The Morvain family hunt

Most families have some form of tradition. Bank holiday camping trips. Fish and chip Fridays. Weekly games night. And like most families, mine has one too. Except ours is more like a ritual. A rite.

Every year, over the last weekend in October, we go to our cabin at Lake Nethermere – Mum, Dad, my twin siblings Bran and Hazel, and me, Maude.

What’s special about this year, is that I turn eighteen the night we arrive. Which means I’m finally allowed to join the family hunt.

………..

The drive to the cabin is even more dreadful than usual. The winding, serpentine roads make my head throb and stomach churn, and I’ve had an insatiable thirst the entire journey. My throat feels raw.

“Must be those raging hormones now you’re nearly eighteen” Bran mocks, jabbing his cold, bony fingers into my ribs.

I flinch and hiss at him, trying not to move too much for fear of being sick.

“Oh, Bran, darling, let your sister rest”, Mum says sweetly, her voice like silk. “She has a very big night ahead.”

“OoOOOo she’s got a big night ahead’’ he mimics in a grating sing-song voice.

“Bran” Dad’s voice is low and final, “leave your sister alone, you know she’s unsettled”.

“I’m not unsettled” I mutter “I’m just… nauseous.”

“You’ll recover soon enough” Hazel says rubbing my shoulder “And anyway, we’re here.”

It’s after ten P.M. when we arrive. The cabin gate creaks open at our approach and the gnarled skeletal trees move aside like they’re parting just for us. The cabin looms ahead at the top of the drive, half-consumed with creeping moss and thick, twisted vines warping around the cabin like veins. Its wood blackened and wet, hunched in the shadow. It looks fragile, but Mum always says it’s withstood 750 years of Morvain family secrets, and it’ll withstand 750 more.

“It’s good to be back. This place always makes me feel so alive”, Dad steps out of the car, turning his face to the night.

I step inside to the familiar smell of damp and decay. Cobwebs stretch from the beams like old lace, with tiny carcasses tangled in the threads, waiting to be devoured. Black and white portraits of our ancestors line the walls in faded silver frames - their expressions severe, their eyes following. If you stare long enough, you could swear there’s a crimson sheen to their lips.

I drift over to the stone fireplace that dominates the main wall in the living room. It’s never been lit, not once. Mum claims the smell gives her headaches and she’d rather freeze than burn. I kick at a loose stone with my foot and it rolls into the dusty hearth. The old rug underfoot is deep rust-red, patterned with strange, archaic symbols that seem to rearrange themselves when I’m not looking.

 “BOO!” Bran shrieks in my ear, grabbing my shoulders and shaking me.

“For fuck’s sake, Bran! You made me jump out of my skin” I shove him hard. “Why do you have to be such a bloody leech?”

“Oh, come on, lighten up! It’s your birthday” his grin is wicked and sharp. “You’ll be eighteen in less than two hours.”

“Yeah, Maude, you excited?” Hazel appears, her eyes shining brightly.

“I guess? Mostly I wanted to know what this bloody hunt is all about. You’ve been tormenting me about it for years. Can’t you just tell me?”

“Mum and Dad want it to be a surprise” Hazel says too smoothly. “It means a lot to them, so don’t be a spoil sport.”

“All we’ll say, baby sis” Bran whispers, draping an arm around me “is that tonight is the night we find out you belong” he winks guiding me to the kitchen. “Now, who’s thirsty?”

The three of us head into the kitchen where Mum’s bathed in candlelight, swirling a large glass of red wine.

“Where’s Dad?” I ask, reaching for her glass.

She slaps my hand away, her smile tight. “Your father’s making final preparations. I want all of you dressed and ready in the living room for eleven forty-five. Sharp.” She downs the wine, her tongue is thick with red as she rolls it across her top lip. She glides out of the kitchen before we can say another word.

I turn to Hazel and Bran, “why’s she choosing now to be uptight about a glass of wine?”

“No clue” Hazel quickly interjects. “But how about some martinis?” She spins toward the freezer and pulls out the bottle of vodka we stashed three years ago.

“Yes!” Bran and I say together.

It doesn’t take us long to finish our martinis, and the bottle of vodka at that. I should be tipsy but my senses feel sharper. My skin tingles and the air feels charged, as though I’m standing on the edge of something vast and unknowable.

I head upstairs to get changed. Dad said to wear all black and comfortable shoes, so I pull on a hoody, some jeans and a pair of Docs. Though, I can’t shake a sense of unease. What are we hunting? And at midnight? What creatures are about at this time? My mouth is dry again. 

“It’s eleven forty-five, kids. Downstairs. Now!” Dad’s voice booms from the bottom of the stairs.

“Alright, alright, we’re coming!” I yell back.

I meet Bran and Hazel on the landing. They’re also head to toe in black and Bran has a wicked glint in his eye that makes me feel even more uneasy.

“You OK?” Hazel asks, elbowing me.

“Yep. Never better.” Though my tongue feels heavy and my skin hums.

Mum and Dad are stood in the living room that’s now illuminated by candlelight. They too have a sinister look in their eye, almost ravenous and desperate, which only adds to my anxiety.

“OK, kids!” Dad says, almost giddy. “The night we’ve all been waiting for. Maude’s eighteenth birthday and the sacred night of the Morvain family legacy. Tonight, Maude, you’ll discover what it means to carry our name.”

I look to my right at Hazel and Bran. Their eyes look black under the candlelight and their grins stretch impossibly wide. Their bodies thrum with a frantic energy.

“Hop in the car then” Dad claps his hands.

“The car? I thought we were going hunting?” I ask confused.

“Oh, we are” Dad says, his smile split wide, his teeth almost too big for his mouth.

We pile in the car and I whisper to Hazel “Come on. Please. Just tell me. I feel… weird.”

But she simply puts her cold finger to my lips and smiles.

Dusty Springfield Spooky plays softly on the radio. Her voice floating through the car, like Dusty’s trying to give me a sign. My heart races. Something feels off.

We’re only in the car about ten minutes before we veer off down a rugged gravel track.

“Almost there” Dad announces.

The headlights catch a large wooden sign staked into the ground. My eyes take a moment to adjust.

It reads:

WELCOME TO NETHERMERE’S ANNUAL MIDNIGHT JUMBLE SALE
18+ FREE BOOZE & HOT DOGS
HAPPY HUNTING!