Fog island

‘Are you dreaming, Miss?’
This was the man who captained the ferry, Edwin Björk. He was slightly overweight, with sideburns and a wind-chapped face; he smelled like diesel and seaweed. Sofia and Wilma had made friends with him on the journey over. Sofia tore herself from her memories of the lecture and looked at Björk.
‘Not really, just wondering if it’s usually so foggy here in the summer.’
‘It’s not unusual,’ Björk said. ‘She’s not called Fog Island for nothing. But it’s worst in the fall. The fog sometimes gets so thick that I can’t bring the ferry in. What are you two up to on the island?’
‘We’re going to visit a group at the manor, ViaTerra.’
Björn wrinkled his nose.
‘Then be careful. That place is cursed.’
‘Seriously? You’re joking, right?’ Wilma asked.
‘Nope, I’m certainly not. It’s haunted by the Countess. I’ve seen her with my own two eyes.’
‘Tell us.’
So he told them, with such feeling and conviction that Sofia began to shiver. The fog slipped in under her clothes and settled on her skin like a cold blanket. Images flickered through her mind as he spoke. Creepy images she couldn’t shake off.
‘The manor house was built in the early 1900s. You don’t often see estates like it out in the archipelago because the islands were home mostly to fishermen and boatbuilders. Count von Bärensten was determined to live here, though, so he had that wretched place built. But you see, his wife, the Countess, grew restless out here. She took frequent trips to the mainland, where she fell in love with a sea captain she met in secret. One night when the fog was thick, the captain’s ship ran aground and sank just off the island. It was winter; the water was cold and everyone on board perished. A great tragedy, it was.’
‘Is that true, or just a tall tale?’ Wilma interrupted.