The Forgotten Town

By Rich Cole

Rayan Janssen has always thought he had a connection with his twin brother, Jurre, and when his instincts tell him that there's something wrong, his worries are confirmed when his brother doesn't return with his girlfriend from a backpacking trip in a remote fishing town in Fjällbacka, Sweden.

Reported missing, no news comes back from the detectives that have taken the case, and with no one else believing him that his brother is still alive, Rayan decides to travel to the small town himself. When the secretive residents keep to themselves and express just how unaccommodating they are to outsiders, Rayan must find the truth about his brother's whereabouts in hopes of bringing him home.

But something underlying and sinister is happening in the shadows, something that's wanting Rayan to fail. Well out of his comfort zone, Rayan must unlock the town's secrets, and find his brother before it's too late.

The Forgotten Town is a horror-filled mystery.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Seagull Editions
• Release date: May 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223904120

Book preview

The Forgotten Town

© 2021 Seagull Editions s.r.l.

www.seagulleditions.com

Prologue

The cool, temperate air of a summer breeze swept up through the bright green grass of the Swedish country-side fields. The smell of mud, honeysuckles, and thick pines were heavy around this time. Summer also meant that the sting of sea salt drifted up higher over the tall cliffs and wound its way through the forests that bordered the small fishing town of Fjällbacka.

Tourists and campers were common around this season, as more hours in the day meant businesses stay open longer. People flocked to small villages like this for its prosperity, the small density of people, and the fact that it looks out onto the ocean and the rugged nature that often went untouched by man.

Far on the outskirts of this village, a dirty old van pulls over onto the side of the road, Steampacket II’s ‘Bluebird’ blaring from its speakers. It’s driver, sporting round glasses and a tired fisherman’s hat, spills cigarette smoke into the air. He turns in his chair and speaks to a young backpacking couple in the backseat.

Don’t stray from the path if you want to pass through to Skeppstad, Said the driver. His accent was very heavy and mixed with a gravelly voice that would’ve either come from yelling too often, smoking too much, or both, it made it hard to understand him. The path is a lot harder to travel by at night, so don’t dawdle. Stick to the map. I can’t emphasize that enough.

The young man frowned. Thank you. He said, and he and the woman quickly get out of the van, carrying their backpacks with them.

Where did you say you were from again? The driver asked.

The Netherlands. The woman replied, gaining a reprimanding look from her boyfriend.

The driver grimaced. The Netherlands, aye. Well. Let me tell you, miss. You should’ve stayed home, and let this young man do this thing on his own.

We’re used to this kind of terrain, The young man said. We’ve been doing it for years.

The driver smiled, a grimace of warning rather than anything friendly. My boy, it wouldn’t be the terrain I’d be worried about if I were you. And with that, the driver waved farewell and drove on, leaving the couple in the dust.

The young man, Jurre, seemed mature only from the experience of walking through the wilderness in other countries. He felt ready; buying a map from a local store and comparing it to the well-worn one he had before he came, and researching everything that he needed to know about Fjällbacka. He knew that there was an abandoned mine that lay outside the town and that it was crucial to his research.

The woman, Lara, blonde-haired and serious-faced seemed a lot more reluctant to partake in anything that deterred from the path, and needed more convincing than Jurre’s ‘instincts’.

Are you sure you know where we are? Lara asked, peering over her boyfriend’s shoulders, unsure of whether she trusted his sense of direction.

I’m sure of where we’re going, Said Jurre, And that’s enough.

Not if it gets us lost. Or worse. Lara chastised.

At her words, came a chilling breeze, and the trees that surrounded them seemed to creak and groan. For a moment, the sky darkened as clouds quickly passed.

A few more miles, Jurre said, but there was a tinge of worry in his voice he was hoping his girlfriend didn’t hear. He adjusted his backpack to ensure the straps that carried his heavy load would hold.

The early morning soon turned to a soft afternoon, and the couple had called the trek to a halt.

This is it, Jurre said, inspecting his maps one last time before carefully folding it and placing it into the side of his bag with one hand.

This is it? Lara asked, unsure of their surroundings. There’s nothing here except grass and trees.

Yes, but listen, Jurre said, his eyes turning to Lara with wonder. Can you hear it?

Lara glared at her boyfriend.

Jurre smiled. When we’ve put up our tents and settled down, I’ll show you what the map has shown me.

Jurre, Lara said. I hope you know what you’re doing.

Jurre took off his backpack, a warm smile on his face as he started to unload its contents. My sweet, when have I ever led you not to trust me?

Never. Said Lara. But it feels different now. Even the people in the town we passed seemed to look at us strangely. You and I have been in many other parts of Sweden before, without getting the same kind of treatment as we did here.

Jurre stopped unloading his backpack. And what kind of treatment would that be?

Like we don’t belong here, Lara said quietly, a chill breeze running up her back.

Jurre chuckled, his face turning slightly red. Of course we don’t belong here. And every town is different. You can’t be expected to be treated the same wherever you go. It’s illogical. Take it on the chin, I say.

