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The Ritual: A Novel
The Ritual: A Novel
The Ritual: A Novel
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The Ritual: A Novel

Rating: 3.5 out of 5 stars

3.5/5

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The Ritual is Adam Nevill's horror novel depicting a group of friends lost in a remote wilderness in Sweden where something supernatural lurks.

When four old University friends set off into the Scandinavian wilderness of the Arctic Circle, they aim to briefly escape the problems of their lives and reconnect with one another. But when Luke, the only man still single and living a precarious existence, finds he has little left in common with his well-heeled friends, tensions rise. With limited experience between them, a shortcut meant to ease their hike turns into a nightmare scenario that could cost them their lives. Lost, hungry, and surrounded by forest untouched for millennia, Luke figures things couldn't possibly get any worse.

But then they stumble across an old habitation. Ancient artifacts decorate the walls and there are bones scattered upon the dry floors. The residue of old rites and pagan sacrifice for something that still exists in the forest. Something responsible for the bestial presence that follows their every step. As the four friends stagger in the direction of salvation, they learn that death doesn't come easy among these ancient trees . . .

LanguageEnglish
Release dateFeb 14, 2012
ISBN9781429950664
The Ritual: A Novel
Author

Adam Nevill

Described as ‘Britain’s answer to Stephen King’ by the Guardian, Adam Nevill is one of the UK’s best horror writers. He was born in Birmingham in 1969 and grew up in England and New Zealand. He is the author of the supernatural horror novels Banquet for the Damned, Apartment 16, House of Small Shadows,No One Gets Out Alive and Lost Girl as well as The Ritual and Last Days, which both won the August Derleth Award for Best Horror Novel, and the RUSA for Best in Category: Horror. Adam lives in Birmingham.

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Reviews for The Ritual

Rating: 3.68421051368421 out of 5 stars
3.5/5

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  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    A book of two halves. I so wanted to give it 5 stars, but I preferred the first half of the book to the second, and, although I’m unsure what would have been a better conclusion, the end felt a little abrupt. What I love about this book is the atmosphere the author creates capturing my interest in a way many books of this type have failed and making him an author I want to read again. I imagine some may say they’d like to have got to know the characters a little more, at least it occurred on some level, but in a horror story it’s not always necessary to know these men are little more than regular guys doing their best to get by in their average lives and who don’t deserve the situation thrust upon them. A wonderfully atmospheric lost in the woods horror story.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    I liked this book, but I didn't love it. It was a little too slow moving for me. I enjoyed the second half of the book as much as the first half, even though it was very different.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    A very good Lovecraftian story set in Sweden and the oldest first in Europe. Intriguing by turns, coupled with good pacing and a sense of decay, isolation and the outre all combine to keep enthusiasm and interest up for the reader throughout. A very good, modern take, on a Lovecraftian message. Very good.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    An awesome creepy read!
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    There were some nice, tense moments in the book but they were few and far between. Maybe it would have been better suited as a short story, keep the tension high, the sense of being hounded present and forward. That said, I thought it was a decent read. I don't know if the author intended it, but I felt a real undercurrent of something unsaid between Luke and Hutch. I'm fairly sure that Luke had some kind of crush, whether acknowledged within himself or no, on Hutch. Call it hero worship, unresolved sexual tension, envy, whatever. The ending was just a mess. Disappointing, really.
  • Rating: 2 out of 5 stars
    2/5
    Up until the midway point, I thought I finally found a horror book that actually manages to create an unsettling atmosphere and actually fulfills my expectations for horror (I could even look past the nauseating main character). But then the second half of the story began, and the less said about it the better. So cringy, so misogynistic, so fatphobic, so trite. No thank you, and goodbye.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    I loved, loved, loved the first half of this book so much. The beginning of the second half was so jarring that I stepped back and looked into it a little online. After a minute, I decided the story wasn't for me. I'll remember it as that absolutely incredible first half of a book that I loved.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    I had seen the movie on Netflix before I knew it was even a book. The movie was easily in my top 3 favorite movies, so my hopes for the book were high. The book was even better than the movie somehow. Definitely recommend to anyone who likes horror/thriller books! You wont be disappointed.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Very suspenseful, great writing. Not quite as scary as his novel “Last Days”.

    I also recommend his book of short stories “Some will not sleep”. There’s another story in there about the Swedish woods plus one of the best short horror stories I have ever read in my life (the very first story, not sure what it’s called).
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    What a great read-I couldn’t put it down. This book was creepy and suspenseful throughout!
  • Rating: 2 out of 5 stars
    2/5
    Overwrought descriptions of trees and undergrowth that take up half the book.
    Fatphobia and rampant misogyny abound in that particular set of horror cliches that define bad horror writing (self evident, no need to provide examples).
    Black metal fans are apparently anarchistic devil worshippers.
    All in all, had a hard time rooting for the survival of a group of incels. Only character worth any consideration immediately killed off.
    Hard pass.

