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

‘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 number seven. The first thing she noticed was the three beds. So she would be sleeping in a dormitory. Next to each bed was a wardrobe, bureau, and chair. The room was otherwise bare of furniture. The windows didn’t face the sea; instead the view was of the long building behind the manor and the animals grazing in the pasture.

‘As you can see, you have your own wardrobe and bureau,’ Bosse said, with a look at her large suitcases. ‘You won’t need much in the way of clothes here; your uniform will arrive in a few days and in your free time you’ll mostly just need jeans and so forth. You might want to keep some of your things in our storage area in the basement. Just let me know and I’ll show you where it is.’

She peeked into the bathroom. White and bare, with a large medicine cabinet over a sink. Small name labels over each of the three white bath towels. A shower, but no bathtub. An air freshener gave off the uninspiring scent of lavender.

‘Who else lives here?’

‘You’ll be sharing a room with Elvira, who’s here with her parents, and Madeleine, who I believe you’ve already met.’

Sofia’s heart sank. It didn’t seem like she would have anyone to talk to. She suddenly missed Wilma so much it hurt. Wilma, who wouldn’t be there to stop her if she spiralled out of control. If that was even possible in a place like this — everything seemed so minutely planned and disciplined.

‘Well, I’ll leave you alone so you can unpack,’ Bosse said. ‘Dinner is served at seven. The staff dining room is on the first floor; it’s easy to find. Once you’ve eaten, Madeleine will give you instructions for the library. You can always come to me if you have questions. As I said, I’m in charge of all personnel.’

He left the room and his quick steps vanished down the corridor. She went to the window and looked down at the farm. It looked so peaceful, cows and sheep grazing in the pasture. Why did she feel so uneasy? It must happen to everyone who came to the manor, a reaction to leaving everything back home.

She began to unpack her suitcases and arranged her clothes in the wardrobe and bureau. She sang to herself, but it just sounded dull in the soundproofed room.

Under her clothes was the black leather journal Wilma had given her as a farewell present. She placed it in the top drawer. Then there was the laptop. She had brought a set of sheets, but she saw that the bed was already neatly made, so she stuffed the laptop into the pillowcase and wound a sheet around it, then stashed the bundle in the bottom drawer. She shoved her suitcases and everything that didn’t fit in the bureau under the bed. She wasn’t about to let her belongings out of her sight.

Dinner was already in full swing in the staff dining room. All the tables seemed to be full, and she lingered hesitantly in the doorway until Madeleine spotted her and came over.

‘You can sit at our table.’

Madeleine tried to make small talk during the meal, but her chatter turned to a buzz in Sofia’s mind. Thoughts of regret wandered in and out of her head. It was impossible to control them, so she let them carry on.

‘Is that okay?’ Madeleine suddenly asked.

‘Sorry?’

‘I asked if it’s okay if we head to the library now. Franz has written a project description for the library. He wants you to read it.’

‘Sure, that’s fine.’

It was cold and quiet in the library, not at all like when the sun had warmed the small building. Madeleine turned on the overhead lights.

‘Okay, so it’s up to you to start creating something here.’ She eagerly handed a thick document to Sofia. ‘Read this and tell me what you think.’

Sofia sat down on the only chair and left Madeleine to stand.

‘I need a desk here. The kind a librarian would have, and a chair for visitors. And I need a computer if I’m going to do research.’

‘They’re already on order,’ said Madeleine. ‘Arriving tomorrow.’

Sofia began to read the project description, which was ten pages long and contained over one hundred bullet points. She couldn’t focus; Madeleine was standing over her like a hawk. Words and letters melted into one another. Her eyes jumped back and forth, searching for the freaking end of all the things she was expected to do. I can’t handle this today, she thought. I’ll read it more closely tomorrow.

‘It looks good,’ she said.

‘Great! Then I’ll tell Franz you like it.’

‘Sure, go right ahead.’

‘Okay, we go to bed at ten o’clock and lights out is at eleven. So you have a few hours until then. You’re welcome to take a walk, if you like.’

*

The island was as beautiful as she remembered. It was the middle of August now, and the evening air smelled faintly of autumn. But everything was still green, and the paths were overgrown by leafy grasses.

