Fog Island: A terrifying thriller set in a modern-day cult. Mariette Lindstein
come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s go celebrate Christmas.’
*
By the time Oswald approved her book selection, Christmas and New Year’s had gone by. January began with a raging snowstorm that hit the island and effectively buried the manor. Sofia sat in the library, shivering. Her radiator couldn’t warm the whole building when the temperature was under twenty below day after day. She sat there in her layers of clothing, wrapped in a big blanket. Long icicles hung from the gutters, glinting like amber in the late afternoon sun.
There was a knock at the door, and she recognized Madeleine’s faint but impatient raps right away. Sofia opened up and her heart jumped as she realized that Madeleine had the list of books in her hand.
‘April seventh!’ she said firmly.
‘April seventh?’
‘That’s when the library must be finished. So Franz has enough time to go through everything before Magnus Strid arrives.’ She turned on her heel and trudged back through the snow.
Sofia sat down and paged eagerly through the long list. On the first page, Oswald had written ‘OK, but with some changes.’ He had crossed out two books but hadn’t commented on anything else.
Then she saw his note on the last page.
Any book with religious or philosophical contents must contain a note that clearly states they are only here as reference materials, since we follow our own, clearly set path at ViaTerra.
That made ViaTerra sound like a cult. This was the first time it had seemed so clear from Oswald’s words. She’d always thought of a cult as a group of fools walking around in sandals, rambling on about God and reciting random passages from the Bible. Pale failures of individuals. But ViaTerra wasn’t like that at all.
She put down the list. Sure, he could have his idiotic notes. It didn’t matter — she was too happy. Five months of hard work and now all she had to do was start putting her library together.
Today, though, she wouldn’t do a thing but relax. I’ve earned it, she thought. She put on the coffeepot, kicked off her uniform shoes, curled up in a chair and went online. She decided to Google her own name. It was a good day, so surely she could handle any new blog entries and whatever other awful things she found.
But although she varied her wording, the spelling, and even her name she couldn’t find any blog entries about herself. There was nothing there. There wasn’t even a trace of Ellis.
She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. It seemed as if that hell was finally over.
I almost run right into him.
He’s on his way to the barn. Why, I don’t know. To sneak up on us, maybe.
Home. I know I have to run home before someone sees me.
But now he’s there, and my brain short-circuits.
My first thought is to knock him out and stash him in the barn with Lily. But I get distracted by the horrified look he’s giving me, and I realize I’m standing there in nothing but my underwear.
‘Fredrik, what are you doing?’
I take off, running across the property as fast as my legs will carry me.
He follows. I hear his thudding steps behind me; I hear his panting breaths and cracking twigs and his stupid voice repeating my name.
But I’m faster and I fly across the yard and into the woods, across the paths. I know where I’m heading now, but I don’t know why. The cliff is calling my name; I feel an incredible power pulling and sucking at me.
His panting fades away with distance.
By the time I reach the heath, I can’t hear him any longer.
The full moon, the black sea, and the cliff are ahead of me, and he is somewhere behind me.
I run out onto the rock and hesitate for a moment. I turn around and watch him appear on the heath.
‘Fredrik!’ he shouts. He’s so loud that he startles an owl, which flaps up against the dark sky.
Then I see the flickering of the fire I’ve left behind. The barn is burning.
I get ready, then dive. My body cuts through the water like a knife.
And then I’m gone.
Spring came early. All the snow was washed away by rain in late March. A powerful area of high pressure settled just off the island and within a few days, the average temperature had risen from below freezing to thirteen Celsius. Everything came to life at once: birds, insects, and plants.
She was almost done with the library. Benjamin had outdone himself and brought all the books to her, thanks to innumerable ferry crossings, and now they were all arranged on the shelves, smelling terrific. The computer system had been installed and the furniture had arrived. It was five-thirty in the morning, and she was there for one final check. Everything had to be perfect before Oswald saw it.
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