thick cloud of darkness rushed toward him. The wave came from not only the front and back, but now from the sides as well. It closed in all around him like pool water after a playful cannonball, except the opaque cloud of darkness, the mud, and the blackness seemed to swallow hope as it closed in.
In the instant before the collision, he grabbed his phone and pressed Liz’s number, but before he saw if the signal caught, the waves crashed down on him.
He felt himself pushed and pulled in all directions. His truck was like a rubber duck in a splashing bathtub as giant hands made waves for the enjoyment of his misery.
Within his truck, he remained strapped to his seatbelt, the rushing waves flooding the cab. He felt the water latch on to him, putting pressure against him as if gripping tight and trying to rip him apart. It pushed and pulled on him, stealing the air from his lungs. It rushed his nostrils and forced his eyelids open. A deep blackness flooded his vision and wrapped his entire body with extreme pressure. He felt like a rag doll in a rinse cycle, thrown back and forth and forced to witness his own torturous method of death.
Before he lost consciousness, two red spots formed in front of him. They stayed with him as he thrashed in his truck and the rushing waves tossed the vehicle.
They were eyes.
Deep red, sinister eyes.