She went up to the lookout point and sat down to gaze out at the sea. The sun was setting; the sky was slowly draining of colour and the muted blue of the sea paled to turquoise, with a shimmer of pink from the sun. Darkness fell quickly, and black, empty space hung over her. But she stayed put, releasing her worries and her scattered thoughts and letting them float up to the sky. A faint breeze raised gooseflesh on her arms and legs. She pulled on her cardigan and began to wander slowly back to the manor.

When she returned to the dorm, it was almost time for bed. Madeleine was already there, in the process of undressing. A girl who couldn’t be more than twelve was sitting on the other bed. She had pale blonde hair that was so long it was resting in her lap. Her skin was snow white and she had enormous eyes, like those of a manga character. She giggled and twirled a lock of hair, smiling hesitantly at Sofia.

‘This is Elvira,’ said Madeleine. ‘She lives with us too.’

Sofia said hello, thinking that Elvira looked like she belonged in a John Bauer painting, or at least in school on the mainland — anywhere but here.

Sofia had expected to spend some time chatting, but as soon as she’d put on her nightgown Madeleine turned out the lights and the room descended into total darkness.

‘Oh, I forgot. How do we wake up in the morning?’ Sofia called.

‘I’ll wake you,’ said Madeleine.

So they would still be using mental clocks.

It was impossible to fall asleep. The sensation of being in a military camp or a prison returned, and it wouldn’t go away. The others’ breathing slowed as they dozed off. She thought about her parents, who had said goodbye as if they would never see her again. Her mother’s nervous tendencies had been dialled up to new levels; she had spouted words like ‘sect,’ ‘cult,’ and ‘bloody trickery,’ only to regret her words and say she was only worried about Sofia. Worried, as usual. Worried about everything. But now Sofia missed her until her chest ached.

Then came the silent tears. She let them flow until they ran out.

And then, finally, came blessed sleep.

‘Someone’s coming! Go!’ I say, giving her a shove.

It’s a perfect day. The fog is so thick that you can hardly see the cliff from where we’re hiding in a small grove of trees.

We’ve been waiting for a long time. She spent the time whining, nagging me to let her go home.

‘No one’s going to come, Fredrik. I’m freezing.’

But I won’t give in. The fog is perfect and I’m not about to squander this opportunity. And someone really is coming. A man, slowly making his way across the heath.

‘Go,’ I hiss. ‘And stick out your arms, like a ghost.’

She glides out into the fog, otherworldly in the black cloak and hood; she seems to be floating.

The man stops when he catches sight of her.

She walks to the farthest point of the cliff and reaches for the sea.

And then she howls like a lonely wolf.

The man is petrified; he doesn’t believe his eyes.

She does as I’ve told her and drops down from the cliff. Into the cave, of course, but it happens so fast that she seems to dissolve into the fog.

The man walks all the way out to the edge of the cliff point. I hold my breath as he looks down. He can’t see her, of course, so he is terrified. He turns around and dashes across the heath like a madman.

I can hear the twigs of heather being crushed under his feet and his heavy panting — the only sounds that reach me through the thick fog.

I wait until he’s out of sight and crawl down to her. She’s sitting on the cave floor, giggling. We laugh until we’re gasping for breath.

‘We’ll show them who’s in charge on this island, dammit!’ I say at last.

8

The routines she had hated so much at first turned out to be what made her enjoy life on the island. They had the same schedule every day; all was so minutely planned that there was no time to think about anything but work, food, and sleep. It was easy to fit in. Each person was there on equal terms. Everyone took part in the same routines.

They woke at seven — at least, those who had mastered their internal clocks did. Sofia was dependent on Madeleine. There were no worries about how to dress; all you had to do was shower, put on your uniform, and head for the dining room, where breakfast was served. Always the same breakfast: poached eggs, whole-grain bread, and organic marmalade.

Then it was time to go to the courtyard in front of the manor and fall in line for morning assembly.

Bosse always led the assembly. He took roll call and talked about situations and priorities. Madeleine and Sofia formed one line together, as they were Oswald’s personal staff and worked directly under him. The other lines were for the household staff, the guest services crew, those who worked on the farm, and the administrative staff.

