Nobody moves to the remote Scottish island of Bancree, and few leave - but leaving is exactly what 17-year-old Flo intends to do. So when a mysterious man and his daughter arrive at isolated Dog Cottage, Flo is curious. Who would willingly choose to live in such solitude? The man's brooding handsomeness is extraordinary; and there's something unusual about his daughter Selina that Flo cannot help but be drawn towards. But people aren't only arriving on Bancree, they are disappearing too
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' The Visitors mixes elements of many different genres to produce a well-crafted book suitable for many readers' Starburst Magazine .||'An affecting read, a book in which you want to believe, as mysterious and deep as the sea' Sunday Mail (Glasgow).
'The ghostly shivers this sends down the spine make it just the thing to read in a hot climate ... Wonderfully atmospheric' Kate Saunders, Saga magazine.||'Simon Sylvester's highly promising debut novel has a dreamlike quality to its narrative ... a delicate and compelling tale that nevertheless drags the reader along with a confident voice' Big Issue .||'Myth and murder combine in Sylvester's lyrical yet gripping debut novel ... The reader is transported to the island and, unlike Flo, she won't want to leave' We Love this Book.||'Ostensibly a missing-person mystery, The Visitors is anything but a standard thriller ... as dark, sad and enchanting as any fireside folk tale' The List.||'Simon Sylvester [...] catches plenty of the strange magic of the selkie stories and he brews it successfully with adolescent angst' Guardian .||'Sylvester weaves Scottish folklore throughout this enchanting tale to produce a thriller that will keep you guessing till the end' Scottish Field .
Beyond the bay lay Dog Rock. This tiny islet was a curling extension of the southernmost headland, shaped somewhere between a comma and an inkblot. A cottage sat on top of the islet, though I'd never known anyone to live there. It seemed so pointless, its whitewash chipped and faded to nothing, its roof bowed in the middle. Waves licked white against its crooked pontoon. On the far side of Dog Rock lay the full weight of the Atlantic. The coastal currents jumbled blue, reflecting pinpricks of September sun. It was the end of summer, the last weekend before school returned.
Locked into myself, and with my gaze fixed on the road, I didn't see the new girl until I'd walked straight into her.