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

guest houses, at least. Did you find the ferry ride agreeable?’

      ‘Yes, we learned all about the ghosts at the manor,’ Sofia said before she could stop herself. She never could hold her tongue.

      But Oswald only laughed.

      ‘Yes, that Björk is such good advert for us. People end up totally fascinated by the miserable history of the manor. Come meet the evil Countess! But surely you don’t believe all that stuff.’

      ‘Of course not,’ Wilma said quickly, pinching Sofia’s pinkie finger.

      ‘Good,’ Oswald said. ‘Then let’s get on with the tour!’

      He held the dining room door for them and led them to the annexes. He walked close to Sofia, holding a gentle hand under her elbow as if to guide her. He was hardly touching her, but it was very purposeful and made her shiver with pleasure.

      She wasn’t the sort of person who turned heads in the street, yet Oswald had chosen to be close to her — even though Wilma was right there, with her busty figure and confident gait.

      Before they reached the buildings, his hand brushed the area between hip and back where all the nerves meet, and the contact almost took her breath away.

      The guest-house annexes looked like barracks with a row of numbered doors on the front side, but the solid timber and massive iron door handles hinted at the good quality of the construction. An expensive renovation, just like the manor house.

      ‘Let’s see!’ Oswald said, taking a key from his pocket. ‘Number five should be empty right now. This is a typical room. They’re all nearly identical.’

      The room was actually a suite, made up of a living room, bedroom, and bathroom. It still smelled new, like lumber and plastic.

      They poked around, curious, but all Oswald was interested in was describing the lighting and ventilation, which he said was absolutely revolutionary.

      ‘The ceiling light emits ultraviolet rays, to counteract reactions to the lack of sunlight in the winter. The ventilation system constantly lets in fresh air, and if the air is cold it is automatically warmed. All the walls are completely soundproofed, so you’re never disturbed in your sleep. As you can see, there’s no TV or computer. The guests don’t use their phones while they’re here either. We have a computer in the common room, for emergencies. But tranquillity is the goal here. You have to dare to leave behind what you think is essential to discover what is truly essential.’

      He paused to make sure they were still with him.

      ‘But the most important part is the bedroom. Come here, I’ll show you.’

      He herded them into the room, closed the door, and pressed a button, and black curtains unfurled to cover the windows. It was pitch black.

      ‘Now there’s not a speck of light,’ he said. ‘You won’t even be able to see the outlines of the furniture. This is how you must sleep for the body to get true rest. Fascinating, isn’t it?’

      Sofia shuddered and held tight to Wilma’s shirtsleeve. This reminded her of the first time she had slept out in the country when she was little. She had woken up in the middle of the night, in the dark, and thought she had gone blind. She had screamed her head off until her mother turned the lights on and off probably a hundred times to show her that she hadn’t lost her sight. Yet she had been incurably afraid of the dark ever since.

      At last, Oswald put the lights back on and led them back into daylight. Then they headed for the recreational area, which had a sauna, saltwater pool, and gym. In one corner of the gym was a contraption three metres high; it looked like a metal egg.

      ‘What’s that?’ Sofia asked.

      ‘You can go in there and train your perception. Sound, light, colours, smells, temperatures — all the impressions that are thrown at you in a holy mess in your daily life. In “the egg”, as we call it, you can experience them all separately. It’s an important part of our program.’

      They passed a large classroom full of people studying. Some were reading; others were sitting still on chairs, their eyes closed.

      ‘This is where we study the theses,’ Oswald said.

      Sofia had comments and questions on the tip of her tongue, but Oswald looked at his watch and suddenly seemed to be in a rush.

      ‘You can see the farm and the greenhouse next time,’ he said. ‘But there is something I’d like to show you before you head home.’

      He took them to a freestanding building alongside the guesthouses — a wooden structure with a porch; it might have originally been a servants’ quarters. Sofia was expecting more hypermodern design inside, but this house was completely empty: just floors, walls, and endless bookshelves. It smelled pleasantly of wood and polish, and the afternoon sun had just found its way through the windows to form a golden streak on the floor.

      ‘This is going to be our library,’ Oswald said, giving her a meaningful look.

      ‘I see . . .’ she said hesitantly.

      ‘I’ve heard you’re a whiz at literature, that you love books.’

      ‘Where’d you hear that?’

      ‘It said on the form you filled out after the lecture that you just received your bachelor’s degree in literature.’ He was giving her that significant look again. ‘I need someone who can create a real library here. With books that fit in with our philosophy. There are no limits, financially. All that matters is that it’s done right.’

      ‘So you need a librarian?’

      ‘No, what I don’t need is a librarian, with old-fashioned ideas about what should be in a library. I need someone who can think independently. So when I saw your form, I thought of you. And then I noticed that Wilma studied literature too, and I thought maybe I had found the right people for the job.’

      Sofia was astounded. He had just offered them a job.

      ‘What’s the catch?’

      ‘You’d have to become part of the staff, of course. We work on contract. Two years at a time. And I’m not sure whether you two have boyfriends . . .’

      ‘We don’t have boyfriends, but I’m not signing any contract,’ Sofia said firmly. ‘No matter how interesting it sounds.’

      Wilma cleared her throat. A small warning, to let Sofia know she was about to cross a line into rudeness again. But Oswald didn’t look defeated; if anything, he was amused.

      ‘I thought as much. But I have a suggestion. Come for two weeks and go through the program, like our guests do. No cost to you, no commitment. If you still don’t want to take over the library when you’re done, you can go right back home again.’

      Sofia and Wilma looked at each other, speechless. Wilma was just about to open her mouth, and Sofia knew what would come out. The trip to Rhodes with her mother, the internship she’d arranged at a newspaper, blah blah blah. But Wilma closed her mouth again and smiled at Oswald.

      ‘Can we talk it over in private and let you know?’

      ‘Of course! It was nice to have you here. Let me know when you decide. I’ll tell Madde to meet you in the dining room for afternoon coffee before you leave.’

      He was already walking off, but then he turned around and looked directly at Sofia.

      ‘You seem clear-sighted. I’m sure you can tell that this place is something very special.’

      Then he winked at her, turned on his heel, and vanished.

       *

      Everything was silent on the ferry home. She hardly heard the shrieking of the gulls, the lapping of the waves, or the pleasant hum of the engine. Her thoughts were torn, bouncing around inside her head like tiny demons. The peaceful, well-organized atmosphere