The Salt Tree

THE SALT TREE

The island wasn’t on any map—at least not any map people admitted existed.

They called it Hallowmere, though nobody knew who “they” were anymore. It was the kind of place that only appeared when you were already lost. A bruised little smudge in the ocean where compasses spun like scared animals and the waves seemed to whisper names.

Mara thought it was a myth. Until her boat drifted into it like the sea had decided.

She woke with her cheek pressed into wet sand and salt crusted in her hair. The sky was gray, heavy with storm pressure, but the air was strangely warm—as if the island carried its own breath. Her radio was dead. Her phone might as well have been a brick. The boat was still there, half wedged into the sand, but when she ran to it and pushed—shoved with all the force in her body—it didn’t budge.

It felt… anchored. Not physically, but Claimed.

She stood there breathing hard, staring at the water like it had betrayed her.

Then she noticed something. A trail of footprints. Not hers though, they went inland.

Mara didn’t follow them at first. She told herself she wasn’t that stupid. She told herself she’d wait until the tide shifted, until the storm passed, until some miracle happened. But after the third hour of silence—after the island refused her every attempt to leave—she finally walked the footprint trail like it was a rope tied around her ribs.

The island grew thicker as she moved inward. Not jungle-thick, not tropical but It was more like the land had a secret it didn’t want to share. Trees leaned slightly toward her as she passed. Their branches creaked in a rhythm that almost sounded like speech. The wind didn’t blow through the leaves—it tugged.

And then she saw it. A clearing with a tree at its center. It wasn’t huge. It wasn’t ancient-looking in the dramatic way stories always promised. No glowing lights. No blood-red fruit, It was just… wrong. Its bark was pale, almost bone-white, veined with gray like old bruises. The leaves were dark and glossy, but not green, more like wet ink. Beneath it sat a wooden box, warped from weather, with iron hinges so rusted they looked like scabbed wounds. Something in Mara’s stomach turned cold because she knew exactly what this was. Not because she’d seen it here, but because she’d seen it before—in a photo in her mother’s locked drawer. A photo her mother never admitted existed, a photo Mara had found when she was fifteen, after her father disappeared.

In the photo, her mother stood beside this exact tree, staring into the camera with a look Mara still couldn’t name. Not fear, not joy but more like… guilt that had learned how to smile. Mara’s throat tightened and she stepped closer. The box had a carving on its lid—letters scratched deep by a desperate hand.

WRITE IT.

SPEAK IT.

PAY IT.

Mara backed up so fast she tripped over a root, “No,” she whispered to the island, but the island did not answer, but the wind did. It swept through the clearing like a sigh, and for one heartbeat Mara swore she heard her name inside it.

Mara.

Her mouth went dry and she turned away from the tree. That’s when she saw the man.

He stood at the edge of the clearing, half-shadowed by twisted trunks. He looked about Mara’s age—late twenties—broad shouldered, soaked like he’d walked through rain and his eyes were the part her body noticed first. They were too calm. Not empty or dead, just calm in a way that didn’t belong on a place like this.

He raised both hands, palms out like he didn’t want to scare her, “Don’t run,” he said.

Mara’s voice came out brittle. “Who are you?”

He hesitated, then took one slow step forward. “My name is Eli,” he said. “And you’re not leaving.”

Mara laughed once, sharp and humorless. “You don’t get to tell me that.”

“I’m not telling you,” he replied quietly. “I’m warning you.”

Mara looked past him at the trees, “Is there a village? People?”

Eli’s expression didn’t change, “No.”

Mara’s mind raced. “So you’re—what? Alone? You’ve been here how long?”

Eli’s gaze flicked briefly to the bone-white tree, “Long enough,” he said.

Mara swallowed. The tree felt like it was listening. Waiting.

Mara pointed at it. “What is that?”

Eli’s voice softened. “A mistake that learned how to grow.”

Mara stared at him. Her hands were shaking now, but she didn’t want him to see that, so she clasped them together. “I saw it in my mother’s photo,” she said. “Years ago.”

The first real emotion flickered across Eli’s face. Recognition. “Then this island found the right person,” he murmured.

Mara’s stomach dropped. “What does that mean?”

Eli took another step closer. His voice lowered, as if the tree could hear louder than normal things. “This place doesn’t bring you what you want,” he said. “It brings you what you would trade yourself for.”

Mara’s chest tightened and there it was. That old rot inside her, the thing she never said out loud. “My dad,” she whispered.

Eli didn’t ask her what she meant. He just nodded once.

