STRAWBERRY VALLEY MYSTERIES: BOOK 1 - BAD PARTS

CHAPTER 1: IT BEGINS

OCTOBER 26TH, 1983

Rose Redfield and Max Benson, fifteen and sixteen, reveled in the chilly night air, the scent of salt carried by the breeze. Strawberry Valley, always idyllic, held an unexpected darkness that would soon shatter its serene façade.

Something peculiar lingered, elusive yet palpable. If it were ever true, it would vanish like mist. The October night, 8:12 PM, seeped into their bones. Rose, without her jacket, had assumed it would be fine. Halloween loomed just four days away.

"What should we be for Halloween?" Max asked, nudging Rose. "Frankenstein's monster and bride?"

Rose hesitated. "Jesus, I don't know. Give me time to think. It's not just about costumes, Max."

"But you used to love Halloween," he protested.

Their childhood bond felt frayed, and Rose sensed an inexplicable unease about Max. Perhaps it traced back to the car accident eight years ago --- a blur in her memory. Even yesterday's math test eluded her.

"Damn it, Rose, you're wearing my jacket whether you think it's 'too romantic' or not. I mean, by God, I take you bowling, I take you out for dinner, but you can't even answer a simple question?"

"It's not an easy question! I mean, I like you ---"

"Than why don't you go out with me?" he demaned.

Max's frustration hung in the chilly air like a fog. Rose shivered, both from the cold and the emotional tension. She tugged Max' jacket tighter around her shoulders when he offered it, it was the least she could do, its warmth a fragile barrier against the chill.

"Max," she began, her voice soft but resolute, "I appreciate your efforts. Bowling, dinners --- they're all wonderful. But love isn't a checklist, and it doesn't arrive on demand."

He scuffed his shoe against the pavement. "I just thought-"

"I know," Rose interrupted gently. "You're genuine, Max. But love needs time to bloom. It's not about jokes or shared moments. It's about feeling a connection that defies logic."

Max's eyes searched hers, vulnerable. "I've felt it," he admitted. "Maybe too soon."

Rose hesitated, then reached for his hand. "Let's give it time, Max. No rush. And maybe, just maybe, love will find us when we least expect it."

"Well, uh, let's go out again? No more bowling, I know you don't wanna see a klutz fly down the isle."

Max's hopeful expression softened Rose's resolve.

She sighed, her breath visible in the crisp night air. "Okay, Max," she said, "one more chance. But let's take it slow, like a psychological thriller unfolding its secrets."

The moon hung low, casting elongated shadows across the deserted street. Max and Rose walked side by side, their breaths visible in the crisp night air. The silence between them was both comforting and charged with anticipation.

Max cleared his throat. "You know, I've never been good at this whole dating thing."

Rose chuckled. "Dating isn't exactly a science, Max. It's more like navigating a psychological maze. Each turn reveals a new layer of vulnerability, a hidden trap, or a tantalizing clue."

Max raised an eyebrow. "So, what's the next clue, Detective Rose?"

She grinned, playing along. "Well, let's see. We've covered bowling and dinners. How about something darker? A midnight stroll through the abandoned asylum?"

Max's eyes widened. "An asylum? Seriously?"

Rose shrugged. "Why not? It's the perfect setting for unraveling secrets. The walls whisper stories of madness, betrayal, and lost souls. Maybe we'll find our own truth hidden in the shadows."

Max hesitated, then nodded. "Okay, Detective Rose. Lead the way."

As they stepped into the eerie darkness, Rose wondered if love could indeed bloom in such a twisted place. Perhaps Max was right-maybe it was too soon. But sometimes, the most unexpected connections happened when you least expected them.

The moonlight revealed the gruesome scene: a severed arm, bloodied and cold. Rose's scream echoed through the asylum, bouncing off the cracked walls. Max stumbled back, his face pale.

"What the hell?" Max whispered, his voice trembling.

Rose's fingers trembled as she tried to disentangle herself from the ghastly limb. "Max, we need to get out of here. Now."

But the arm clung to her, its grip unyielding. She tugged harder, panic rising. "Max, help me!"

Together, they wrestled with the macabre appendage, their breaths ragged. Finally, with a sickening squelch, it released her. Rose scrambled to her feet, heart pounding.

"We're leaving," she said, pulling Max toward the exit. "Whatever this place is hiding, we don't want to find out."

As they stumbled back into the moonlit night, Rose glanced over her shoulder. The asylum loomed behind them, secrets buried within its walls. Love, she realized, was far more complicated than any psychological thriller.

And in that moment, Max's hand in hers, she wondered if they'd ever escape the haunting memory of that bloodied arm.

The blood seeping down the walls was like a nightmare bleeding into reality. Rose and Max sprinted through the moonlit streets, their breaths ragged, hearts pounding. Panic fueled their escape, and they didn't dare look back.

Max fumbled with his phone, trembling fingers dialing 911. But in his haste, he hit the wrong contact. The call connected, and a groggy voice answered.

"Hello?" said Chris Blake, clearly disoriented.

Max's mind raced. "Chris, it's Max! We're in trouble. We found something-"

"Max? Trouble? Dude, it's 3 AM. What's going on?"

Rose glanced at Max, eyes wide. "Tell him we need help," she urged.

Max took a deep breath. "Chris, forget the bowling alley. We're at the old asylum. There's blood, a severed arm-"

Chris interrupted, his voice now fully awake. "Wait, what? Are you messing with me?"

"No!" Max insisted. "We need-"

But Chris laughed. "Max, you're the king of pranks. Seriously, the asylum? Good one."

Max's frustration boiled over. "Chris, this is real! We're-"

Chris hung up.

Max stared at his phone, disbelief and fear warring within him. Rose tugged his arm. "Max, we can't rely on Chris. We're on our own."

As sirens wailed in the distance, they fled into the night, leaving behind the blood-soaked asylum and the unanswered call. Love, it seemed, was a twisted maze-one where even emergency contacts led astray.

Max's mind raced, fueled by adrenaline and fear. Rose's eyes widened, mirroring his panic. The moonlight cast elongated shadows as they sprinted through the deserted streets.

"What if someone's been stalking the body?" Max's voice cracked. "What if they followed us here?"

Rose's breath hitched. "And what if there's a killer on the loose? Someone who knows we found that arm?"

They reached an intersection, heartbeats pounding in sync. Max glanced around, paranoia gripping him. "We need to find answers. Maybe there's a connection between the arm and the asylum."

Rose nodded. "Max, we can't trust anyone right now—not even Chris," Rose said, her voice barely above a whisper, fear creeping into her tone.

Max clenched his fists. "We'll unravel this mystery, Rose. No matter what."

As sirens wailed in the distance, they pressed forward, their bond forged in blood and terror. Love, they realized, was more than shared moments-it was survival in the face of darkness.