In 1926, five women disappeared from a remote island in Vermont. Now, one hundred years later, it’s happening again. Struggling actress Marin Keane is shocked when she lands a role in a major motion picture about the unsolved mystery of New Avalon, an island on sprawling Lake Faraday in Vermont. She’s even more surprised when she learns that the role requires a weeklong research trip to that very spot. Because New Avalon isn’t your ordinary island. A century ago, it was a commune for spiritual mediums--until they all vanished in 1926. The only trace of them was five dresses hanging from the branches of an old oak tree in the middle of the island, one for each missing woman. Some locals say they simply left. Others think they were murdered. But the prevailing opinion, thanks to a diary left behind by one of the vanished, a young woman named Daisy Rue, is that a séance gone wrong conjured something supernatural that took them all one by one. Not long after arriving, Marin and her castmates, including legendary actress Violet Wright and white-hot director Ronan Peters, begin to realize all is not right with New Avalon. They hear strange noises in the night and notice mysterious symbols left behind by the island''s previous occupants. And after a sudden health emergency leaves Marin, Ronan, and the other actors stranded on the island, the disappearances begin again. Is it the work of someone trying to derail the movie? Or is the island’s alleged supernatural past catching up with the present? As fear and suspicion mount, Marin turns to Daisy’s diary, hoping it holds the key to figuring out what really happened to the women of New Avalon--and how to keep the island’s terrible history from repeating itself.

Autorentext

Riley Sager

Klappentext

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In 1926, five women disappeared from a remote island in Vermont. Now, one hundred years later, it’s happening again.**

Struggling actress Marin Keane is shocked when she lands a role in a major motion picture about the unsolved mystery of New Avalon, an island on sprawling Lake Faraday in Vermont. She’s even more surprised when she learns that the role requires a weeklong research trip to that very spot.

Because New Avalon isn’t your ordinary island. A century ago, it was a commune for spiritual mediums—until they all vanished in 1926. The only trace of them was five dresses hanging from the branches of an old oak tree in the middle of the island, one for each missing woman. Some locals say they simply left. Others think they were murdered. But the prevailing opinion, thanks to a diary left behind by one of the vanished, a young woman named Daisy Rue, is that a séance gone wrong conjured something supernatural that took them all one by one.

Not long after arriving, Marin and her castmates, including legendary actress Violet Wright and white-hot director Ronan Peters, begin to realize all is not right with New Avalon. They hear strange noises in the night and notice mysterious symbols left behind by the island's previous occupants. And after a sudden health emergency leaves Marin, Ronan, and the other actors stranded on the island, the disappearances begin again.

Is it the work of someone trying to derail the movie? Or is the island’s alleged supernatural past catching up with the present? As fear and suspicion mount, Marin turns to Daisy’s diary, hoping it holds the key to figuring out what really happened to the women of New Avalon—and how to keep the island’s terrible history from repeating itself.

Leseprobe
June 15, 1926-9 p.m.

Night has fallen, and I'm scared.

So very scared.

Just beyond these thin walls, a storm rages and wails. But it's not the bad weather that has me so frightened. What's hiding within it is more terrifying than any storm.

The Darkness.

Its presence can be felt all over this island.

And now it's waiting for us, the only two people who remain. The Darkness has already claimed the others. I worry I will suffer the same fate.

Likely soon.

Possibly tonight.

For days, I had assumed this was all my fault. That the Darkness was here because I had accidentally summoned it. Now we are about to attempt to banish it from this place. My fear is that it will end in failure. Because I now believe that the Darkness-this seething, vile, evil force-was here long before any of us came to this island.

And that it will remain here long after we're gone.

One

The island sits in the middle of the lake, a black smudge on the horizon. Although I can see it when the car pulls up to the dock, its details remain elusive, out of reach. Less an island than the suggestion of one.

It doesn't help that I don't know the island's name. Or its size. Or even what awaits me there. The only concrete knowledge I have about the place is that it will be my home for the next five days.

Loretta is waiting for me on the dock, her ensemble as dark as the distant island behind her. Black slacks. Black blazer. Black Wayfarers. Her presence is unexpected. One, she's the producer and, presumably, has better things to do. Two, I didn't even know she was going to be here. And, three, I was supposed to be dropped off an hour ago.

Even though the delay was caused by a snarl of traffic near Albany and the driver's fickle GPS, it's never good to be late for your first day on the job. Especially one like this. That's why I spring from the car before it comes to a complete stop, apologies at the ready.

"I'm so sorry! You wouldn't believe the number of cars on the road at this hour."

The corners of Loretta's mouth twitch into a smile that might be sincere or might exist solely to mask her annoyance. "It's totally fine," she says. "I'm just thrilled you're finally here."

She pulls me into a half hug, finishing with air-kisses to both cheeks. An act that surprised me the first time she did it. I'd always thought that was a Hollywood cliché. And maybe it is. Maybe Loretta Zeverin herself is the cliché, acting the role of high-powered producer because she thinks it'll help her further climb the ladder.

Fake it till you make it.

Something I have yet to master.

Right now, I actively avoid looking at the people who've clocked the black sedan with tinted windows that brought me here and now gather across the street from the dock. Clearly, word has gotten out that Hollywood has come to town. They clutch their phones, eager to snap a picture of a movie star.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see one woman start to raise her phone. She stops halfway, a strange look on her face that I assume is disappointment because I'm not someone famous.

Yet she continues to watch.

Long enough that I feel compelled to face her full-on.

She's pretty, in an unassuming way. Twenties, slight build, brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her most striking feature is her eyes. Large and round, they remain fixed on me in a way that no longer registers as disappointment.

It's envy.

Maybe she also harbors dreams of being in the movies. I suspect I looked just like her a few days ago, when I stopped near the stage door of a Broadway theater on my way to work, angling for a glimpse of the blockbuster actress starring in a play I can't afford to see. On her way into the theater, the actress locked eyes with me, smiled, gave me a little wave.

I do the same thing now, trying it on for size. My finger-waggle at the girl across the street feels forced and fake, especially once she looks away mid-wave. I turn back to the car, embarrassed.

"Ronan and the others have already bee…