The Limbo Tree
Publication date: October 10th 2016
Genres: Paranormal, Young Adult
An accident. A secret. The truth.
Something is wrong with Samantha McCallister. Her baby brother is dead, and she has only one memory of the accident: the canned version her parents impressed upon her. But piece by piece, Sam struggles to make sense of it.
Cast aside by her self-involved family, Sam seeks out a friendship with the next-door neighbor, Hazel, until Hazel inexplicably goes missing, leaving nothing but a note and a jar of jam.
Determined to uncover the truth about Hazel’s disappearance, Sam finds out more than she bargained for. Bizarre episodes and nightmares consume her, vicious and unstoppable.
Meanwhile, an adolescent muse moves into Hazel’s abandoned home. Sam is immediately drawn to him—discovering the beginnings of true love—when the unthinkable occurs. Sam is alienated to a world in which she no longer feels she belongs.
Try as she might, Sam cannot escape these nightmares or the truth behind them—the truth that lies in the Limbo Tree.
Brilliantly crafted, shimmering with uncertainty, The Limbo Tree is as mystical as it is moving.
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I’m sleeping. I fell asleep on my bed. I have to be.
I wearily backed away from her, not sure which Mom I was confronting.
“I heard you scream.”
“Um.” My voice quavered. “A spider, on my bed.”
“Well, did you get ’im?”
“Um, yeah, I flushed it down the toilet.” My blood surged as she needled me with her eyes.
Mom leaned in close. “You smell like a pond. Take a shower.” She handed over the warm stack of towels. “Here.”
As I eased inside the bathroom, my heart hammered so hard I heard it beating from outside my chest. I slowly closed the door, watching it, waiting for something else to happen, but it didn’t.
I put away the towels in the closet, turned on the shower, and collapsed on top of the toilet seat. Had my reality and dream world finally collided? Or was I just crazy?
Pulling my knees in, I began to rock back and forth while babbling, “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know.”
I twirled my hair, giving it a yank, feeling a burning twinge of delight. The pain was real. And so was the clump of hair that emerged from my palm. I rolled the long strands between my fingertips, reminding me of corn silk, and watched them flutter to the floor. My arms curled tight around my legs, I began rocking again. I couldn’t be sure that anything was real at this point. I wasn’t to be trusted. I stood up and looked in the mirror.
An unkempt version of myself blinked blankly back at me; her sullen eyes were encircled by sleepless nights, and her hair was wild as a beast’s, oily and matted. A chunk went missing by her ear.
There I stood, watching the tears spill over her cheeks. I looked deeper into the mirror, watching her mimic my movements. She bit her bottom lip, in serious denial, and pressed her palms against the glass, meeting mine.
“A crazy person doesn’t ask whether they are crazy. They just are,” we said to one another.
The steam condensed on the mirror, leaving only my handprints. And soon the haze filled them in, too. I took off my clothes and stepped into the shower. The hot streams pelted my face as I dared to close my eyes again, rinsing away the insanity. Water slapped the porcelain floor of the tub in short spurts as I rinsed my hair. A slow creak of the bathroom door echoed in between splats and a cold rush of air flooded over the top of the shower curtain. I opened my eyes. Steam had filled the shower, from the ceiling down.
“Hello?” I queried nervously from behind the curtain.
“Pajamas. I’ll leave them on the toilet seat.” Mom’s erratic tone ricocheted around the tiny room.
“Thanks,” I replied, watching her silhouette disappear from behind the curtain.
“To your room when you’re done, Samantha.” Her demand echoed from the hallway.
The door clicked shut.
I cranked the shower knob toward the H. The steam surrounded me and rose to the ceiling. I stood amidst the hot streams, hearing a clang from the vent in the ceiling, and shortly afterward my name echoed through the steel opening. My gaze darted to the ceiling. Wide-eyed with panic, I shut off the water and waited. My name whispered ominously through the same hole in the wall again, entering through the small cracks of my mind between insanity and reality.
Chicago-born author Tania Nicole Suarez, best known as T.N. Suarez, does her best writing on her backyard patio, as well as at the charming coffee shop around the corner with free refills. When she isn’t glued to her laptop, she spends time with her magical family, binge-watches Netflix, paints with acrylics, and tries very hard not being the worst tennis player in the burbs.
Tania began her writing career while working as an art director for an advertising agency. She holds a Bachelor of Arts degree in Graphic Design and is an internationally published photographer. Her work has been featured in USA TODAY, Fox News, ABC News (Australia & New Zealand), New York Magazine, New York Post, Fuji Television Network (Tokyo, Japan), Asahi Television Network (Tokyo, Japan), EuroNews (Lyon, France), Huffington Post (Osaka, Japan), and Les Journal de Montréal (Montréal, Quebec, Canada).
Additionally, Tania is an active member of Chicago Writers Association (CWA), Poetry Society of America (PSA), Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators (SCBWI), and the Women’s Fiction Writers Association (WFWA).