Fog Island: A terrifying thriller set in a modern-day cult. Mariette Lindstein
sun glittered off everything: the asphalt, the bike, the sea, and the cliffs.
We search for the book and find the cape instead.
We sit in the hot, stuffy attic, poring through books that smell like sun-warmed dust and mothballs. Sometimes they fall apart when we pick them up.
‘What are we looking for?’ she asks.
‘A book of family history. It’s supposed to be bound in leather and I’m sure it’s handwritten.’
‘How do you know it’s here?’
‘Mom saw it once. When she was cleaning. She put it up here with the other books.’
She is impatient. She gets up and starts snooping through the attic, getting farther and farther away from me.
Then I hear her voice, far off in the darkness.
‘Fredrik, look at this!’
At first I can’t see her, so I have to stop looking through the books to get up. The interruption infuriates me, but then I see what she’s holding up. A hanger with a big, black velvet cape, hood and all. I recognize it immediately.
‘That belonged to the Countess! The one who killed herself,’ I say.
‘How do you know that?’
‘I saw it in a picture. She’s on a horse, wearing it.’
‘Oh my god, it’s beautiful!’ she says.
‘Put it on!’ I order her.
‘What?’
‘I said, put it on. But take off your clothes first. You have to be naked underneath.’
‘No way. Why?’
‘Just do as I say!’
She obeys, pulling off her skirt and sweater. I shoot a meaningful look at her panties, so she takes those off too. She stands there naked on the attic floor, grinning. Then she sweeps the cape around herself with a dramatic flourish.
Her hair falls across the black velvet like gold.
‘Open the cape and show yourself,’ I say.
She does as I order. The effect is magnificent.
‘Awesome! You have to wear it tonight in the barn,’ I say.
Her only response is a nod, but I can tell that she likes the thought.
I take in the vision of her again. And that’s when the idea comes to me.
Like a lightning bolt out of the blue.
‘And your cell phone, laptop, tablet, and anything else like that.’
‘Are you joking?’
‘Do I look like I’m joking?’
No, Bosse — in charge of personnel, as he had introduced himself — didn’t look like he was joking in the least. Like most of the staff, he was young, and he had a blond crew cut and eyes that were so intensely blue that they looked unreal. His presence suggested that he was used to being in charge.
When she stepped into his office, he had looked at her with mild distaste, like she was vermin or an animal that had to be tamed. She immediately found him irritating and put up a mental wall between them, so he would see that he didn’t have any power over her. No sir.
‘Sofia, you’ll have your own locker here. Your belongings will be safe, and of course you can use them on your time off. It’s just that it doesn’t look good when our staff run around with cell phones and tablets. A crucial part of our program is helping our guests free themselves from the need for gadgets. There’s a computer in the staff dining room where you can email your family and friends, or surf the web on your time off.’
Sofia reluctantly placed her iPhone on the desk in front of him. She thought of her laptop, which was in one of her suitcases, but she quickly decided it was none of his business.
‘Computer?’
‘No, I left it at home.’
‘Good choice. You can keep your watch, of course. It’s important to be on time around here.’
He seemed to be examining her, especially her unruly hair, which was probably one big rat’s nest after the ferry ride through the humid air.
‘Maybe you should think about putting your hair up in a bun,’ he suggested.
‘Oh, maybe.’
‘What size skirt and blazer do you wear? For your uniform.’
‘Thirty-four.’
‘And your shoes?’
She had known it was coming.
‘Eight and a half.’
‘Pardon?’
‘I said eight and a half. We have small bodies and big feet in my family. We are firmly planted on the ground.’
The joke was lost on him. He only nodded and made a note. Suddenly she felt uneasy, being there. It was not at all as she had imagined. Her doubt had begun to surface even on the ferry ride over. But by now it was too late to get out of this.
‘Then it’s time to sign your contract,’ Bosse said.
He was well prepared. The contract was in the centre of the desk, under a large, black pen. He handed it to her and she read carefully as her discomfort rose.
‘“I agree to work under temporarily difficult conditions,” what does that mean?’
‘Just that you’re prepared to work hard. It’s necessary sometimes.’
‘And what does “I waive the right to bring action against the organization and its personnel” mean?’
‘Yikes! Surely you’re not planning to sue us? Sofia, you have to sign a contract to be hired at just about any job. It’s nothing new. Confidentiality and all that.’
‘What happens if I change my mind?’
‘You don’t think we’d try to keep you here, do you? We don’t need to force anyone. There are plenty of people who want to work at ViaTerra.’
‘So then why do I need to sign a contract?’
‘Like I said, most jobs require a contract. I don’t understand why you’re being so difficult. Didn’t you know there would be a contract?’
‘Yes, but I hadn’t read it.’
Bosse sighed.
‘Shall we sign now, so I can show you your room?’
*
Together they walked down the stairs to the second floor. Bosse carried one of her big suitcases, and Sofia pulled the other; it bounced loudly down the stairs. A terrible aftertaste still lingered in her mouth after their conversation. She was kicking herself for handing over her iPhone; she couldn’t help but picture inmates subjected to cavity searches in a prison. Maybe he’s right, she thought later. It probably would be wrong for the staff to tweet and text in front of the guests.
‘The first floor is still undergoing renovation,’ Bosse told her. ‘But up here, everything is finished.’
He held open the door to the second floor. The corridor was quiet and still, with new flooring. There were ten neatly numbered doors on either side. Bosse opened