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

Oswald put on a measured smile.

‘Your name?’

‘Sofia.’

‘Sofia, I’m glad you asked; the answer is in our theses. The physical program takes care of the body. The theses are for the spiritual side. But the short version is, you learn to draw power from everything that has happened in your life. Even your negative memories.’

‘But how?’

‘You have to read the theses to understand. It has to do with intuition. When a person stops denying the past, a whole lot of inhibitions disappear. One’s abilities are set free and one can rely on intuition again.’

‘Are your theses available to read?’

‘Of course, but only if you undergo the whole program. We have a centre on West Fog Island, off the coast of Bohuslän, a sanctuary where we help our guests find the correct balance in life. One can only make use of the theses in a setting free of all distractions. That’s why our centre is on an island.’

A man behind Sofia raised his hand.

‘Are you a religion?’

‘No, we’re actually the first anti-religion.’

‘Anti-religion? What’s that?’

‘That means that whatever you hate about religion, we’re the exact opposite,’ Oswald replied.

‘I hate that you have to pray to God in most religions,’ said the man.

‘In ViaTerra, we don’t pray to God. We’re realists, with our feet planted firmly on the ground.’

A stout, red-haired woman in the first row stood up.

‘I hate all these damn books and writings you’re supposed to read. And then you’re supposed to believe all that crap too.’

By now, almost everyone was laughing.

‘We don’t have any books in ViaTerra. Just a couple of simple theses we use, but that’s all voluntary.’

It went on like this for a while. Oswald handled each question deftly. He was really on a roll.

Then a man wearing a neat, black suit and round glasses stood up.

‘Do you have scientific evidence for all of this? Is this an accepted science, or just a cult?’

‘Everything we do is based on sound reason. It has nothing to do with science or religion. The important thing is that it works, right?’

‘So how do we know that your gimmick works?’

‘Come and see for yourself. Or don’t.’

‘Nah, I think I’ll pass.’

The man made his way through the rows of seats and left the hall.

‘There you go,’ Oswald said with a shrug. ‘Let’s move on, with those of you who are truly interested.’

*

When the lecture was over, they were ushered out of the hall by young people in grey suits and led to a large coatroom where several tables had been lined up along the walls. Pens and forms were handed out. A thin young man with slicked-back hair and a goatee loomed over Sofia and Wilma until they had filled out their forms; then, when they were finished, he greedily yanked the papers from their hands. They mingled for a bit, chatting with a few young women their own age.

Then, suddenly, there he was. He popped up behind Sofia. Wilma was the first to notice him, and she was startled. When Sofia turned around, he was right next to her. Only now that they were face to face did she notice how young he really was. Twenty-five, thirty at the most. His skin was smooth, except for the hint of a few wrinkles on his forehead. His jaw was wide, and a five o’clock shadow lent a hint of manliness to his soft features. That, and his thick, dark eyebrows. But what she noticed first was his eyes. His gaze was so intense that it made her uncomfortable. And then there was the noticeable scent of his aftershave: pine and citrus. He was something totally out of the ordinary — there was no standing this close to him without noticing it.

At first he said nothing, and the lengthy silence became awkward. She noticed his hands. Long, thin fingers with nails cut short. No ring. The expression in his eyes was unreadable. She swallowed and tried to think of something to say but realized that she was tongue-tied.

‘Sofia, I got the impression that you had more questions?’ he said at last, putting the emphasis on her name.

‘Not really. We’re just curious.’ Her voice sounded rough and hoarse.

He raised and lowered his eyebrows and drew up the corners of his lips, as if there were a secret between them. He was well aware, irritatingly so, of how good-looking he was.

‘Come and visit. I’d be happy to show you our centre. No commitment, just a tour of the property.’

He handed her a business card. Green and white, with embossed letters.

‘This number goes to Madeleine, my secretary. Call her and book a time.’

He held onto the card for a moment so she couldn’t take it from his hand. His eyes flashed and then he let go. Sofia was about to respond, but he had already turned around and was on his way into the crowd. Wilma tugged at Sofia’s sleeve.

‘Stop staring at him. Why don’t we visit that island and take a look? What harm can it do?’

She clears her throat a few times. Doesn’t quite know how to say it.

I just stare at her. I know it makes her uncomfortable, and I enjoy that.

‘We can’t go too far,’ she says. ‘I mean, it could be dangerous . . .’

‘Isn’t that the point?’

‘Yes, but . . . you know what I mean.’

‘Nope, not really. Tell me.’

‘I don’t want it to leave bruises.’

I snort.

‘So wear a turtleneck. Stop being such a wuss. You like it, don’t you?’

She lowers her eyes, all innocent. This is something new. Her fear.