Acknowledgements and Thank You's

Before the ink dried and the last ghost sighed, Twisted Minds, Twisted Fates became something more than just a story—it became a testament to every voice, laugh, scream, and helping hand that guided me through its creation. This book didn’t bloom in isolation; it grew in the shadows and sunlight of community, collaboration, and a whole lot of love. So here, beneath the willow tree, I want to honor the people who made the haunt holy, the chaos beautiful, and the work… unforgettable.

This story wouldn’t exist without the fog, the fear, and the fellowship found in the dark corners of Miller’s Nightmare Haunted Farm. It was more than a haunt—it was a ritual space, a proving ground, a sacred chaos where masks became mirrors and screams became spells.

Thank you for giving me the chance to scream, skulk, and transform. In the shadows of that cornfield, I learned how to shapeshift. I learned how to hold a stranger’s fear like a fragile offering, how to wield silence like a blade, and how to become something other than myself—something older, stranger, and truer. Behind a mask, I discovered someone worth writing. You handed me the first spark, and she became a flame.

Every blood-slick costume, every fog-drenched night, every whispered cue in the dark—it all stitched itself into my bones. The haunt taught me timing, tension, and the art of the slow reveal. It taught me how to build a world from scraps and shadows, how to make myths out of makeup and madness. It gave me a tribe of weirdos, a language of screams, and a place where being too much was exactly enough.

Millers was where I first felt the power of a story not just told but embodied. Where I learned that fear can be sacred, and that transformation often begins in the places we’re told to avoid. It was the birthplace of my creative self—the haunted heartbeat beneath every chapter I write, every ritual I craft, every character I conjure.

So, thank you. For the fog machines and the fire pits. For the laughter in the break room and the adrenaline in the corn maze. For letting me be monstrous, magical, and messy. For giving me a place to begin.

This flame still burns. And it remembers where it was lit.

For Bunny, The real one. You were haunting before I ever stepped into the fog—already iconic, already terrifying, already leaving glitter in places no glitter should be. And when I arrived? You didn’t keep the shadows to yourself. You looked me dead in the eye, welcomed me to the chaos, and somehow became one of the most important people I’d ever met.

Your “I don’t give a fuck” energy wasn’t just performance—it was gospel. You danced between menace and hilarity, full of spunk, sparkle, and the kind of defiant beauty that makes people remember you long after the night ends.

We built something outrageous together—characters wrapped in sequins and snarls; friendship forged in laughter and eyeliner. You listened when the world felt heavy, offered real advice through the madness, and always knew when to throw me a lifeline or a punchline. You were the person I went to with everything. And you never flinched. Bunny became the heartbeat of this story. And it’s because of you.

Also… Willow’s claws? Yeah, they’re still your thing. You flirted. I clawed. It got weird. And you thrived. Now, here we are—retired together. The fog clears, but the legacy stays. Thank you for the trust. Thank you for the friendship. Thank you for every scream, sparkle, and perfectly timed smirk that turned haunting into something sacred. We may have stepped offstage—but Bunny never left. She’s immortal. And honestly? So are we. Long live the claws. Long live the chaos. Long live the friend who knew how to haunt and heal. And if anyone says Bunny wasn’t the blueprint… They can catch these claws in the sequel.

To Ashton, My first haunt friend and forever partner-in-chaos. We started in the thick of it—when the makeup and costume rooms were one overcrowded closet of blood, dreams, and duct tape. In all that glorious mess, you were the calm, the collaborator, and sometimes... the conspirator. You made the chaos feel like home.

You encouraged my doll addiction like it was a sacred calling (you’re absolutely to blame, and I love you for it). From prop-building in the off-season to talking me down from every costume crisis, you’ve been my steady hand and my sounding board. You crafted Willow’s straitjacket with brilliance and zero hesitation—because that’s how you’ve always shown up. Ready. Willing. Wickedly talented. And deeply kind. And then there was the anime convention. My “booth babe.” Peak performance. You brought sparkle, support, and shameless flair to one of the most ridiculous, joy-filled weekends I’ll never forget. You made it magic.

Since I moved, we’ve become pen pals—Victorian ghosts scribbling dramatic letters across the veil of distance. Your words arrive like spells: full of wit, warmth, and the kind of friendship that doesn’t fade with time or geography. You remind me that connection can be ritual, that storytelling can be a bridge, and that chosen family finds a way to stay close, even when the map says otherwise.

Thank you—for the paint-splattered afternoons, the off-the-wall ideas, the trust, and the friendship. You didn’t just help build the haunt. You helped build me. You’ve been part of every version of this strange, evolving story, and I wouldn’t want to tell it without you. If you ever need help hauling a mannequin, emotionally processing a fabric choice, or just someone to scream-laugh within the fog—I’m your ghoul. Always.

