The Lost Boy

FJÄLLBACKA 1870

Emelie was terrified. She had never even seen the sea, let alone sailed on it in what seemed to be a very unstable boat. She had a tight grip on the railing. It felt as if she was being tossed forward and backward by the waves, with no chance of putting up any resistance or governing her own body. She sought Karl’s eye, but he was standing there with a resolute expression, staring out at what awaited them far ahead.

The words were still ringing in her ears. They were probably nothing more than the superstitious ramblings of an old woman, but she couldn’t help thinking about them. The woman had asked where they were headed when they loaded their belongings on to the small sailboat down at the Fjällbacka harbour.

‘Gråskär,’ Emelie had answered happily. ‘My husband Karl is the new lighthouse keeper on the island.’

The woman didn’t seem impressed. Instead, she had snorted and with a strange little smile she said, ‘Gråskär? Oh, I see. In these parts nobody calls it Gråskär.’

‘Is that right?’ Emelie had the feeling that she really shouldn’t ask, but her curiosity got the better of her. ‘So what do you call it then?’

At first the old woman didn’t reply. Then she lowered her voice and said, ‘In these parts we call it Ghost Isle.’

‘Ghost Isle?’ Emelie’s nervous laughter had carried over the water in the early morning haze. ‘How strange. Why?’

The old woman’s eyes glittered when she spoke. ‘Because it’s said that those who die out there never leave the island.’ Then she turned on her heel and left Emelie standing there among all the bags and suitcases, with an awful lump in her stomach instead of the joy and anticipation that had filled her only a few moments ago.

And now it felt as if she might meet death at any second. The sea was so vast, so untamed, and it seemed to be drawing her towards it. She couldn’t swim. If any of the waves, which looked so big even though Karl said they were only small swells, should capsize the boat, she was convinced that she would be pulled down into the deep. She gripped the railing harder, fixing her eyes on the floor, or the deck as Karl claimed it was called.

‘Over there is Gråskär.’

Karl’s voice demanded that she look, so she took a deep breath and raised her eyes to stare in the direction he was pointing. Her first thought was that the island was so beautiful. The cottage, though small, seemed to sparkle in the sunlight, and the grey rocks gleamed. She saw hollyhocks growing at one end of the house, and she was amazed that they could thrive in such a barren setting. To the west the island shoreline was very steep, as if the cliffs had been sheared in half. But in the other directions the rocks sloped gradually towards the water.

Suddenly the waves didn’t seem so rough. She still longed to feel solid ground under her feet, but Gråskär had already enchanted her. And she pushed the old woman’s words about Ghost Isle to the very back of her mind. Something that was so beautiful couldn’t possibly conceal anything bad.