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

Madeleine gave a snort.

‘We don’t, but I guess the superstitious villagers do. As you can see, though, it’s only a cliff.’

‘We were given a warning on the way here. The ferry man, Björk, told us some creepy stories about the manor.’

Madeleine shook her head.

‘Oh, he’s not all there. He only does that to scare off our guests. The islanders have been so bloody suspicious since we moved here. They’re allergic to change. But we don’t care. Come on, let’s go see ViaTerra!’

They travelled back along the coast road for a bit and turned off at a wide gravel drive that was lined with huge oaks whose foliage loomed over them like a cupola. And suddenly they were at the manor house gate, which was at least three metres high, made of wrought iron, and adorned with winding curlicues, angels and devils, and an enormous keyhole.

‘Do you open it with a huge key?’ Wilma joked.

Madeleine just shook her head.

‘No, no; there’s a guard, of course.’

Only then did Sofia notice him. He was in a sentry box built into the wall. He waved them in, and the gate gave a creak and slowly swung open.

She didn’t know quite what she’d been expecting to find within the gate. Maybe an eerie, tumbledown mansion full of towers and crenellations. Instead, what spread before them was a palace. The property had to be half a kilometre square. The manor house in the centre looked like a castle and had three storeys. The façade must have been recently sandblasted; it was brilliantly white. There was a large pond in the middle of the lawn before the grand house, with ducks and a pair of swans swimming in it. There was a flagpole beside the motor court, but instead of a Swedish flag it was flying a green-and-white one.

Along the west side of the wall was a row of several long annexe buildings tucked into the edge of the woods. The roof of another long building was visible behind the manor house, and in the distance there was a pasture full of grazing sheep. Only a few people were visible: a couple drinking coffee in the yard outside the annexes and two people in uniform moving rapidly across the drive.

Sofia looked up at the manor again and discovered that something was carved into the upper part of the façade in large letters.

We walk the way of the earth, it read.

She stood there as if she had just fallen from the sky and took in all the splendour. She exchanged meaningful glances with Wilma and turned to Madeleine.

‘What a place!’

‘Yes, isn’t it fantastic? We’ve put a lot of work into it. Franz had a vision, and I think you could say we brought it to fruition.’

Sofia felt instinctively that there was something there. Something worth having. It wasn’t just beautiful; there was more to this estate, an unusual tranquillity. It felt as if they had been transported to a parallel universe where every television, cell phone, computer, and tablet had been simultaneously switched off. As if the endless buzz of the world had gone silent within these thick walls. At the same time, an inexplicable and vaguely forbidding atmosphere seemed to have settled there. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. This is so beautiful it takes my breath away, and yet it gives me the creeps, she thought.

But she pushed that feeling away, deciding it must be Björk’s ghost stories lingering in her mind.

‘First I’ll show you the manor house, where we work,’ said Madeleine. ‘Then I’ll show you the annexes, where our guests work through our program.’

Sofia wondered whether Oswald was there. She stared up at the many windows of the manor and it occurred to her that he might be looking down on them from up there. She found herself wishing she could meet him again.

The fire has almost gone out.

The last glowing coals tremble at the bottom of the charred wood.

We’re enveloped in darkness. I can barely make out her features.

She tosses on a little more wood, pokes it, and gets a nice fire going again.

In the glow of the flames she looks like a witch with her thick red hair and cat eyes.

‘What does he do to you?’ I ask.

‘You know what he does,’ she says, turning away.

‘I don’t want that bastard touching you.’

‘Oh, he’s just a dirty old man. He only gropes me. He gives me whatever I want as long as I let him. That’s the way it is, when you’re adopted. They think they own you. You know?’

‘He doesn’t go all the way?’

‘Jesus, no. He’s not like that.’

‘I thought he and my mom were messing around,’ I say.

‘That’s not a bad idea. They’d be a good pair.’

A sudden image appears in my mind: his head on the body of a mosquito. A stupid mosquito that flies into the fire and burns up.

‘You’ll long to go back to him once I’m finished with you,’ I say.

And she finally laughs.

3 (#ulink_8badb333-044b-529d-9270-45ab7b7ffb31)

The view from the large windows afforded a glimpse of the sea beyond the forest. The waves rolled in, crashing against the cliffs and tossing up foam.

They were on the third floor of the manor house, where the staff worked. Madeleine had herded them quickly up the stairs, explaining that the first and second floors were still being renovated into living areas for the staff. It smelled like wet concrete and sawdust down there. They could hear a table saw, and they had to climb over a large roll of insulation near the landing.

Nothing was in need of renovation up here. Everything — walls, ceilings, and furniture — was a glistening white or pale grey. There were no interior walls, just an open-plan office with desks and computers scattered here and there. The staff seemed to sit wherever they liked; everyone appeared to be in high spirits, offering smiles and friendly nods. There were two doors on the other side of the large room. Madeleine noticed that Sofia’s gaze was drawn to them.

‘Those are offices for Franz and the staff manager,’ she said. ‘Otherwise everyone works in this area. Aside from those who take care of the guests and the farm, of course.’

Sofia looked back at the doors, wondering if Oswald would emerge and whether he was even in his office, but she didn’t want to ask.

‘So it’s a working farm?’ Wilma asked.

‘Yes, we’re almost completely self-sufficient,’ Madeleine stated with pride. ‘We grow all our own vegetables and fruit here, and we make our own milk and butter. We’ve even got some sheep. And the manor house is heated with solar and geothermal energy. But those of us who work up here are actually Franz’s staff. We take care of personnel matters, mail, purchasing, and that sort of thing, so Franz can focus on his lectures and research.’

‘Could you tell us a little about Franz Oswald?’ Sofia said. ‘Where he’s from, things he’s done?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Madeleine said brusquely, sounding slightly annoyed. ‘Franz wants us to focus on the guests and the program, not on him. He is what he is. Our leader.’

Sofia considered Madeleine’s profile. She looked anxious and a bit distracted.

‘But you don’t pray to Oswald, or worship him?’

‘No, of course not! We’re not a bunch of fanatics, if that’s what you’re thinking.’ Madeleine’s voice had risen into a falsetto. Their conversation was about to go off the rails, but Wilma took over. She guided them back to the right track so skilfully that Madeleine probably wasn’t even aware of how her tense features smoothed out again. They went back to polite questions and mild flattery.