Dear Reader

“‘Like mother, like daughter, hmm?’ Nate added, his arm still over my shoulders and his fingertips stroking across my bare collarbone. ‘At least now I know what the going rate is.’”

Nate’s dialogue and actions exemplify the theme of The Corrupting Influence of Power and Privilege. His words reduce Ashley to a commodity with a “going rate,” a misogynistic insult rooted in his belief that her and her mother’s relationships are purely transactional. The accompanying physical act of nonconsensually stroking her collarbone is a deliberate assertion of dominance, combining verbal degradation with a physical violation to establish his antagonistic role.

“‘Nice car, by the way,’ he told me, pushing back and opening the door. ‘That paint must have been a bitch to match.’”

Nate’s reveal that he keyed Ashley’s car is a pivotal moment that demonstrates the depth of the characters’ manipulative capabilities. The act was not random vandalism but the first step in a calculated scheme to frame Ashley, forcing her into a position of financial desperation that made Heath’s proposition appear as a solution. This illustrates how the wealthy characters weaponize their financial power, using it not merely for convenience but as an intricate tool for psychological control and entrapment.

“Six grand is a lot of money for nothing to happen, Spark. Maybe you didn’t fuck him…but you did something. I bet there was even a spark between you two.”

This quote demonstrates how a lie, once seeded, becomes an accepted narrative within the privileged group, underscoring the theme of navigating a world of secrets and lies. Carter’s use of the nickname “Spark”—a double entendre referencing both Ashley’s personality and the alleged “spark” with Heath—serves to subtly reinforce the fiction. His phrasing reveals an unwillingness to accept the truth, showcasing how the group’s preconceived biases and loyalties create a reality where Ashley is presumed guilty.

“I never should have trusted him, but he had a way about him…his eyes were so trustworthy, which sounds weird now that I think about it because they’re the oddest shade of dark blue. Or maybe it was his accent that fooled me?”

This entry from Abigail Monstera’s Diary functions as a piece of foreshadowing that directly implicates a present-day character in past events. The specific details of “dark blue” eyes and an accent point directly to Carter, connecting him to the historical betrayals within the Devil’s Backbone Society. The narrator’s self-doubt (“sounds weird now that I think about it”) highlights the theme of The Fragility of Trust in a World of Betrayal, showing how charismatic personalities can mask dangerous intentions.

“‘She is not an Essex,’ Nate spat with palpable venom. ‘Neither is Carina, no matter what the marriage certificate says. She doesn’t get a free pass into the DBs just because my dad is cuntstruck.’”

Nate’s dialogue exposes the elitist ideology underpinning the Devil’s Backbone Society. His rejection of the legal marriage certificate underscores the theme of The Corrupting Influence of Power and Privilege, where status is inherited rather than earned. The crude, venomous diction reflects his entrenched misogyny and marks both Ashley and her mother as permanent outsiders, reinforcing how social power is weaponized to exclude.

“[M]y name, in case you want to do your research, is Abigail Monstera. I’m twenty-one, and I come from Whispering Willows, California.”

This direct quote from the diary solidifies its symbolic weight as a testament from the past. By providing her full name and hometown, Abigail transforms from an anonymous narrator into a specific, verifiable victim, grounding the diary’s warnings in a tangible reality. This escalates the stakes for Ashley, as the “weird kind of fiction” she hoped for is now presented as a factual account from a named individual (77).

“My eyes opened, adrenaline surging through my chest as a large figure slipped into my room […]. I found myself staring into a full-face, metallic, skull-like mask. Whoever had broken into my room was hooded, the shadows concealing his eye color while the mask concealed everything else.”

This passage is the first instance of abduction in the narrative and illustrates the symbolic power of the society’s masks and robes. The description of the “metallic, skull-like mask” uses imagery associated with death and anonymity, emphasizing how the attire erases individual identity and, by extension, moral accountability. The sensory details of the silent intrusion and concealed features create a tone of terror, demonstrating the DBS’s method of enforcing control through fear and intimidation.

