Riley Hill lurks in the back-wood shadows where dark moods set the tone for her tales of creep. She adamantly denies being an alien or a walk-in, but refuses to answer questions about being a mutant. At times you may see her sitting atop a large boulder in the Arizona desert, in the hollow of a tree in Oregon, or submerged to her waist in the Mediterranean sea. But you’ll never catch her on a space ship. At least in daylight.

She shares a birthday with Stephen King.

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