Fog Island: A terrifying thriller set in a modern-day cult. Mariette Lindstein

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      Then he spun around in his chair and went back to reading.

      Madeleine shooed her from the office.

      She stood outside his door for a long time, at a loss, shaken over what had just happened.

       *

      There would be innumerable times, later in life, when she would search her mind. Why on earth? What got into me? How could I? She always came to the same conclusion: it was a combination of factors. A seductive, irresistible blend. The beautiful island, the breadth of luxury, the food, the sleep, the feelings left behind after the theses; but above all, and she would be ashamed of this and have trouble admitting it to herself, it was Oswald and his power of attraction. This wasn’t a sect or a cult; it was something completely different. Almost like a new world — a microscopic vision of the future, brought to life.

      ViaTerra was different.

      But hindsight is twenty-twenty.

      At the time, despite being disconcerted and sweaty all over, she still knew she had to come back to the island. Otherwise she would continue to be drawn there, like a moth to a flame.

      And as she stood there in the corridor, alternately kicking herself and feeling bursts of dizzying euphoria, she found that she had a ridiculous smile on her lips.

      We return to the cave several times.

      We watch the rain move in over the bay and whip at the sea.

      At night, we see the moon make a glittering path across the surface.

      The cave is my special place. I can think clearly here. I think about my plan almost constantly. I examine it from every angle, picking at its seams; it’s as if I’m spinning a net that will one day cover the whole island.

      Sometimes I’m so deep in thought that she shakes me for answers to her meaningless chatter. Then I wrestled her to the floor and grab her by the throat until her legs kick like crazy. A sign of her submission.

      I know now that I can’t take her with me. She’s too flighty, and besides I’ve already explored every corner of her body and she’s starting to feel like a milk carton, once the milk is gone.

      Although I will miss the cave.

      The power in its hard walls.

      You can see the whole universe from here.

      You can even see the future, like a mirage on the horizon.

6

      Her light-heartedness remained.

      The constant worry in the back of her head was gone. She’d heard of people who didn’t even know they had a headache until it went away, and that was exactly what this felt like. This is my real self, she thought. A week on this program and I feel like a new person.

      What’s more, she had become aware of an exciting mystique that affected the whole island but especially the manor. When she gazed up at the main building, she felt a jolt of excitement in her belly. She was already looking forward to her return.

      On her last day, she rented a bicycle and pedalled around the island. She had gotten a ride to the village and left her luggage in a locker near the ferry. She spent the morning sunning herself on the beach and enjoying the scents brought out by the sun: the smell of tar from the fishing shacks and the pungent odour of the seaweed bobbing at the shore. She ate lunch at an outdoor café on a pier. The restaurant was packed with tourists. It really was high summer now.

      There were so many people in the village that the narrow cobblestone streets were crowded. Most of the buildings were clustered around the square, where the ferry docked, but the village had climbed up the cliffs and some cottages rested high above the sea. She wondered what it would be like to live up there in the fall, when the storms drew in over the island.

      There was a small souvenir shop on the square, and she went in to look for something for Wilma and her parents. Suddenly, Ellen Vingås appeared, tan and wearing a colourful summer dress that showed off the better part of her large bust.

      ‘Sofia, it’s so nice to run into you!’

      ‘Same to you. It’s my last day here.’

      ‘Mine too. So how did it go?’

      ‘Oh, it was great. I’m coming back. I’m going to help out with the library.’

      She didn’t want to say that she would be joining the staff. That would seem too hasty, and she didn’t want the famous singer to think she was so easily taken in.

      ‘How did the theses go?’ she asked Vingås.

      ‘Well, I liked number one and number three. I didn’t get four; nothing much happened when I did it. But overall I think it went well.’

      ‘Funny. It was the other way around for me. I liked number four best.’

      ‘Imagine that. But now I’m headed home, back to the daily grind. We’ll see if this good feeling lasts. It sure as hell did make a dent in the old finances!’ she said with a shrill laugh.

      A couple of women who were inspecting some porcelain shot her a look of alarm.

      She dug through her large handbag and pulled out a small card, which she handed to Sofia. ‘My card — let me know if you happen to be in Stockholm sometime and I’ll get you some opera tickets.’

      Sofia watched as Vingås left the shop, her hips swaying. She really wanted to meet her again.

      At last she found a set of mugs with island motifs for her parents, and a little brochure of nature photography for Wilma.

      She decided to bike to the north end of the island. It was as if the lookout point were calling her to it one last time.

      The wind was coming from the east for a change and waves crashed persistently against the cliffs to her right. The wind whipped at her hair and whined in the spokes. Gulls sailed freely on the breeze.

      She parked the bike at the end of the road and began to cross the heath toward the lookout point. When she gazed out at the sea, she saw someone standing on Devil’s Rock and looking down at the water. She squinted, trying to make out the figure, but the cliff was too far away. The figure climbed down and vanished from sight, but didn’t show up on the heath. She approached the rock, but there was no one in sight on the cliffs. She toyed with the thought that she had seen the old Count searching for his Countess in the depths. Yet all she could see from the edge of the cliff was the clear, dark water that seemed never to end; at least, the bottom wasn’t visible.

      She sat down on the cliff and dangled her legs over the edge. You could almost see the curve of the earth at the horizon. From here you can see the beginning and end of the world, she thought. You can see all the way to eternity.

      She wanted to visit the cottage one last time, so she left the bike at the edge of the road and set off through the forest.

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