Chapter1: Day 1 – The Journal and the Lie

Opening Scene

Your sister’s perfume shouldn’t smell like vanilla.

That’s the first thing I noticed when I stepped into Lana’s room. Vanilla—sweet, cheap, and wrong . Lana hated vanilla. Last summer, she’d thrown her vanilla body spray at my head and called it “basic bitch juice.” But now, two weeks after she vanished, the scent clung to her bedroom like a stalker’s cologne. It was thicker here, sickly , as if the walls were sweating it.

I dropped to my knees, pried up the loose floorboard under her bed, and found the journal. Its leather cover was cold, too cold for August, and etched with symbols that prickled under my fingertips—spirals, eyes, a tree with roots like tangled veins.

Burn this if I’m gone.

Her handwriting slashed across the cover like a threat. My hands shook. The cops said she ran away. The school counselor said she was “troubled.” Mom said she’d come back.

They were all lying.

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The Journal

The first page was dated 100 days ago .

Day 100

If you’re reading this, I’m dead. Don’t trust Mom. Don’t call the cops. And for god’s sake, Charlie—don’t look for me.

A rusty stain smeared the corner of the page. Blood or ink? I pressed my thumb to it— still tacky . Below it, Lana had drawn a twisted tree with blackened branches, its roots strangling a skull. Symbols crawled up the margins: eyes that followed my gaze, spirals that seemed to spin, a snake eating its tail. The paper hummed faintly, like a wasp trapped in glass.

“Charlie?”

I slammed the journal shut. Mom stood in the doorway, her face pale as hospital sheets. Her “I’m fine” mask was slipping—her hair hadn’t been brushed in days, and her sweater was inside out. A dried leaf clung to her sleeve, brittle and veined like a dead hand.

“What’re you doing in here?” she asked, voice trembling.

“Looking for Lana.”

“She’s gone.” Mom’s eyes glistened. “Just like—”

“Like Jenna?” I snapped, clutching the journal tighter. The symbols on the cover bit into my palm.

She flinched. Jenna was Lana’s best friend. She’d disappeared last year on a hiking trip. They’d found her sneakers at the bottom of a ravine, laces tied in knots. The cops called it an accident. Lana called it murder.

“This isn’t the same,” Mom whispered, her knuckles whitening on the doorframe.

“You’re right. Jenna didn’t leave a diary saying you’re a liar.”

Mom’s face crumpled. “Get out,” she said softly. “Before you break this family apart.”

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The First Clue

That night, I spread the journal’s pages across my floor. Three things stood out:

Blackwater Falls—a town 200 miles north, population 817. Lana had circled it in red, the ink bleeding through the page.

A bus ticket stub tucked into the back page. Dated three months ago. Destination: Blackwater Falls.

A red ribbon, coiled like a snake, reeking of vanilla.

Lana hated ribbons. But this one was ours. She’d tied it in my hair the day Jenna vanished, her fingers steady despite the tremor in her voice: “Red’s your color, kid. Makes you look brave.” Now the silk felt wrong—too warm, almost pulsing —as I looped it around my wrist.

My phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: Stop digging.

A photo followed: me, kneeling in Lana’s room tonight, the journal in my hands.

Unknown Number: 99 days left.

A voice message played—a garbled whisper, half-human, half-static: “She chose the tree. Will you?”

The line died.

In the corner of my room, Lana’s old skateboard tilted against the wall. Stickers plastered its surface, except one spot—a fresh, jagged scratch spelling XI . The cuts gleamed wet, as if made seconds ago.

99 days.

But Lana’s countdown started at 100.

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Closing Scene

The ribbon tightened around my wrist as I typed Blackwater Falls into my laptop. It dug into my skin, sharp as a promise.

The first search result: “The Bone Tree: 150 Years of Unsolved Disappearances.”

A photo loaded. A gnarled oak, its branches clawing a stormy sky. Names were carved into its trunk— Jenna Marlow near the roots. The image flickered. For a heartbeat, the tree’s limbs twitched, reaching.

My phone buzzed again.

Unknown Number: Tick-tock, Charlie.

Outside my window, a shadow moved. Someone stood in the street, hood up, face hidden. The streetlight above them guttered, staining the pavement red.

They lifted a hand.

In their palm: a red ribbon. It writhed like a live thing, twisting into a knot I recognized—the same one from Jenna’s sneakers.

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Teaser for Chapter 2

Charlie digs into Blackwater Falls and discovers a local legend: every 11 years, a girl vanishes near the Bone Tree. The next victim is due in 99 days. But when Charlie uncovers security footage of Mom meeting a stranger in a black SUV—the same vehicle spotted near Jenna’s trail—the countdown suddenly feels personal. Worse, the Bone Tree’s symbols begin appearing in her own home: XI scratched into doorframes, roots creeping under the floorboards, and a voice in the static hissing, “You’ll look better on the trunk.”

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