Each day, she kept an eye out for Benjamin Frisk but to no avail. She stared at each line, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, but was disappointed time and again.

A few weeks after Sofia’s arrival, a faint but growing unrest began to spread through the ranks. Bosse became stiff and distant. The staff seemed restless. Madeleine had stopped attending assembly.

One night, Sofia asked Elvira what was going on.

‘It’s the renovation of the staff quarters,’ Elvira said. ‘No one has wanted to ask you to help out, because Franz created your project himself, but the rest of us have been working a couple hours a day on the first floor. Haven’t you seen us?’

She supposed she had. You had to walk through a cloud of sawdust and piles of boards and tools to get to the dining room. But she hadn’t made the connection between the work and the morale of the group until now.

‘But what’s so difficult about doing renovations?’ Sofia asked.

Elvira laughed. Sofia wondered if she’d misjudged her — she suddenly seemed so pleasant.

‘Well, on the second floor, where we live now, Franz had to hire a contractor to get it all done. But now he says we have to finish the first floor on our own. It’s a type of test, you know?’

Sofia was sincerely grateful that Oswald had drawn up that library project. She was in charge of her own day and could work at her own pace.

*

One day Oswald showed up at morning assembly. He appeared without warning behind Bosse, who was once again droning on about how important the renovation project was. It was a comical sight, because everyone but Bosse could see Oswald. Once Bosse realized why each staff member’s gaze had frozen on a point behind him, Oswald just smiled and said, ‘Go on. Don’t mind me. I’m only listening.’

It continued for a few days. Oswald would come to the assembly and just stand there with an amused smile on his lips. This made Bosse anxious. He began to stutter, trip over his words, and lose his train of thought as he spoke. He started bringing notes with him. An awkward silence descended upon the staff, who were swept along in Bosse’s despair and suffered with him.

Then one day, Oswald took over. He waved dismissively at Bosse, who immediately ducked into line like a dog afraid of being beaten.

‘You are all an incredible resource,’ said Oswald. ‘You just haven’t realized it yet.’

Murmurs of agreement cropped up here and there.

‘I only want you to finish renovating your new living quarters. Can you manage that?’

Their positive response came in unison, as if with military precision.

‘Well there you go!’ Oswald said. ‘Bosse can stop nagging you now, and you can stop pretending that you don’t know what to do!’

They looked at him with great anticipation; they wanted him to keep talking because a sudden sense of solidarity had arisen. But he was done with them.

Sofia stayed behind as the staff scattered, hoping he would notice her. He did, and waved her over.

‘What do you say, Sofia? Do you believe, too, that people have more potential than they realize?’

‘Definitely, I’m sure they do.’

‘Good, because that’s my life’s motto. I hate mediocrity.’

She didn’t quite know what he expected her to say, and she felt that anxiety that came from standing before Oswald in silence. Later on she would learn that she didn’t need to say anything at all. Oswald didn’t speak with his staff. He spoke to his staff.

When he spoke to you, you were only supposed to make eye contact, and, when fitting, nod or express agreement. But she hadn’t come to this realization yet, so she nervously scraped one foot through the gravel.

‘Are you working on my library program?’ he asked.

‘That’s all I do.’

‘And what do you think of it?’

‘It’s fantastic,’ she lied. Or, rather, exaggerated.

His face brightened a bit.

‘Good, good. Keep at it. I want to see everything — the layouts, the computer systems, your list of books to purchase, the whole lot.’

Then he took a quick step forward, so he was standing very close to her.

‘Your hair,’ he said. ‘It’s nice when you put it up like that.’

He looked at the bun she had, with great effort, gathered on the very top of her head.

‘Thanks.’

‘Although I like it better down.’

‘Oh, but Bosse said —’

This was as far as she got before he ran a finger down the back of her neck.

‘Wear it loose tomorrow. Bosse’s an idiot.’

‘Okay, I will.’

He smiled at her, but the warmth in his eyes was gone.

‘You’re new here, but you should know that I don’t have a boss. Least of all Bosse. You can get back to work now.’

