Beyond the Blog with Pamela Beach
One theme, many worlds. Exploring resilience, from lived experience to imagined stories.
recent posts
“Hello, I’m Pam. I’m an author, a storyteller, and this is where I explore one big theme: resilience. My writing is born from a life of navigating challenges, from foster care and homelessness to single motherhood. Here, we’re in the business of turning scars into strength.”
Category: Mystery, Thriller, Suspense
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Fifty yards out, directly in the path of the Steam-Walkers, the mudflat rose. It didn’t just bulge. It stood up. A mound of black silt, dripping with eelgrass and old fishing nets, heaved itself out of the channel. It grew taller, piling mud upon mud, defying gravity. It formed a shape. A humanoid shape, fifteen…
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The monsters have moved from the ridges into the grid. In this exclusive teaser from the Echo-Mythos, a 911 dispatcher realizes the calls are coming from dead locations, and the server room is building a new kind of body.
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High on the Ontario Ridge Trail, the fog is gone, but the danger has evolved. In this exclusive teaser from The Static Hills, the Driftwood Kings command the geology itself to create acoustic traps. When a hiker hears a recording of her own future scream trapped in the sandstone, she realizes the cliff isn’t a…
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For the last year, we watched the water. But the forecast has changed. The “Santa Ana of the Sea” is blowing, the air is turning hot, and the monsters are moving inland. It’s time to leave the fog behind and enter the static. Click to see the exclusive cover art and maps for the upcoming…
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“Three… Two… One… Click. The motion sensor light above the garage was a blessing and a curse. It was sensitive, too sensitive. A moth could trigger it, flooding the driveway with harsh, clinical LED whiteness for exactly ten seconds before plunging the world back into pitch black. But tonight, it wasn’t a moth.”
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“Inside the sealed case, the Great Horned Owl was watching him. Its head was turned a full ninety degrees, and condensation was trickling down the pane… but it wasn’t on the outside. It was on the inside.”
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“I thought I was safe. I thought if I kept the stories centered on the Rock and the bay, the horror would stay within the city limits. I was naive. Last night, I took a drive north… and I realized that I haven’t finished the story. Or maybe, the story isn’t finished with me. The…
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“I thought I was the creator. I thought I was writing horror stories about the fog in Morro Bay. But tonight, during a storm without rain, a blue flash of lightning revealed a tall, thin shadow standing in my living room. And it wasn’t there to scare me. It was there to edit.”
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“I’ve written dozens of stories about the fog, imagining it as a living entity. It was all just a creative exercise. But for the last three nights, something has been wrong. The buoy horn is off. A strange chime is hanging on my porch. And now… there’s a slow, wet tapping at my window. The…
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“Mark looked. He saw their living room reflected dimly in the dark glass… And then, standing just behind Riella’s reflection, was a face. Mark stopped breathing. It was a girl. Young, maybe nineteen or twenty. She wasn’t looking in. She was looking out, past them, at the fog-shrouded bay… Her mouth was a perfect, silent…