Born in a quiet mining town where life appeared simple, she spent most of her time  outdoors—riding horses and caring for every animal that wandered into her life. It was the  kind of childhood many would see as close to perfect.

 

But darkness has a way of hunting down innocence. 

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At a very young age, she learned just how cruel the world could be. Real-life horrors carved  themselves into the back of her mind—memories she locked away just so she could sleep  at night. 

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Bullied constantly, she never understood why she never quite fit in. 

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While other kids idolized superheroes, she found comfort in a worn VHS copy of  Pumpkinhead (1988). Horror became a strange kind of refuge, drawing her toward the  terrifying things that seemed to live just beneath the world’s skin. 

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Solitude became her sanctuary. Darkness and shadow felt like old companions— whispering from places no one else dared to look. 

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Adulthood forced her to wear many masks, each one crafted simply to survive. Her heart  remained kind, but kindness counts for little in the face of cruelty. Evil always seemed to  find her, while luck passed quietly by. 

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Eventually something inside her began to crack. The last fragile pieces of innocence slowly  suffocating in the dark. 

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Now she writes—letting pieces of it seep onto cursed pages, twisting themselves into  gruesome stories. Each one hides a sliver of truth. 

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A confession wrapped in fiction. 

A scream disguised as a story. 

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In hopes she can contain what she dares not unleash. 

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Now tormented by a cursed soul, she leaves her name behind. 

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All that remains she has named: 

M.G. — Buried in Darkness.