Shane Kroetsch

Author of dark and introspective fiction

Shane

Shane’s Substack – Subscribe for updates and early access to my latest work!

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I recently moved my newsletter to Substack. Here’s what to expect moving forward…

Low Light Dispatches is my free subscription tier and is exactly what previous subscribers have come to expect. Here you will get work in progress writing updates and usually a new piece of flash fiction in the 250-to-500-word range. Sometimes I’ll whisper very quietly, “please buy my books”, or “please leave a review if you’ve read my books”. As bad as I am at promotion, the last two are important so I can keep writing with the purpose of sharing my work with the world. More on than below.

You’ll also get at least one book review. Last October I started Frank’s Haunted Book Society to promote indie and small press horror. Frank is a haunted book bike that I built as a market display, now he’s running a community hub for horror lovers. The Society started as a book club, but just like me, Frank and his situation are ever evolving. Since Frank has his own Substack where you will find author insights and live interviews, I won’t be doubling up on that content here. I will share my personal review of the Frank’s featured book of the month, but also reviews on anything else that I can sneak in.

The Unfolding Darkness is my new paid tier and may not be something that you expected at all.

I struggle to believe that my creative output has value. This Substack is part of my attempt to prove to myself that it does. So, starting in September 2026, paid subscribers will get immediate access to a digital download of The Black Dogs, a paranormal horror, which is the opening novelette in the Beyond the Divide universe. Two weeks after that, I’m going to start posting chapters of the follow up novella, currently titled The Witch, bi-weekly. That would be Beyond the Divide, Book 1.

I know more than anyone that sometimes just getting by in this life is hard enough from a financial perspective, and there are so many deserving creators out there that need your support. My goal will always be to continue to improve my craft and bring more value to my followers and readers. Let me be clear, I am grateful for your support whether it is monetary or not, and while paid subscribers will have early access and access to unique content, the books themselves will eventually be published and available through all regular channels. I say eventually because I need to find a way to pay my editor and cover designer before that can happen. Which sort of brings this whole thing full circle.

As always, please reach out anytime with questions or feedback.

Frank’s Haunted Book Society

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Do you love reading indie and small press horror? What about live author readings and chats? Well, buckle up, Buttercup, because Frank the Book Bike has some exciting news for you!

The premise is simple: love indie horror, read indie horror. Frank’s Haunted Book Society is a reader-centric book club that launched October 2025. Every month we’ll have a halfway check-in, with the finale and author readings scheduled for the last week of the month.

Speaking of finales, you can find the featured author interviews by clicking below!

Don’t forget to join the conversation on Substack (https://frankshauntedbooksociety.substack.com), and follow @poppubcreative on Instagram, Facebook, and Bluesky.

Thank you for supporting indie creators!

Shit Tickets

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Daniel traversed a narrow path between clumps of dead, wild grass that led him around the back of the crooked farmhouse and out toward the tractor shed. The ancient poplar tree that grew on the border between the yard and the south pasture creaked in the breeze. One of the lower branches, crusted with old snow and snapped at the joint, hung down to the ground.

         What he saw after he rounded the shed stopped him in his tracks. He lifted up on the bent and grease-stained bill of his cap with a sour look on his face. “Melvin, what the hell’re you doin’?”

         Just out of reach of the tangle of branches, fallen walls, and crumpled roof with chipped and curled shingles, a man sat on an exposed outhouse toilet, hunched forward with a cup of coffee in his hand and baggy pants pooled around his untied boots. Melvin turned his eyes, almost clouded over by his scratched-up eyeglass lenses, and wild, bushy eyebrows as white as the chinook arch clouds above. “Takin’ a shit. What the hell are you doin’?”

         Daniel had no response. He only waved his hand in the shape of where the outhouse walls should have been.

         Melvin blew at the steam drifting over the mug, then took a sip. He made a satisfied noise then set it back on his knee. “Got a little windy last night, if you ain’t noticed. This was a little more important’n me bein’ shy.”

         “Why ain’t you doin’ than inside?”

         “Cracked a pipe with the temperature swing. Gonna have to do it the old-fashioned way for a bit.”

