It is easy to think that mystery belongs only to the dark. Shadows have always carried the weight of the unknown, and night gives the imagination free rein to wander. But over time, I have learned that the strange and unexplainable do not hide only in darkness. Sometimes, they live quietly beneath ordinary light.
There are moments when a familiar place feels different for no reason you can name. The kitchen at dawn, the hallway in late afternoon, the street you’ve walked a hundred times. The light shifts, and suddenly, the space feels alive in a new way. It is not frightening, but it is not entirely comfortable either. Something seems to breathe beneath the surface, unseen but present.
As a supernatural thriller author, I pay attention to those moments. They are like the first crack in a doorway, the briefest glimpse into a world that coexists with ours. I think we all sense it sometimes—the awareness that the ordinary is not as ordinary as it seems. Perhaps light does not always reveal; sometimes, it exposes what has been there all along, waiting to be noticed.
I remember once standing in my living room just before sunset. The light came through the window at an angle that turned everything golden, warm, and almost holy. Then, as quickly as it came, the color changed. The gold became pale, the warmth disappeared, and the air felt heavy. It was the same room, the same time of day, but the feeling had shifted. For a heartbeat, it was as if someone else was there, just outside my sight, watching with quiet curiosity. Then the moment passed, and everything returned to normal—or as normal as it ever truly is.
That is the thing about light. It changes not only what we see, but how we see. A shadow can be frightening, but so can brightness when it reveals too much. Light has a way of making us look again, of asking whether what we believe to be safe and known might be far more layered than we imagine.
When I write, I often think about how illumination and darkness work together. A flicker of light in a haunted room. A sunrise that reveals the aftermath of the night. Even a simple streetlamp shining on an empty road can suggest that something unseen is waiting just beyond the glow.
Maybe that is what the world is constantly trying to tell us. That every familiar space, every moment of calm, holds depth beyond our understanding. The light we take for granted is never just light—it is a thin veil stretched across something deeper, something we can sense but not always name.
So the next time sunlight spills across your table or the moonlight touches your floor, pause for a moment. Look again. Notice the way the light bends, the way it makes the air hum just slightly. You might catch a glimpse of something extraordinary hiding in plain sight.
Because the truth is, mystery doesn’t disappear when the night ends. It simply changes its form.