"Welcome to Willow Island, a serene and tranquil private island home less than 60 miles north of Manhattan!" the listing declared, signaling a fresh start away from it all to some... to others, it echoed the voiceover one might hear in a horror film trailer. Cheerful, full of promises, too good to be true.

We're on the Taconic now, "Hurdy Gurdy Man" is playing on the radio as an unwitting couple drives up to their new home, wind in their hair, blowing out any remnants of that stressful old city they're leaving behind. Bill was surprised how easily Mary was convinced to buy the private island, to leave their life and friends and jobs in the dust, but she really seemed to fall for that view, he thought.

Mary was on the run, but Bill was clueless, as usual. Over the past year she had been telling him she was working late once a week. She always picked a different night, which gave it a guise of randomness while allowing her to operate by her whims. She'd spend the first hour at a random dive she found under the Brooklyn Bridge, then go sit on the rocks at the river's edge. An urban beach, dark and sort of slimy, not meant for visitors. Sometimes she'd walk in to the river a little, up to her knees. She didn't know why, but the experiment became a habit, even if it wasn't a particularly enjoyable one. And this is where she met him, though she never got his name.

He was a kid, really, in comparison—mid-'20s, to her late '40s. Harmless. But he wasn't there coincidentally, she soon realized, he was carrying an envelope and it had her name on it. Inside was a warning to leave the city. She knew why, and she took it seriously.

Bill thought it was his idea to move, but it was Mary who made sure he saw that listing. She had left a newspaper open to its page on the coffee table. She pre-loaded Curbed on to his computer. The house was everywhere, getting in his head, just like she'd hoped. She didn't want to suggest the move. It was too risky, given what she knew of that envelope's contents, and what had happened that night by the rocks. She needed Bill to suggest it, and quickly. She had started seeing reports, it was only a matter of time.

Bill had been having a hard time in the city lately, the anxiety from his subway commutes, exhaustion from trying to keep up with the place, just living there. A private island was just the ticket, he thought. No worries there, because what could go wrong on a private island?

You can answer that question yourself!

This "picturesque and unique waterfront property has 360-degree views of beautiful Putnam Lake," a guest cottage, four bedrooms, a fireplace, and no one within screaming distance. The circa-1932 home is said to have been built with stone from the same quarry as the Holland Tunnel, a fun fact for cocktail parties at your new oasis. And it can be all yours for $850,000, which is honestly a steal for such a place.

To get there, you'll need a boat, but no worries, they're leaving one for you—the house comes with "your own solar-powered boat and is available fully furnished and turn-key." Sounds like someone wanted to get out of there in a hurry! (It was Mary, again.)