His touch was still burning her skin as she hurried across the courtyard.

*

One night in September, she became fully aware of the coming autumn for the first time.

She was on her way back to the library after the evening assembly. A cold wind swept across the courtyard, tugging at her blazer and finding its way under her clothes, to her body. As she looked up, she realized that the aspens and birches were almost completely yellow. There was a fresh tension in the nature around her. Those migratory birds that were left seemed restless, as if they knew what awaited in their long journey south. The trees bent in the wind, full of nervous creaks and rustles. She was struck by the fact that she would be spending the entire winter on this island. The trees would lose their leaves. The whole island would become bare and bleak. The autumn fog everyone talked about would move in from the sea.

Shivering, she slipped through the library door, hoping to find a bit of warmth, but the cold wind had found the cracks in the draughty old building. She turned on the radiator, then decided to check her email, even though it was against the rules. She was one of the few staff with computer access; it was strictly for research purposes. But she had written a long email to her parents and had been waiting for a response for several days.

An answer was waiting, but it wasn’t from her parents. Instead, a message in large type had appeared at the top of her own email. A rejection of sorts.

INFORMATION ABOUT THE INTERNAL PLANS OF THE ORGANIZATION IS CONFIDENTIAL AND MAY NOT BE SHARED WITH OUTSIDERS.

Someone had censored her email. She had no idea that anyone had been reading what she wrote to her family. She hadn’t even known it was possible to censor email. An uncontrollable wave of fury welled up inside her. She immediately knew who was behind this.

In a rage, she put on her jacket and shoes and headed back into the wind. She found Bosse bent over a folder in the staff office.

The door was open, so she stepped in and stood before him, her hands on her hips.

‘Have you been reading my email?’

‘Sure! I read everything the staff sends out.’

‘What’s wrong with you? Those are private; you have no right to read them.’ Her voice had risen into a shrill falsetto.

‘Sofia, it’s okay. I don’t care what you say in them. I only care about the security of the group.’

‘The security of the group? I was writing to my family.’

‘You were writing about your plans for the library, down to the tiniest detail. That doesn’t concern them.’

She was just about to start shouting, but it was obvious that he wouldn’t give in. He’d done this before — gone along with some idiotic rule he probably hadn’t even come up with himself. Besides, Sofia’s emphatic tone had brought all the work in the big room outside to a grinding halt, and many watchful eyes were on them now. A few colleagues had stood up and were aiming looks of disapproval at her.

She stormed out of the room, determined to declare war as soon as she had gathered her thoughts.

It was impossible to concentrate on her job once she returned to the library. The wind was even stronger now; it whistled in the eaves. The windows were even rattling.

She turned on her computer and decided to surf the net, mostly just to defy Bosse. She Googled her name. It had been a long time, but her rage made her feel brave and she wanted to make sure that Ellis had stopped blogging about her.

Up popped a new page called ‘Sofia Bauman’s Blog,’ and she clicked on it right away.

At first she thought it must be a mistake, that the face staring back at her belonged to someone else. Or that it was an old entry. But then she began to read the text and realized at once that Ellis hadn’t vanished from her life after all.

Save Sofia Bauman from the cult! the headline read, and the text underneath continued along the same lines. There was even a picture of Franz Oswald in the corner, horns drawn onto his forehead.

She sat perfectly still for a long time, trying to calm herself as a burning chill spread along her nerves.

She didn’t even want to know how many people had read the blog; she only wanted it to go away. She wanted something to happen to Ellis, a terrible accident, anything, as long as it would put a stop to him from here on out. It was inconceivable that he could still make her feel so awful even when she was on an island out in the archipelago.

How can he even get at me out here? she thought, then decided that in fact, he couldn’t.

But then she thought about the blog again and wondered what would happen if Oswald got wind of it.

We’ve spent a whole day looking for the diary, the family history — whatever the hell it is.

Lily is tired and whiny, and I feel like I might smack her at any moment.

‘I don’t want to be here, Fredrik. It’s too warm and icky and it smells nasty. Can’t we do something fun instead? Please?’

‘We have to find the book,’ I say, gritting my teeth.

‘But why is it so important to find some old book?’