“I held my breath as I watched him pause behind me, his gaze full of hatred as he looked me over. But then he shook his head and strode away as Royce started speaking in the video, giving the countdown. When everyone jumped—when I was pushed—Nate was clearly seen standing at least a dozen feet away.”

After Ashley accuses Nate of pushing her during the initiation, video evidence refutes her claim. This plot complication subverts Ashley’s assumptions about the primary antagonist. By revealing an unknown aggressor, the text reinforces the theme of navigating a world of secrets and lies, suggesting that the most obvious threat is not the only one Ashley faces.

“Carter’s jovial mood vanished faster than a lightning strike, and in the space of a gasp, he had me slammed against the nearest tree with a hand around my throat. ‘Do not speak to me like that again, Spark,’ he murmured in my ear, his voice the thunderclap to match his movement.”

This instance of sudden violence is a stark moment of characterization for Carter. The simile, “faster than a lightning strike,” emphasizes the alarming speed of his mood shift from charming to threatening. The juxtaposition of his violent physical action with a murmured threat highlights a practiced assertion of dominance, illustrating how his privilege allows him to act without fear of reprisal.

“You’re a distraction, Spark. A pretty one too.”

Carter’s blunt objectification of Ashley reduces her to a strategic asset, highlighting a culture in which individuals are treated as pawns in games of social dominance. The condescending nickname “Spark” combined with the dismissive compliment “a pretty one” establishes a power dynamic where Carter controls the narrative and Ashley’s perceived value within it.

“Oh shit. The three below me were in full black robes and masks just like Nate wore when he abducted me!”

Ashley’s terrified recognition of the attire confirms the Devil’s Backbone Society’s pervasive presence, extending beyond explicit rituals into the fabric of their social lives. The masks and robes are reinforced here as representations of erased identity and ominous, collective intent, transforming a seemingly frivolous party into a site of potential danger.

“I guess I misjudged you, Ashley, maybe you were hoping to suck my dick and slap me with the bill later? What’s the going rate, again? Six grand, right?”

Carter’s hostile turn references the initial lie about paying Ashley for sex. His cruel rhetorical question weaponizes this fabricated narrative, demonstrating how easily lies can be recycled to manipulate and wound, a core tenet of the theme of navigating a world of secrets and lies. This sudden shift from charm to verbal assault highlights his volatile nature and the precariousness of Ashley’s position.

“You know me better than that, Heathcliff. I don’t generally entertain overpriced whores, and she’s definitely not my type.”

Carter’s public humiliation of Ashley after their trip to Paris is a moment of profound betrayal. By coldly erasing their shared intimacy to maintain his social standing, he reinforces the misogynistic power structure within their circle, where a woman’s reputation is disposable.

“‘Um…the number belonged to someone who went to school here, but the contract was canceled two years ago. When she died. This doesn’t make any sense.’ 

My blood chilled. The messages were all signed AM as in…‘Abigail Monstera?’”

After Ashley receives cryptic warnings, Nate traces the sender’s number, leading to this discovery. The dialogue reveals that the messages originate from the phone number of a deceased student, directly invoking Abigail Monstera’s diary as a voice from the grave. This revelation elevates the novel’s suspense, blurring the lines between a human conspiracy and something potentially supernatural, and solidifying the diary as a central element of the plot.

“Instead, I found a scrap of paper nailed to a tree with one word scrawled across it. WHORE.”

Following her abduction, Ashley awakens to this message, a direct parallel to an experience detailed in Abigail’s diary. The visual of a single, capitalized word nailed to a tree functions as a crude and violent branding, linking the physical ordeal to the misogynistic labels used against her. This act of psychological warfare solidifies the diary’s symbolic role as a map to past events, marking an escalation that personalizes the attacks and demonstrates how the antagonists manipulate narratives to control and terrorize her.

