“I am my own villain.”

That’s the kind of chilling honesty you get when you sit down with Lori Ann Williams, an Appalachian horror creator whose work is deeply personal, disturbingly beautiful, and rooted in generational trauma. Known for her surreal storytelling, atmospheric visuals, and her intense connection to nature, Lori has created a corner of horror that feels like coming home to a haunted house you forgot you grew up in.

Raised in West Virginia and now living in southern Ohio, Lori’s art lives in that strange liminal space where folklore and lived experience blur together. Her films, videos, and mixed-media pieces often feel like they were pulled from the earth itself—moss-covered, whispering, and sometimes screaming.

We caught up with Lori to talk about where her stories come from, how trauma informs her art, and what it means to be an Appalachian woman making horror that hits way too close to home.

A Haunted Beginning

Lori didn’t set out to make horror. Like many Appalachian women, she was born into it.

“My stories are rooted in trauma. A lot of it comes from growing up around addiction, poverty, and generational cycles of silence. Horror gave me a language for things I couldn’t say out loud.”

She’s not just making up monsters—she’s digging them out of her own past. Her short films and writing often center on themes of motherhood, violence, and survival, with heavy symbolism from nature. One recurring image is a forest, not just as a setting, but as a character—a protector, a captor, and sometimes a mirror.

“There’s always something watching in the woods,” she said. “And sometimes, it’s you.”

DIY Filmmaking with a Folklore Edge

Lori’s visual work is raw, poetic, and unsettling. Shot mostly with her phone or inexpensive cameras, she leans into the limitations to create something that feels intimate and authentic. Her editing style is dreamy and nonlinear, with whispers, static, and distorted faces blending into each other like half-remembered nightmares.

“I started making horror because I didn’t see myself in any of it,” she explained. “Appalachian women are always the witches, the crazy ones, or the victims. I wanted to show that we are also the authors of our own stories—even if they’re dark ones.”

Her use of symbolism—water, rot, bone, and ritual—evokes something ancient and ritualistic. But the emotions at the core are modern and deeply familiar to anyone who’s grown up in a place where you’re taught to keep quiet and survive at any cost.

Mental Health, Motherhood, and Monsters

Lori doesn’t shy away from hard topics. Her work often confronts mental illness, depression, and the pressures of motherhood, particularly in Appalachia where resources are scarce and expectations are high.

“As a mom, I carry the fear of passing down my own pain,” she said. “But I also carry the strength of the women who came before me. Horror is how I process both.”

She talks openly about the importance of therapy, medication, and breaking generational curses—something she says is just as much a part of Appalachian culture as any ghost story.

“I’m not interested in ‘strong woman’ tropes. I’m interested in complicated women—angry, grieving, dangerous, and soft all at once.”

What’s Next for Lori?

She’s currently working on several projects, including a new short film that deals with postpartum psychosis, Appalachian folklore, and the fear of becoming the very thing you’ve tried to escape. She also plans to release a zine later this year featuring poetry, stills from her films, and essays about horror and healing.

When asked what keeps her creating, Lori answered simply: “I make art so the little girl inside me knows she made it out.”

To explore more of Lori’s haunting world, check out her book Monster Under My Bed—a collection of poetry that dives deep into childhood trauma, fear, and survival through the lens of Appalachian horror. It’s raw, lyrical, and unforgettable.

To hear Lori Ann Williams share her journey in her own words—raw, honest, and powerful—watch the full interview below. Her voice adds an even deeper layer to the poetry and pain she’s transformed into something hauntingly beautiful. If Monster Under My Bed resonates with you, or if you have a story rooted in Appalachian grit, horror, or resilience, we want to hear it. Submit your own story to be featured on Creepalachia and become part of a growing community of creators, survivors, and storytellers.