To Kaitlyn, Former Darlene. Forever chaos. You may have stepped away from the screams and the fog, but your legacy still smudges every blood-splattered cheek and carefully blended bruise. As an artist, you brought nightmares to life with a brush and a laugh. As a friend, you brought joy to even the messiest prep nights and had everyone wheezing before call time.

You were never just a character—you were a presence. Loud, brilliant, and wildly funny. And now you wield your makeup brushes like weapons of transformation, turning the haunt into your personal gallery of ghouls. Thank you for your artistry, your energy, and your unwavering ability to make me laugh. You’re a gift. A terror. A delight. Even offstage, you’re still haunting us beautifully.

To Mya and Jazzie, My wonderfully creepy twins. From the very beginning, you were my canvas—and I got to paint you into living nightmares. You let me smear shadows and shimmer across your faces, and together we built something radiant in the dark: characters that glowed with mischief, menace, and magic.

You were never just haunt partners—you were twin flames in the fog. The ones who embodied every twisted sparkle, every unsettling grin. Watching you come to life each night in the characters we crafted was like watching lightning strike in sync. Thank you for trusting my brushes, my chaos, and my vision. You made makeup into alchemy. And you made every haunt night feel like the start of something electric. I’ll always be proud of the monsters we made.

To Stephanie, the nurse no one wanted to meet in a dark hallway. You took that character and made it unforgettable—a walking nightmare wrapped in gauze and menace. Watching you bring her to life was like witnessing a horror film crawl off the reel and start asking questions with a scalpel. But beneath all that terror? You were one of the warmest souls I got to haunt beside.

Thank you for trusting me with your transformation, for letting me smear fake blood and teach you the ropes—one bruised cheekbone at a time. Our post-haunt chats were their own kind of medicine; laughter stitched together with mutual exhaustion and glittering gore. You were terrifying on set. And wonderful. I wouldn't trade those nights—or those weird makeup tutorials—for anything.

To Susan, The mastermind of mayhem and puzzles. You lit up the escape room with more than clever clues—you brought laughter, wit, and the kind of energy that made the weirdest nights feel like an adventure. You were never just fun to be around—you were magnetic. Whether coordinating chaos or cracking jokes that only hit after a three-second delay, you made every haunt shift brighter. Thank you for being the kind of person who makes teamwork feel like friendship and trickery feel like art.

To Gabe, You absolute menace. From the moment we met, I knew you deserved to be bullied. And I rose to the occasion. Proudly. But now, as I hang up my costume and retire from haunting, you keep going. You dare to rack up more haunt nights, more screams, more blood-splatter glory than me. So… fuck you (lovingly). You win, I guess. You get to be the seasoned vet now. But just know: no matter how many chains you rattle or guests you terrify, I’ll always be the one who scared you first. Stay spooky, stay chaotic, and for God’s sake—don’t get too serious. You're not that important. But this book has your grimy little fingerprints on it anyway. Enjoy the legacy, bitch.

To David, Listen. Some people act in haunts. David haunts the haunt. With that pipe in hand like he just walked out of a post-apocalyptic moonshine distillery, he doesn’t chase you—he vibes at you menacingly until your soul politely exits your body. He’s the kind of guy who makes you scream, laugh, and question your life choices—all in one perfectly timed stare. And when the night’s over and we’re all limping toward the exit like cursed goblins, David’s still going strong. Cracking jokes, making us feel like we just survived something sacred. Or at least mildly illegal.

Also, let’s just say it: he’s cooler than Gabe. Gabe’s fine. We love Gabe. But David? David’s the kind of cool that can’t be taught. The kind of cool that shows up with a pipe, a smirk, and a mysterious backstory no one’s brave enough to ask about.

Thanks for being the guy who makes the end of the night feel like the best part. You kill it—literally and metaphorically—and we’re all just lucky to share the fog with you.

To my friends at Mountain Serenity Spa—

Thank you for being my sanctuary in motion. Between the soft echo of footsteps in the hallway and the scent of oils whispering through the air, you offered me calm—not just for the body, but for the soul. To Audrea, for your steady grace and the way you always made chaos feel temporary. To Tara, with laughter that cleared clouds and made even the longest shift feel light. To Hannah, whose kindness wrapped around people like a favorite blanket. To Michelle, ever thoughtful, ever grounding—your energy centered the room. To Melanie, who brought care into every corner, even when no one was watching. To Allison, a quiet powerhouse whose warmth always lingered after she left. To Kim, vibrant and fierce, with the kind of presence that made even silence feel welcoming. You each gave me peace on days I needed it most. You reminded me that healing isn’t only found in touch or stillness—but in community, in laughter behind doors, in shared glances that say you’re not alone. You’ve left your handprints all over this story. And I’m endlessly grateful.

