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

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      ‘I don’t want to worry you.’

      ‘Out with it.’

      ‘Ellis emailed me. I don’t even know how that creep got my address, I’ve changed it so many times. He asked where you were.’

      ‘What did you say? You didn’t tell him, did you?’

      ‘Are you nuts? I told him you got a job in France.’

      ‘What did he say?’

      ‘He wrote back: “you’re such a lying bitch”.’

      ‘Was that all?’

      ‘That was all.’

      ‘What a fucking jerk.’ Tears welled up in Sofia’s eyes, and then came that familiar feeling of discomfort and panic that Ellis always brought on. ‘What am I supposed to do? He’s going to haunt me forever.’

      ‘Oh, you’ve got guards and a wall and all of that on the island. What can he do? He’ll just keep writing about you online, and he’ll get sick of it eventually, once he doesn’t hear anything back from you.’

       *

      The same day she returned to the island, the first snow fell. Thick flakes drifted down, forming a speckled curtain of fog in front of the ferry. The pines on the highest point of the island were already white; the harbour looked like it was made of spun cotton.

      It felt like she was coming home.

      Something goes wrong.

      Something totally unexpected, inexplicable, and so goddamn wrong.

      But she’s the one who messes up.

      The rules of our game are clear and plain. She doesn’t follow them.

      So what happens happens.

      We have planned the evening down to the tiniest detail.

      She lies in the straw, on the cloak. Her hands are up over her head, her hair spread out like burning fire. And the candles are in front of her, their flames flickering.

      I stand there looking at her until I’m totally hard, and then I take out the belt.

      She’s used to it by now and doesn’t look frightened, which is too bad because I enjoyed that look in her eyes.

      There’s a trick, something I’ve learned — thrusting into her as I pull on the belt. It’s best that way. Maximum pleasure.

      I am careful to get it right this time. The last time.

      I place the belt around her neck and lean over her. I thrust and pull at the same time, and she gasps and whimpers. It feels so good that I almost lose myself for a moment, but then she resists and starts kicking wildly.

      She cries out — a shrill, piercing scream that has nothing to do with our game.

      Someone might hear her. She has to stop.

      I pull a little harder, just to make her be quiet.

      Her eyes roll back in their sockets in such an odd way; all I can see are the whites and she goes strangely limp in the straw.

      I loosen the belt and try to jostle her back to life. But it’s as if she’s made of jelly, soft and lifeless.

      A hellish pain flares up in my foot and when I turn around I realize she must have kicked a candle over, because the straw behind me is on fire and big flames are licking at my feet.

      I give a shout, then stand up and grab my trousers.

      I toss them over the fire, trying to smother it, but it only gets worse.

      My trousers are on fire now and the flames are crackling and spreading through the straw. I realize I’m naked and pull on my briefs, the first thing I find.

      My mind is working incredibly fast. I’ve got to fix this. I’ve got to make it out.

      I place her hands over her chest and cover her body with the cloak. It’s all I can do.

      Got to hurry, the fire’s spreading. It’s at her feet now.

      I run out of the barn.

      I run like a madman.

12

      She felt guilty, and the guilt only got worse the more she worried that they would be discovered. They had grown careless. A quickie in the library bathroom, his hand on her bum in the food line — lust was making them take risks. And now she couldn’t concentrate on anything at all. She felt like the staff were staring at her with suspicion. She couldn’t bring herself to look Oswald in the eye when he came to assembly. At last she found herself wishing Benjamin would go to the mainland for a while, just so she could work in peace.

      ‘We have to stop.’

      ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘That we have to stop. I can’t handle it anymore.’

      ‘Sofia, come on. Let’s just move in together.’

      ‘Never. Or at least, not right now. I have to finish the library.’

      ‘But it’s no big deal to live together. And that way we don’t have to sleep in the dorms.’

      ‘Later, maybe, but for now we need to take a break.’

      ‘What do you mean, a break?’

      ‘No more sex until the library is done.’

      ‘That’s going to be hard.’

      ‘Then we’ll just have to deal with it.’

      She gazed out the window as he reluctantly left the library, in a sour mood. He dragged his feet as he crossed the yard. Pointedly — he knew she could see him. She sighed; she knew it really would be hard.

      It was the second Sunday of Advent. It seemed they would have a white Christmas; there were several inches of snow on the ground, which meant an endless amount of shovelling every day. The sky would clear now and then, but clouds would gather again almost right away, ready for the next snowfall.

      She had decided to go home to her parents for Christmas. Benjamin had tried to convince her to remain on the island, telling her about last Christmas, when the staff had four days off and celebrated together.

      But she refused to give in. She was going home.

      Dusk was just falling and the big spruce in the middle of the courtyard was all lit up. Someone went around lighting lanterns and torches. It СКАЧАТЬ