You found your way here, which tells me something about you already: you are not afraid of the dark. Or if you are, you’re willing to look it in the eye. This small corner of the internet is where I gather the stories and poems that haunt me until I write them down.

My name is Liz, a Midwest-born writer who has been building strange little worlds since I was a teenager scribbling in the margins of school notebooks. These days, I write dark fiction that lingers in the space between fear and grief, between what we explain away and what still keeps us awake at 3 a.m.

My stories often follow ordinary people standing at the edge of something they can’t quite name: a shadow in the hallway that shouldn’t move, a memory that refuses to stay buried, a choice that quietly rewrites a life. I’m drawn to quiet horror—the kind that seeps under the door instead of kicking it in. You’ll find ghosts here, yes, but also the haunting weight of love, the way loss reshapes us, and the unsettling realization that sometimes we are the thing in the dark.

My work lives in the same neighborhood. It circles the body and its fractures, the tenderness of motherhood and caregiving, the terror of being responsible for fragile beings in a fragile world. I write about hospitals and highways, empty bedrooms and late-night kitchen lights, the intimate horror of realizing how little control we really have—and the strange, fierce beauty of choosing to live anyway.

Influenced by writers like Stephen King and Anne Rice, I’m less interested in jump scares and more interested in what fear reveals: what we cling to, what we’re willing to lose, what we can’t forgive. My work has appeared on Thought Catalog/Creepy Catalog and The Mighty, and I’ve contributed to multiple anthologies as well as released two self-published novels. Off the page, I’m a nurse, a mom of three boys, and the human companion to a very dramatic rescue pit bull named Luna-Monster—all roles that constantly remind me how close terror and tenderness really are.

If you decide to stay, here’s what you can expect: stories that don’t flinch away from the hard things, that sit with grief instead of rushing past it, that treat darkness not as a gimmick but as a mirror. Some pieces will be sharp and unsettling. Others will be quiet, like a whisper you can’t quite make out but feel in your bones.

If that sounds like the kind of company you want to keep, I invite you deeper in. Wander through my blog, Inked In Shadows, to explore more stories. And if you’d like to follow my work more closely, you can join my email list, Join the Void, here on the site. There, I share new pieces, publication news, and the behind-the-scenes fragments that never quite make it onto the page—but still refuse to let go.