         Daniel stuffed his hands into his pants pockets. He sighed as he looked over his shoulder. “I’ll see you in the house, then.”

         “Coffee’s on. Help yourself.”

         Daniel nodded and turned back the way he’d come.

         Melvin sipped from his mug again, then searched around his throne for something that wasn’t there. He craned his neck toward Daniel as soon as the realisation was made. “Hey. Wait up.”

         Daniel stopped. He turned the upper part of his body back to Melvin.

         “Damn storm blew the shit tickets away. Be a friend and grab me a roll.”

         Daniel grimaced but raised a hand in acknowledgement before he continued on to the house.

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Photo by Sandra Grünewald on Unsplash

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Rotten

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Checker sat behind the wheel of the Caprice, his gloved hands wrapped around the take-away coffee cup perched on his lap. His chin tucked into the zipped collar of his jacket. He kept his focus out the windshield, fogging around the edges, the aging V8 and its clogged heater core unable to keep up with the blowing snow outside. As people traversed back and forth along the sidewalk beside the car, he catalogued each one.

In the passenger seat, Kean gnawed on a foot-long convenience store pepperoni stick, chewing without enough lip contact for Checker’s liking. After Kean swallowed, he held the pepperoni out to consider it. “Do you think you could make pepperoni pancakes?”

“What?”

“Pepperoni pancakes. That could be a thing, right?”

“Anything can be a thing. Why the hell would you want to make pepperoni pancakes?”

“I don’t know.” Kean took another bite. “This is technically breakfast, right? So why not make it actual breakfast?”

Checker shook his head but didn’t otherwise respond.

Kean turned the stick in his hand. “Maybe make a smoothie.”

Checker made a slow-motion pan to his partner.

“Or a milkshake. Peanut butter and pepperoni. With pickles. Maybe cottage cheese so it’s healthy.”

“There is something rotten inside of you, my friend.”

Kean tilted his body to release a one cheek squeak. “Yeah, it’s my ass.”

“Jesus H. You sick son of a bitch.”

Kean smiled and took another bite from his pepperoni stick.
Checker cranked the window down enough to allow some fresh air but not flood the inside of the car with snow. “You’re disgusting.”

“I’m a normal functioning human being.”

“I hate you.”

“You say that a lot, but I don’t think it’s true. Otherwise, you wouldn’t still be here.”

Checker pointed his face toward the open driver’s side window and breathed through his mouth.

Kean stopped mid-chew and focused out the clear patch on the windshield.

Three car lengths down the sidewalk, a big black sedan pulled to the curb. The driver jumped out to open the rear passenger door. A man stepped out first. Black trench coat. Black gloves. He set a black porkpie hat over his voluminous silver hair. A woman stepped out next, a light, ankle length jacket being her only protection from the weather. Smooth wrap-around sunglasses obscured her eyes. Her long red hair, nearly the same colour as the jagged scar across her jaw, had been pulled into a tight ponytail.

Kean raised his finger. “Is that…”

Checker sighed. “Yeah. ‘Fraid it is.”

“Shit.”

“You can say that again.”

The pair sat in silence as the Caprice idled.

Kean pushed the last of the pepperoni stick into his mouth, then searched inside his jacket to unbutton his holster. “We going to do this or what?”

Checker turned the key in the ignition to kill the engine. “Guess we don’t have much of a choice.”

***

Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash

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The Path

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Petra skipped along the shoulder of a two-lane gravel road with a universe’s worth of stars and a waxing moon to light her way. Crisp night air cleansed the campfire smoke from her lungs and helped clear the effects of cheap wine from her mind.

Ashleigh floated along with her, beside but slightly behind, her stoic gaze focused ahead of them, seemingly unbothered by the darkness all around.

Petra didn’t speak, preferring to let the scuffing of her shoes and clicking of tiny stones provide a happy soundtrack to their journey until they came to a crossroads. She skidded to a halt next to a crooked stop sign, looked left, then right. “What now?”

Ashleigh sidled up next to her. “Pick a direction.”

Petra shrugged. “I don’t know.” She looked again into the dark. The roads leading away were wider, maybe even paved. Then Petra looked forward, and without thinking much more about the situation, kept moving.