Mara’s eyes burned, “My mother told everyone he left,” Mara said. “She said he couldn’t handle being a husband. Being a father. She said he abandoned us.” Mara’s voice began to crack, and she hated herself for it. “But he didn’t,” she said. “He wouldn’t.”

Eli looked at her, steady as stone, “This island has him,” he said.

Mara sucked in a breath so sharp it hurt, “Where?”

Eli pointed at the tree.

Mara took one step back, “No.”

Eli’s voice became a warning again. “You don’t understand.”

Mara’s entire body trembled with anger now. “You think I care?” she snapped. “You think I came all this way because I care about some stupid haunted tree’s rules?”

Eli didn’t flinch. “That tree will give him back,” Eli said. “But it will not give him back to you.”

Mara stared, “What does that even mean?”

Eli’s eyes dipped, almost sad. “It takes what makes you whole,” he said, “so you never ask it again.”

Mara shook her head hard. “That’s not—” She laughed again, broken. “That’s not how anything works.”

Eli watched her carefully, “You’ve already lived with the loss,” he said. “You’ve carried it. That grief made you who you are. That wound became part of you.”

Mara’s throat tightened.

“If you heal it here,” Eli whispered, “it will carve something else out to make room.”

Mara glared at the tree like it was a predator. Then she whispered: “I don’t care.”

Eli’s face tightened. “Mara—”

But she was already moving. She marched across the clearing with the storm inside her. She dropped to her knees at the box and flipped open the lid. Inside was a notebook. Old and thick. The pages looked swollen from ocean air, but the ink stains were fresh—too fresh for something that had been here for who-knew-how-long.

And there was a pen, Mara stared at it like it might bite.

Eli’s voice was behind her now, low and urgent, “If you write it,” he said, “you can’t take it back.”

Mara swallowed, her hand hovered above the pen and her heart pounded so hard she felt it in her teeth.

And she wrote: I WISH MY FATHER WOULD COME BACK TO ME.

The words sat on the page like a bruise. Mara’s fingers shook.

Then she spoke the words aloud, because the island demanded it, “I wish my father would come back to me.”

The wind stopped and the entire clearing went still. Even the waves seemed to hush. For a few seconds, nothing happened, Mara almost laughed again, almost cried—and then the bone-white tree shuddered.

Not like wind shook it, but like something inside it moved. The bark split with a soft, wet sound, a seam opened down the center of the trunk. And from inside, a figure stepped out as if leaving a doorway.

A man, older with gray in his beard and his eyes bloodshot with disbelief.

Mara didn’t breathe. She didn’t blink. She stood up slowly, like her body feared he’d vanish if she moved too fast.

“Dad…”

The man’s eyes landed on her and his face broke.

“Mara,” he rasped.

And just like that, she was running. She collided into him, arms wrapping around his waist, and he clutched her like she was the only real thing left on earth. He smelled like seawater and woodsmoke and he was warm. He was real.

Mara sobbed into his chest, the sound ripped out of her like something dying.

“I found you,” she gasped. “I found you—I knew you didn’t leave, I knew you didn’t—”

“I didn’t,” he choked. “God, sweetheart, I didn’t—”

Behind her, Eli stayed silent. Mara didn’t care, not anymore.

She pulled back, still holding her father’s hands like they were fragile. “We’re leaving,” she said. “We’re getting out of here.”

Her father frowned as if the words didn’t make sense.

Mara turned toward the beach, only then did she notice the air felt… lighter. The island didn’t feel like it was pressing in anymore.

She looked at Eli, triumphant, furious, almost laughing through tears. “See?” she said. “You were wrong.”

Eli stared at her and his face was pale. “Look at him,” Eli said quietly.

Mara’s smile faltered as she looked at her father. He was still holding her hands. Still staring at her like he couldn’t believe she existed. But something was strange about his expression now. Not confused and not shocked, but Empty.

Like a man who had been called back from a dream too quickly.

Mara tightened her grip, “Dad?” she whispered.

Her father blinked slowly, his gaze slid away from her face… and toward the tree. Toward the notebook. Toward the island.

Mara’s stomach turned.

He whispered, barely audible: “What did you do?”

Mara froze, “What?”

Her father’s hands trembled and his eyes filled with tears—but not the kind Mara had imagined. Fear, it was pure fear.

“Mara…” he rasped. “Why did you bring me back?”

Mara’s mouth went dry, “I… I didn’t bring you back,” she whispered. “I saved you.”

Her father shook his head hard. “No,” he whispered. “No. You don’t understand. I stayed away because—” He swallowed.

His gaze flicked to Eli like Eli was the only one on the island who knew what he meant.