To Megan, we met at work—but somehow you became the universe’s clearest yes. Through tarot readings, whispered intuitions, and cards that never stopped being eerily accurate, you let me peer into your stars and root for your every rebirth. We’ve flipped through Tower moments and pulled Empress days, each one weaving us closer thread by glowing thread. But it wasn’t just the readings—it was the laughs. The kind that wrecked mascara and filled rooms like smoke. You never let the darkness linger too long. You cracked it open with humor, danced through it with reckless kindness, and made me believe that friendship can be divination in its own right. You’ve been the Two of Cups in every deck I shuffle. The Fool in the best ways. The reason I kept going when I didn’t think I had another page in me. Thank you for trusting me with your questions and your laughter. For being sacred and silly all at once. This book hums with your joy, your magic, and every time we said, “just one more card” and ended up talking for hours. You’re written into this with stardust and snort-laughs—and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

To Bryanna, this book wouldn’t know where to begin without you. You became my compass when the plot blurred, my sounding board when characters misbehaved, and my go-to text thread whenever the writing spiraled into doubt or delirium. You answered questions before I could finish asking them. You saw the bones of the story before they were even written down. But it wasn’t just book talk—it was everything else. The check-ins. The ugly laughs. The tender truths shared at midnight when everything felt heavier and more beautiful than anyone else could see. Your friendship wrapped around this whole process like a well-loved quilt: stitched in love, patched in humor, and warmer than I deserved. You’ve read more of my chaos than anyone else. You made me believe in my own voice. You held space. You showed up. You didn’t just help me write this book— You helped me survive it.

To Autumn, you’ve been with me since the beginning—long before I knew who I was or what I wanted, long before any pages were written. From awkward middle school hallways to the biggest moments life could throw our way, you’ve walked beside me like it was the most natural thing in the world. We’ve laughed until we couldn’t breathe, cried through things that nearly broke us, and talked shit like two people who’ve seen it all and still have jokes to make. You’re not just my best friend—you’re my sister. The one who knows every shade of who I am, even the messy parts I thought I’d have to hide. And you’ve never judged. Not once. When I doubted myself, you didn’t. When I went quiet, you heard me anyway. You’ve been my biggest supporter no matter what I’ve brought to you—truths, dreams, chaos, all of it. This book exists because people like you exist. And if it ever makes someone feel seen, it’s because you saw me first. You feared me at first—and honestly? Fair. But now you know every ghost I carry, and you never ran. You're not just part of my story... You're the one I call when the plot gets weird.

To my family—Even when my brain wanders into haunted houses, tarot decks, and characters who talk to the dead, you’ve stayed steady. You might not always get the weird worlds I live in—but you’ve never asked me to leave them behind. Thank you for showing up for me, for making space even when you didn’t know what I was building, and for loving me through every strange creative storm. Your support has never wavered, even when the stories got strange and the metaphors got messy. You may not understand how I do what I do… but you never stopped believing that I could. And honestly? That means everything.

To Carmen, some friendships arrive like a whisper through the veil, unexpected and undeniable. You came into my life as a client, but from the moment we met, it was clear: we were fellow weirdos, stitched from the same haunted cloth. You matched my love for the eerie, the uncanny, and the beautifully bizarre with your own spark of mischief and warmth. I’ll never forget that night on the bench, freezing our bones off and laughing like we were the last two witches left in the world. That moment—so simple, so sacred—felt like a spell cast in real time. Thank you for showing up with your whole heart, for embracing the weird with me, and for proving that chosen kinship doesn’t need years to root—it just needs truth.

This book carries your laughter in its pages and your warmth in its bones. And if you ever hear your name called from deep in the mountains… don’t answer. We both know better.

And finally, to the character who arrived from smoke and shadows—thank you for whispering loudly enough. I listened. And now you’re here.

Every story is a ritual, and this one was shaped by many hands—some visible, some ghosted in memory, some held in chosen kin. To those who walked beside me, whispered encouragement, or simply believed: your presence is etched into every page.

Twisted Minds, Twisted Fates is more than a book. It’s a reckoning. A love letter to the weird, the wounded, and the ones who never stopped searching for magic in the dark.

Thank you for helping me bring Willow home. The story lives because you showed up. And the haunt continues.

Signed your favorite emotionally unstable folklore cryptid <3