Past the intersection, the road narrowed. It was rutted and uneven, but she kept going, though she walked instead of skipped, being more and more careful of her foot placement.

The road curved once, then again. The elevation rose, then fell. Ashleigh kept pace, but no more. Trees grew tall along the ditches, blocking the view of the moon, and eventually, the stars. Soon enough, the maintained gravel road ended, and the path ahead became little more than two ruts in the dirt. Petra’s pace faltered. Ashleigh stopped just ahead of her.

Petra looked back the way they had come. Nothing could be seen through the trees or past the last bend in the road. She held her jaw tight. A memory from her childhood came to her then. A friend’s birthday party at the big park down by the river. Running after a balloon caught in the breeze. Looking back what felt like a few seconds later to realize how far away she was from what she knew to be a safe place.

She swallowed hard. “I think we should head back.”

Ashleigh angled her head to her shoulder, but her eyes did not connect with Petra’s. “We can’t go back.”

Petra clenched her hands over the cuffs of her sweater. “Why not?”

Ashleigh’s eyes did lift then, but not for long. “Because you’re almost there.”

“Almost where?”

Ashleigh faced forward and started walking away. “It will be worth it. I promise. But you have to keep going.”

In that moment, Petra questioned how well she really knew Ashleigh. How well she knew anything at all. But, not wanting to be left alone in the dark, she followed.

As they walked, the ruts faded. They were forced through the trees and up a steep hill. Petra grasped and stumbled her way forward, nearly rolling her ankle at one point. She wanted to complain, but fear hindered the response. As the ground levelled, she looked up to realize that she couldn’t see Ashleigh. On the verge of tears, Petra powered forward until the world burst open in front of her.

The stars. The moon. The hint of the rising sun, reaching out to frost the treetops. She turned in place, taking it all in, the awe of it finally allowing the tears to flow.

Ashleigh rested a hand on her shoulder, the hint of a smile on her lips. “I told you it would be worth it.”

Petra wiped at her cheeks. “That really sucked. But this is amazing.”

Ashleigh nodded but looked back to the trees. “Sometimes it’s hard to keep going. Sometimes it’s even harder not to.” She stood away from Petra. “You’re not done yet, though.” She held out her hand. “Come on. I’ve got you.”

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Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

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Breaking Point

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Lionel leaned against the beige metal door frame and rapped a knuckle on the open beige metal door.

Iva’s body tensed, halting her frantic search through the top-left drawer of her desk. She eased her clenched hand out and tucked it into the open bag on her lap. “What’s up?”

Lionel’s eyebrows pinched together, causing his nose to scrunch up against his wide-framed eyeglasses. “You all right, then?”

“Everything’s…fantastic.”

Lionel tilted his head, and a smile fought against the concern on his face. “Sure it is.” He relaxed his shoulders, but only a little. “I’m assuming your project meeting went well?”

Iva averted her eyes as a scowl overtook her face. “Just fantastic.”

“They didn’t cut your budget again, did they?”

Iva held her jaw tight. She drew her empty hand from her bag, then swiped the mouse on her desktop and hammered a staccato on the keyboard before she flipped her laptop closed and ripped the cord out that connected it to the external monitor on the right-hand side.

“Christ.” Lionel crossed his arms and checked over his shoulder. “It’s clear that Neil is tighter than two coats of paint, but this is bloody ridiculous.”

Iva shoved a leather-bound notebook into her bag, then swiped the zipper shut. “That’s one way to put it.”

“So, what now?”

Iva dropped her laptop into the still open desk drawer, then let it slam shut. “Right now, I need to go. I’m late for a meeting.”

Lionel’s eyes darted between Iva and the desk. “Okay. Right.” He stepped back from the door as she stomped past, both her bag and coat gripped in one hand. “So, we’ll see you later, then?”

Iva stopped. She tilted her head back but didn’t look right at Lionel. “Probably not.” Then she raised her head and walked on, around the tight cluster of cubicles, past the reception desk, and out the front door.

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Photo by Francesco Liotti on Unsplash

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