Eli’s voice was low, “She doesn’t remember,” Eli said.

Mara’s blood turned to ice, “What are you talking about?”

Her father’s face crumpled. “Mara… sweetheart… you were there.”

Mara’s heart slammed into her ribs. “There where?”

Her father’s voice broke: “The night I disappeared.”

Mara’s brain rejected the words immediately, like a body refusing poison. “No,” she whispered. “No, I was a kid—”

Her father shook his head, sobbing now. “You weren’t asleep,” he said. “You weren’t—God, you weren’t innocent.”

Mara stepped back, her lungs wouldn’t fill. “I don’t—” she stammered. “I don’t remember—”

Eli spoke, almost gently. “That was the trade,” he said.

Mara whipped around. “Trade? What trade?!”

Eli’s eyes were full of something like pity. “You wanted your father back,” he said. “But you didn’t ask for the truth.”

Mara’s knees went weak. Her father reached for her again, desperate.

“Mara,” he cried, “your mother lied to you because she thought it was kinder. She thought it was mercy.”

Mara shook her head, tears spilling now. “Stop,” she whispered. “Stop.”

Her father’s voice became raw, “She told people I abandoned you,” he sobbed, “because she couldn’t tell them you pushed me.”

Mara screamed. “No!”

Her father flinched but forced the words out anyway, like he’d carried them too long.

“You were angry,” he whispered. “You were so angry. You thought I was taking her away from you—”

Mara’s mind flashed—A memory, sharp as glass. A hallway, a raised voice. Her mother crying. A suitcase. Her father’s hand on a door handle. And her own small hands—pushing.

Harder than she meant to. Her father’s body falling backward and the crack of bone. The sickening silence after.

Mara clutched her head like she could hold her skull together, “No,” she sobbed, “no, no, no—”

Eli’s voice was soft, “The island doesn’t bring you what you want,” he said. “It brings you what you would trade yourself for.”

Mara fell to her knees in the sand.

Her father knelt too, sobbing, reaching for her. “I stayed away,” he whispered brokenly, “because you couldn’t live with it. You were a child. You didn’t mean it. You didn’t—”

Mara’s face twisted in horror. “But I did,” she whispered. Her eyes lifted to Eli—wild. “You said it takes what makes you whole,” she rasped. “So what did it take?”

Eli’s gaze drifted past her to the ocean and Mara followed his stare. Her boat was gone, there was no wreckage, no driftwood, just sand where it had been.

But worse than that—the sea had changed. It had pulled back in a strange way, exposing black rock and dead coral like bones. The horizon looked farther now, like the world had moved away.

Mara stumbled to her feet. “No,” she whispered. Her voice rose to a scream, “NO!”

Eli finally stepped forward, voice quiet like a funeral, “You asked for your father to come back to you,” Eli said.

Mara choked on her own breathing. “And?!”

Eli met her eyes, “And the island heard you,” he said. He nodded at her father, “He came back.” Then his gaze softened even more, “But you didn’t.”

Mara’s blood ran cold. “What?”

Eli’s voice became a whisper that still sounded like thunder, “You traded your exit.”

Mara’s mouth opened, but no words came out, she turned—spinning, frantic—searching for anything that proved Eli wrong. A way out, a boat or a plane, anything. But the island felt different now, tighter and more possessive, like it had finally closed its fist.

Her father’s voice trembled behind her. “It keeps us,” he whispered. “That’s what it does. It keeps us.”

Eli’s voice followed her, calm and cruelly gentle, “It gave you what you wanted,” he said. “And now it will make sure you never want it again.”

Mara’s sob turned into laughter, the kind of laughter that comes when the world finally admits it hates you.

Her father reached for her again, “We’ll figure this out,” he whispered. “We’ll survive. Together.”

Mara looked at him, and she realized something else. Something the island was letting her see now that the memory had returned. Her father didn’t look like a man saved, he looked like a man summoned. Like he was a punishment too and like the island had brought him back not for love—but for consequence.

Mara stared at the notebook, the pen still resting inside. For the first time since arriving—

She understood why Eli had never wished his way out. Because the island always listened and the island always took.

The wind picked up again, swirling salt and dead leaves around her ankles. The bone-white tree creaked softly, like it approved. Mara stepped toward the notebook and her fingers reached for the pen.

Eli’s voice sharpened for the first time, “Don’t.”

Mara didn’t look at him. She just whispered: “I want it to forget again.”

Eli’s eyes darkened. “And what will you give it this time?” he asked.

Mara smiled through tears. Slow and unsettling. “Whatever it wants,” she said.

And the tree’s leaves shivered like laughter.