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

‘But — this spring! Isn’t that pretty far off?’ It just slipped out of her.

‘I’m a perfectionist, Sofia. I want to give myself plenty of time.’

A small wrinkle had appeared on his forehead. He was annoyed.

There went her Christmas plans. She hurried to respond, to make him understand that she could withstand a little pressure.

‘Okay then. The twenty-third.’

‘Great, Sofia. I look forward to your presentation.’

*

She worked just about around the clock until the morning before Christmas Eve day. He’d said he was a perfectionist, so she would live up to his demands. Everything would be better than he could possibly imagine. She was ready with a PowerPoint presentation full of images and summaries, finances laid out in clear numbers, a list with the price of each book, a demonstration of the computer system, and even samples of the fabric for the furniture. She spent the entire night before working, testing everything, practising her speech over and over.

After three cups of coffee in the morning, and with adrenaline pumping through her veins, she opened the door for him.

He had dragged along half the staff. Madeleine, of course, but also Bosse, Sten and Benny, some random people from the various units, and even Benjamin, who looked a little self-conscious as he stepped in. She wondered why everyone was there, and nervousness began to radiate from her stomach throughout her body until sweat broke out on her palms and forehead. She hoped no one would notice as she wiped her forehead with her sleeve.

There weren’t enough chairs for everyone, but Oswald sat down in the visitor’s chair and everyone else gathered behind him. They just stood there staring at her. It was so quiet she could hear the wind blowing outside.

She tested the screen again, cleared her throat, and wondered if she was about to start stuttering or become tongue-tied. But when she began to speak, her voice carried after all.

Oswald didn’t say a word during her presentation, didn’t ask a single question or make even a tiny sound. Now and then he gazed out the window, away from the screen, at nothing. The more she explained, the more disinterested he seemed. The room was still perfectly quiet.

When she was finished, everyone held their breath. They were waiting for the final judgment. It seemed to her that it couldn’t possibly be good news, because when she tried to make eye contact he looked away. She had no idea what she was expected to do. She added that there was also a list of all the books, but Oswald put up his hand to stop her.

‘I’ll deal with the list later, Sofia.’

She looked at him in surprise.

‘I knew right away that I would approve your plan. That was a professional presentation. Well thought-out. Good job, Sofia. I’d love to take the list with me so I can read it tomorrow.’ He turned to Madeleine. ‘See to it that she gets everything she needs — money, transportation, the whole lot.’

Sofia looked around. Benjamin looked relieved, but the others . . . perhaps it was her imagination, but she thought they looked a little disappointed.

After a while, Benjamin returned and stuck his head through the door.

‘Great job!’ he said. ‘You sure know how to butter up Franz.’

‘No way. I just put a lot of work in, that’s all.’

He stepped in, his boots still on. She barely had time to stop him from messing up her freshly-polished floor.

‘There’s an organic Christmas smorgasbord in the dining room,’ he said. ‘I came to get you.’

‘I’m coming.’

As he helped her put on her coat, he brushed her hair aside and blew on the back of her neck.

‘You’ll be the great heroine here for a while,’ he said. ‘But there will definitely be some folks who are jealous, remember that.’

‘Who do you mean?’

‘Oh, it doesn’t matter.’

‘Tell me!’

‘Just the girls. No one in particular.’

As they came out to the yard she looked up at the attic again. It was midday, and yet a light was on up in the window.

‘Look!’ she said to Benjamin. ‘There’s someone up in the attic!’

He squinted at the building and shook his head.

‘It’s just the sun reflecting off the pane.’

‘Then why isn’t it reflecting off the other windows?’

‘Oh, 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.