One“This was the best decision I ever made. I feel so alive!” Florence Marsh sent that message to her brother a little over five years ago, on June 17, 2019. She was never heard from again.According to her wilderness permit, Florence had planned a seventy-eight-mile loop hike of the Bones Hollow Trail through Olympic National Park in Washington.Despite the case being closed after the death of Wendy Whitmore in 2018, Florence is believed by many to have been the ninth and final victim of the Bones Hollow Hunter. The eight other hikers’ bodies were each discovered naked, pinned against a tree with an arrow through the heart and a single tooth missing. But Florence Marsh’s body was never found.Who was the Bones Hollow Hunter, and why do people suspect Florence was his ninth victim?These are the questions we explore together on episode nine of Serial Killers USA: The Bones Hollow Hunter
. As always, my sweet Little Savages, I’m your host, Laurie Wolff. Let’s dive in.“Why are we listening to this?” I asked again, like I had at least once a day. Laurie Wolff’s husky voice had serenaded us almost constantly since we started hiking the Bones Hollow Trail three days ago.
“Why wouldn’t we?” Zoe grunted, the exertion of hiking the rugged terrain audible in her voice. The two-foot-wide trail moved steadily downhill through the old-growth forest in a series of switchbacks. Giant evergreen roots and moss-covered rocks and boulders protruded onto the muddy path, threatening to trip us with every step. “We’re literally
in the Hunter’s old stomping grounds. It’s no different than having a guidebook, Jade; we need to be prepared. He’s dormant, not dead. Besides, it’s great research for when I start my own podcast one day. And I catch something new every time I listen to it.”
“Me, too,” Stefanie said, breathing heavy. She always took her cues from Zoe. We both did. “And noise is good. It keeps the bears away.”
The Hunter’s victims all had a few things in common, Laurie Wolff continued.
Young women between the ages of twenty and thirty-five hiking the Bones Hollow Trail alone. Aged thirty, Florence Marsh fit this profile.I looked to my two best friends, aged twenty-eight. “Noise also attracts,” I said.
According to Florence’s wilderness permit, she expected to take two days to reach Bones Hollow Valley, where she would rest for one day before hiking back. Her family says that she easily trekked twenty miles a day, regardless of terrain, and would have finished the loop in that time frame with ease. A torrential rainstorm rolled through on her second day. Being the experienced hiker that she was, it is believed that Florence knew to shelter in place and wait for the weather to pass.“You’re supposed to shelter in place? Shit, I wouldn’t have known that.” It was mid-July and yet the cool, misty air chilled the sweat on my neck. Goosebumps prickled my flesh. “Seriously, guys, I can’t listen to this anymore. All I’m hearing is that a super-experienced hiker bit the dust in some gruesome way and now we’re following in her footsteps. If
Florence got killed out here, what the hell kind of chance do we stand? We’ve never been backcountry camping like this!”
“We’ve camped before,” Stef said, defensive.
“Yeah, at campgrounds in state parks. A little different than hiking across the wilderness for eight days, don’t you think?”
“We all pop our cherry sometime,” Zoe said. “Stop worrying so much.”
“C’mon,” Stef said. “You know that telling our sweet baby Jade to stop worrying is like telling a fish not to swim.” She blew me a kiss.
I smiled, snarky, and flipped her the finger. “I’m not a worrier, I’m just sensible. And Zoe would probably be dead without me by now.”
“That’s probably true,” Zoe said with a sigh. “But that’s why I love you so much. I need someone who helps me question my impulses. Even if it drives me f***ing crazy.” She weaved her arm around my neck for a quick hug, nearly toppling us both.
The ball of aggravation that had knotted my stomach softened now. Zoe and I often said that we balanced each other out. I brought her back down to Earth while she challenged me to reach for new heights. It was one of the reasons we were such good friends.
Stef snorted, laughing. “Oh my god, remember when she stopped you from picking up that snake?”
“She wasn’t just going to pick it up,” I reminded her. “She was going to push it into that glass bottle! Idiot.”