Lara seemed unconvinced but decided it was better to help quickly set up camp than to linger on thoughts that seemed to only bother her. She knew that if there were any real danger, she could trust Jurre to know what to do. And he was right, he had never let her down before.

The soft afternoon glow gradually became darker, and the trees that surrounded their small clearing seemed taller, filling in the shadows with secrets that they didn’t want to divulge before.

The camp was set up, and the fire pit was ready to be lit.

Lara, Jurre called. He had appeared from the thick group of trees that bordered on their campsite as if from nowhere. Lara looked up, brushing dirt onto her shorts, and wiping the sweat from her brows.

It’s good of you to join me again, Lara said, a twinge of annoyance in her voice. It would’ve gone a lot faster if you had helped.

Jurre smiled. I found what I wanted to show you. And there’s something else there as well.

What’s there? Asked Lara.

Jurre smiled. Come and see. And be quiet. You’ll spook them.

As Lara reluctantly followed, the trees seemed to close in tighter suffocating them both. Jurre didn’t seem to mind.

They heard them before they saw them; people, and a lot of them, swimming in a large lake. They were beautiful in the sense that Lara felt as if she had stepped into a painting. These people were young, in their early twenties, and their skin seemed to glisten in the late afternoon glow. Lara crouched next to Jurre, hidden in the brush from view.

As Lara continued to stare, she realized that these people were naked. Lara felt a twinge of disgust rise in the pit of her stomach. That’s why you didn’t help set up the tent. Lara growled, You’ve been watching naked people swim, Jurre.

Jurre looked at her in confusion. You see their nakedness, but you don’t see what’s right in front of your eyes, Lara. Jurre turned his gaze back to the group of youngsters splashing in the water. You don’t see that these people have the same colored eyes? Same colored hair? Same colored skin? They can’t all be brothers or sisters. And what are they doing here, in the middle of practically nowhere? The closest town was the one you and I have just come from.

Lara turned her gaze back onto the people swimming, and accidentally caught the eye of one of the young men. A small amount of fear swam through her own body, as it seemed the same happened to the young man.

Splashing and swimming stopped immediately. The gazes of these young people seemed to turn all at once in Jurre and Lara’s direction.

Lara felt panic and the need to run. She knew she shouldn’t be here, and the longer she looked at these people, she knew there was something not quite right about them. Jurre can look at them in admiration, but Lara had to trust her instincts. As she stood up from her hiding place to run, the man whose gaze she had caught called out. Lara stopped and turned.

Where are you going? He called. His accent was thick, and his deep mature voice didn’t seem to match the stature of the young man.

Lara looked at him, and then at Jurre for help, but he didn’t look at her. Instead, he stood up too and smiled at them. The gaze of those naked people shifted from Lara to Jurre and back again.

The young man in the water smiled. Why don’t you join us? He called.

Lara knew she should’ve run, she should’ve trusted her instincts. But something compelled her to stay. She undressed without thinking. The last thing she remembers is the chill of the water on her toes.

Chapter One

Thick cigarette smoke filled the lungs of a scruffy, light-bearded man. He was dressed in a nicely tailored suit, and it was among the three others that he had ever owned in his entire life since joining the police force.

For his entire career in the force, he could think of nothing more exciting, more worthwhile, than being a detective. He got to travel to different places, got to solve complex problems, investigate and go where no one else had the audacity or stomach to go before. He thought he’d be happy, he thought he’d earn a lot of money and settle on his small fortune with the peace of mind that he had lived a decent life helping people and helping communities.

It was in his first three years that he realized he was mistaken. It was five years after that when he realized how much of a toll the job he did took on the mind. It was ten years after agreeing to join the rank of detective, that he was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder.

He didn’t use to smoke tobacco before he joined; in fact, before today he could safely say that he had quit forever, after a year of not being even so much as tempted by a single whiff of tobacco. Call it the change of scenery, or the anticipation of why he’s in a small town looking for two missing campers, but this need to buy a packet by a company brand he didn’t recognize seemed to scratch that uncomfortable itch he had at the back of his throat.

Vegard Nilsen had heard and seen it all before - someone goes missing, someone files in an investigation, and someone always winds up dead. He had seen his fair share of mutilated bodies and parts of human remains that have been found in messed up places, but the result has always been the same during these kinds of investigations.

What was sad, in his opinion, was the level of hope and conviction from the people he talked to, that these missing people that they cared so much for would still be alive; family, friends... they always believed, even when presented with the evidence that their daughter or husband was most definitely dead.

There have been times he’s stood at the end of a cold metallic table as he’s asked unbelieving parents, confused boyfriends, or worried fathers to identify the person underneath the all too condemning white sheet. They would try so very hard to deny the fact that their loved one lay before them; naked, grey, and very much dead. But these people were lucky - at least there were whole corpses to present to them.

They should be grateful. They never were, and there have been times Vegard was made out to be the bad guy. That’s the part he hated; he hated doing someone a service and getting nothing back for it in return. He suffered so much - the