For some, dread is a learned terror; for others, it is an ancestral inheritance. My journey into the architecture of nightmare began not with a deliberate choice, but with a lineage steeped in the liminal, a bloodline uniquely attuned to the veil.

From a great-grandmother who wrestled with the unseen in the late Victorian shadows, to a grandmother who helped build bridges to the beyond, A God-Mother who worked with the realm of Voodoo and a mother whose profound compassion touched souls at life's final, fleeting threshold, the permeable nature of reality was never a theory—it was the very atmosphere I breathed.

I was not merely raised in a house where the walls held whispers not of the living, but my own senses were intrinsically attuned to the spectral currents flowing just beneath the surface. I heard their echoes, saw their fleeting forms, and learned, through quiet communion, to speak in their ethereal language. My early mornings were often spent in a deliberate haunting, traversing the silent avenues of a cemetery that cradled countless stories, absorbing the profound stillness and the chilling wisdom buried within its earth. The cemetery resides behind my former Middle School. 

As a youth my parents, (Mother and Step-father) frequented the nearby drive-in movie. There I gain a love for the macabre and a facination with movie monster and their difference from the legends I was also learning. As a young adult I studied various beliefs, Voodoo,  various Pagan religions and much more.

The intrinsic, lifelong proximity to the departed, solidified a truth others merely glimpse: that the most profound horrors, and the deepest understanding of fear, lie in the spaces where life and death intertwine, and where the unseen relentlessly impinges upon the known.

My narratives are not merely tales of terror; they are deliberate distortions of expectation, designed to turn familiar fears on their heads and dissect the true nature of dread. In the worlds I craft, the creature lurking in the shadows often finds themselves thrust into the unwanted spotlight of being the protagonist or at least the anti-hero, their monstrous heart beating with unexpected complexities. The familiar trope of the 'fridged' woman is violently inverted, exploring the brutal consequences when a man becomes the catalyst for dread.

In these twisted tapestries, the quick demise of people of color is a tired relic of the past, as is the predictable, tragic fate of LGBTQ+ characters. They are not mere victims or villains, but vital, multi-faceted individuals whose stories are as rich and unpredictable as any.

When the slasher or serial killer, the supposed apex predator of fear, finds themselves reduced to a quivering, hunted thing, you begin to grasp the true nature of the nightmares I craft. I do not avoid fear; I embrace it, dissect it, and reshape it into something new and unsettling. For in my realm, the phrase 'Monsters Behaving Strangely, Humans Behaving Badly' is not merely a motto—it is the very foundation of the terror.