“But doesn’t the evidence seem too convenient for Nate to be involved? […] couldn’t it be someone trying to sow distrust and isolate you from the very people who could protect you?”

Max’s dialogue introduces a narrative shift, questioning the obvious evidence against Nate and suggesting a more complex conspiracy. This directly engages the theme of navigating a world of secrets and lies: As a figure of paternal authority, Max’s words plant a crucial seed of doubt, forcing Ashley to reconsider her assumptions about the true antagonist’s identity and recasting the central conflict as a search for an unseen manipulator.

“They are, actually. It’s an old DB tradition, so much so that legacy families have taken to collecting bones simply so their children can play this game.”

Carter’s offhand explanation that wealthy legacy families collect fossils for sport exposes the extreme moral detachment that comes with inherited privilege. Treating priceless dinosaur bones as disposable game pieces frames the DBS as an institution where entitlement has eroded any sense of value, historical, ethical, or human. The casual tone underscores the normalization of this excess. The moment crystallizes the theme of the corrupting influence of power and privilege, showing how affluence fosters a worldview in which consequence is irrelevant.

“Act like a cheap slut, don’t be surprised when people treat you accordingly.”

Immediately after violently defending Ashley from a sexual predator, Nate delivers this misogynistic admonishment. The statement reveals the cognitive dissonance in his character, as he simultaneously acts as a protector and a verbal abuser who echoes the logic of her attacker. This contradictory behavior highlights his deeply ingrained misogyny and the pervasive patriarchal values that govern their privileged world.

“I’d already seen the very dead, very bloody decapitated corpse stretched out across the bed. The eyes of the detached head stared right at me, right through me from where it sat on the nightstand.”

Upon returning to her room, Ashley discovers the murdered body of her earlier assailant. The stark, visceral imagery marks the narrative’s shift from dangerous pranks to outright homicide, shattering any lingering sense of security. The grotesque detail of the severed head positioned to stare at her turns the killing into a deliberate psychological attack, signaling that the violence is not random but targeted, and Ashley is the intended focal point of a lethal game.

“It just feels like every time I manage to fall asleep I’m plagued by awful nightmares and wake up more tired than I was before sleeping. I haven’t been keeping up so well in my human development class though, so I wonder if that’s it. Stress fucks with my head something wicked.”

Heath’s admission introduces the sleepwalking and nightmares motif and foreshadows his loss of control. The contrast between studying “human development” and his own unraveling state underscores how psychological pressure and hidden trauma are eroding his sense of self.

“Bart was an accident. You were the intended target. Don’t lose your head, Ashley, go back to campus.”

This anonymous text message escalates the central mystery and reinforces the theme of navigating a world of secrets and lies. The message functions as a direct threat disguised as a warning, creating powerful paranoia. The dark pun, “Don’t lose your head,” ironically alludes to Bart’s decapitation and suggests that a similar fate awaits Ashley, increasing the narrative tension.

“When we got back, she made her threats clear. […] She has plans for my future, involving the daughter of one of her business associates.”

Carter’s confession to Ashley exposes the deeper mechanisms driving the corrupting influence of power and privilege, extending the society’s reach from campus rituals into the private realm of family control. His mother’s threats reveal how power operates through social and financial alliances, treating relationships and marriage as strategic transactions. This revelation adds context to Carter’s contradictory behavior toward Ashley, showing him as someone constrained by the same oppressive system that shields him.

“You’ve got some of the most loyal, determined, and well-connected men standing right here in this room ready to blow up their perfect lives to keep you safe and you still have trust issues? Pull your head out of your ass.”

Nate’s outburst encapsulates the central tension of the fragility of trust in a world of betrayal. His harsh wording reflects the boys’ belief that Ashley’s secrecy signals a lack of faith in them, reframing her self-protection as ingratitude. The moment is steeped in irony, as Nate, one of the key figures responsible for her mistrust, demands she abandon it, exposing the deep fractures and misaligned expectations that undermine their group dynamic.