Meet R. H. Whisenhunt

For over two decades, I devoted my life entirely to the occult. I authored books that celebrated the darkness that I believed held real power. I was a serious practitioner, not merely someone who dabbled. I hated Christianity with a passion and mocked those who embraced what I saw as weakness and delusion.

Then, I had an experience that would forever alter the trajectory of my life.

It began on an ordinary morning when I woke with an inexplicable burden weighing on my heart for a dear friend who had been struggling with guilt from her past. Without any prompting from her, I felt compelled to reach out. As I began typing a message of encouragement, something extraordinary happened—words flowed from my fingers that were not my own. I found myself using terminology and concepts completely foreign to my vocabulary. Later in the day I discovered through online searches, that these were word-for-word biblical verses, though at the time I wrote them I had no idea where such words had come from.

This haunted me throughout the day. As I drove home from work that evening, wrestling with questions I couldn't answer, words suddenly burst from my lips without any real conscious thought into speaking them: "God, if you are real, show me."

Once the words were out, I fully expected what I had always mocked others for claiming—some vague coincidence, a meaningful song on the radio, or the kind of circumstantial "signs" that desperate people cling to when they're searching for meaning. I was prepared to dismiss whatever happened as the delusion I had always believed it to be.

But God had other plans.

There was no vision, no audible voice, no dramatic external manifestation. Instead, something far more profound occurred—my heart was transformed. The change was immediate and undeniable. People I despised suddenly appeared to me as broken souls crying out to be loved. The dark music that had been the soundtrack of my life—heavy metal steeped in occult themes—became physically nauseating to hear. In its place arose an inexplicable craving for worship music, a need so intense it felt like addiction. When I finally surrendered and began playing Christian songs, the relief was indescribable. It was as if my soul had been dying of thirst in a spiritual desert, and this music was life-giving water.

This supernatural transformation continued for four days, each one bringing deeper conviction and undeniable evidence that something beyond my understanding was at work. Then came the night that shattered every defense I had left.

I was in my room working on edits for a book, worship music playing softly in the background because silence had become physically painful. Suddenly, I sensed a shift in the very atmosphere around me. What began as a subtle change quickly intensified into something that defied description.

Without warning, the full manifested presence of Almighty God entered my room.

This was not the warm, comforting presence one might feel during an emotional church service. This was the terrible, awesome presence of the living God—the same presence that caused Isaiah to cry out about his unclean lips, that struck John down like a dead man on Patmos, that forced Moses to hide his face in the cleft of the rock. My body could not remain standing before such holiness. I was driven to my knees, not by choice but by the sheer weight of divine presence that my sinful flesh could not endure.

What completely undid me was that this presence did not emanate wrath or judgment or condemnation—though I deserved all three. Instead, I was overwhelmed by pure, unconditional love. Love from the very God I had hated, mocked, and blasphemed for decades. The shame and guilt that broke me came not from divine condemnation, but from the staggering realization that this holy God, whom I had spent my life opposing, was willing to go this far to offer me the forgiveness I could never earn and love I could never deserve.

So now I stand on a precipice, embracing the universal truth that I have sought my entire life. I know this means facing the inevitable mocking ridicule of those I have surrounded myself with—other pagans, atheists, pretty much anyone who hated Christianity as much as I did. And though I care for these people, and I do care what they think about me, I cannot deny the truth of what I have experienced, nor my savior for the sake of saving face in front of my fellow humans.

I'm still going to write horror—atmospheric, graphic, unflinching horror that doesn't shy away from the terrifying realities of supernatural forces. But given my new reality and convictions, you'll find that where my earlier works celebrated darkness, the stories I write going forward reveal a greater truth: that there is indeed a power infinitely greater than any evil, and His name is Yeshua the Christ.

If you've followed my work from the beginning, you'll find familiar elements—the same attention to atmosphere, the same willingness to explore the darkest corners of human experience and supernatural terror. But you'll also discover something my earlier books could never offer: hope in the midst of the horror, that there is a light that can pierce any darkness, and the knowledge that no matter how powerful the forces of evil may seem, they have already been defeated.