There’s nothing a mother won’t do to protect her child. For single mom Jenna, that means traveling from London to the remote shores of Athelsea in search of her teenage daughter, Chloe. Jenna knows Chloe was struggling after the divorce. If she’s honest, her daughter had been struggling long before that, but the changes of the past few weeks felt different. Chloe seemed withdrawn, almost haunted. When Jenna discovers a ferry ticket to Athelsea, it’s the only lead she has, and she clings to it.
The village itself offers little comfort. As Jenna searches for answers, she’s met with lingering stares and hushed conversations that abruptly stop when she draws near. Everyone seems to know something, but no one is willing to say it outright. Her desperation finally yields a name whispered with unease: the Bone Queen. At first, Jenna dismisses it as nothing more than a local legend, a story meant to frighten outsiders and children alike.
But the fear etched into the villagers’ faces tells a different story. As Jenna learns about the deaths and disappearances that have plagued Athelsea for decades, her certainty begins to erode. The line between folklore and reality grows thinner, paranoia creeping in where logic once held firm. And as her grip on reality starts to slip, Jenna realizes there’s no line she won’t cross to protect her daughter, especially if the Bone Queen is real.
Will Shindler makes his horror debut with a terrifying missing-person story that immediately got under my skin. He blends the procedural pull of an investigation with folkloric legend and richly drawn characters, creating a page-turner that feels grounded even as the uncanny begins to seep in. The Bone Queen is unsettling precisely because it dares readers to question what, if anything, can truly be believed. That lingering sense of possibility worms its way into your thoughts, forcing you to confront horrors that may or may not be real.
Yes, there’s plenty of overt creepiness on the page, but the novel’s real power lies in how quietly it gets under your skin, how your own imagination begins to do some of the work for it. I was glued to every page, unable to stop reading even as the sense of dread steadily intensified. It all builds to an ending that feels satisfying yet unsettling—one that leaves you wondering whether the story is truly over, or if something far more sinister still lies in waiting just out of sight.
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(2026, 10)