Zoe tossed her hands into the air. “It didn’t seem so dumb at the time! But okay, fine. That one was venomous. You saved my life. I freely admit it.”
“I would’ve thought most people knew that, like, basically everything in Australia is poisonous. But you’re welcome.”
“Well, we all know I’m not most people,” Zoe said with pride.
Laurie Wolff went on:
The search party never found a single item that belonged to Florence. Not even her grandfather’s antique silver compass, which she never left home without. She vanished without a trace. Plenty of other hikers in Olympic National Park go missing, but normally they leave evidence behind. So, was she just another unfortunate traveler, like the police and the park rangers want us to believe? Or was she the next victim of the Bones Hollow Hunter? Well, my Little Savages, what do you think?I stared into the rich coniferous forest around us. Wide cedars and firs reached their needlepoint noses up to the clouds. Mammoth trees, ferns, and white-flowering hemlock stretched as far as the eye could see, every inch of rock and earth dripping with emerald moss. The forest vibrated with scuttling critters and birdsong. Eagles soared overhead in clear blue sky. Out of sight, we heard a stream bubbling through the undergrowth down to Bones Hollow, where we’d camp tonight.
Everything around us felt so alive, in a way that was both magical and unsettling. I couldn’t shake the feeling that, somewhere out there, predators lurked behind this vibrant greenery. Bears, cougars, or worse. Some invisible beast could be hunting us right now.
Shadows moved behind a wide cedar. A twinge of panic momentarily coiled tight around my lungs. Okay, maybe my friends were right; maybe I did worry too much. But that was why our annual adventures together were so good for me. Stef and Zoe loved to push me out of my comfort zone, and I got to challenge myself.
Between April and September for eight consecutive years, the Bones Hollow Hunter pierced one unlucky woman through the heart with his bow and arrow and left her body posed in the exact same way. Florence Marsh fit his profile, and her family has always maintained that she was too experienced a hiker to go missing, not to mention without a trace. They are convinced that the Bones Hollow Hunter was involved. But if the Hunter killed her, why hadn’t he positioned her body?There are some of us that agree with the Marsh family. The police might want to tie this case up with a nice little bow, but not everyone is so convinced. Perhaps the Hunter isn’t dormant at all.I hated this podcast. I couldn’t understand why my friends liked it so much.
“Don’t you guys think it’s tacky, though?” I said, panting between words. “How Laurie Wolff uses those cheesy intros to every episode, like, just get on with it! No one who has decided to listen to this stupid serial killer podcast chooses to start with episode nine. And don’t even get me started on her ending credits song. I mean, ‘I Think We’re Alone Now,’ really? It’s so disrespectful to the actual victims. Just like calling her fan base ‘Little Savages.’ ” I paused to catch my breath. “Not to mention that it’s outrageously annoying that we’ve come out here to enjoy nature and can’t unplug for even half a day.”
“Oh my god, fine!” Zoe stopped and reached into her backpack’s side pocket. “If you’re not going to stop complaining.” She switched off her phone. As none of us had signal out here, Zoe had taken the liberty of downloading the full season of
Serial Killers USA: The Bones Hollow Hunter before we left. “Happy now?”
“Yes,” I said. But then I wasn’t so sure. The silence was at once blissful and foreboding.
A thick branch snapped somewhere in the dense foliage, loud like a bone cracking. I screamed. On instinct, my friends screamed with me. Laughter immediately followed. Our backpacks threatened to catapult us down the sloping trail, and we anchored ourselves against one another, giggling uncontrollably.
By the time I caught my breath, my knees felt ready to buckle. I unclipped my waist belt and the chafed skin on my hips stung with relief. I hefted my backpack, the size of a small child, onto the ground and sat atop it. The others followed suit. We rubbed our sore calves and shoulders, kneading impenetrable knots. I checked my watch to see that it was nine a.m. and we’d been hiking for two and a half hours.
Copyright © 2026 by Eliza Jabore. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