    1 person found this helpful

  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Creepy Camping Vibes!

    Backstory:

    Four friends (Hutch, Phil, Dom, and Luke) all decide to go on a hiking/camping trip in the mountain hills of Scandinavia for a reunion get together as they haven't seen each other since college days.

    Though once they end up in the Scandinavian wilds the friends come across something weird in the forest that is hanging up in the trees which cannot be explained which really unnerves them but they keep hiking as they try to figure out what they have seen. From that point on they are cautious but when something horrific happens to one of them is when the panic sets in as they realize they are not alone out in wilderness as something is out there and it is waiting!

    That is about all I can give on a backstory without giving away spoilers so if you want to know more then you will need to read the book!

    Thoughts:

    This book was one creepy and dreadful suspense novel that right away you could feel the fear permeating the story. The author, Adam Nevill draws you right into the storyline and then adds a slow suspense buildup twisting your guts with fear the more you become involved in the story.

    I have been reading some camping/hiking horror lately and I have decided that I am not going anywhere hiking or camping even with taking friends as they are usually the first ones that get snatched so to keep them safe they can stay home and to keep myself safe so will I! :)

    Though I thought this story reminded me a little of one of Nevill's other books "Cunning Folk" as there are some creatures in the book that are parallel to this book. The folklore setting is deep in this book as well though this story was more twisted. I found this story to be more creepier and spookier as there seemed to be more of a "fear factor" that slowly builds up as you read the book.

    The only reason that this book is not getting five stars is the length of being stuck in the wilds of Scandinavia for so long - almost the whole book is the friends trudging along through the backwoods hiking in fear. Though some stuff did happen along the way (not going into details because of spoilers) I felt that it took a long time to get to that point of something happening.

    Nothing really happens till about the 34% mark and then after that it just slowly moves along before anything else happens. Also this book has two parts - the first half of the book is the friends hiking through the wilderness in fear of the unknown and the second half of the book is totally something different as things come to light but in an odd way which I wasn't expecting.

    This book is little long in the tooth as I felt there was too much time spent in the wilderness before anything really happened, but all in all the book is a great one - now I need to track down the movie to see how well it holds up to the book. Giving this book four "Hiking Horror" stars!
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    So you know when you’re watching a horror movie and there’s an unseen being involved and you only catch little glimpses here and there throughout the film, and when you do actually see it you think (or more likely, scream out) WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?Yeah that’s basically what you get throughout the book. It could be similar horror elements like Blair Witch Project, only you do find out what it is towards the latter part of the story. (And it’s still pretty creepy to figure out and picture).I really do enjoy the horror aspects in this book and the feelings it invokes. You can really feel the desperation, frustration, and anguish felt within the characters. Tempers flare and understandably fights happen from within the group. You feel Luke’s anger and his highs and lows as you follow him throughout this horror journey. There’s not many twists or blindside moments in this book it’s pretty much standard that you would see in horror books but the setting is very well done. A remote forest in Scandinavia while there’s something big and bad out there provides great atmosphere for the dark and scary. It does drag out through the last third of the novel where you just have to feel for Luke and you wonder how much the human spirit can take. The ending really should have ended about 50 pages ago and there is repetition through the novel that some may find a trial to go through when reading. It’s manageable most of the time but I was close to losing my interest towards the end of the novel but powered through. It was still an enjoyable read, and recommended for those that want a good solid horror. I’ll be reading more of his books for sure. I enjoyed the thrill and can only imagine what his other books will be like.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    I´m swedish and part of the fun in listening to this novel was that it take place in the northern woods of Sweden. The first part of the novel is great but then the story seems to become a totally different one, and not at all the kind of story I hoped for.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Iä! Iä! The Black Goat of the Woods is alive and well and living in northern Sweden. Good for her, not so good for the four English blokes on a midlife hiking trip who decide to take a shortcut through said woods.I enjoyed the first part, in which the boys are hunted and harried through the primeval forest, stumbling across a creepy old house and an even creepier old church as they go, more than the second, which is basically captivity horror with a trio of deeply irritating human captors. But Shub Niggurath, horrible but sympathetic insofar as she is last of her kind, is back with her fetid breath, bellowing bovine nostrils and cloven hooves for a rip snorting final act. Nevill builds a powerful atmosphere of cosmic wrongness and creeping doom in this tale of a camping trip gone all sorts of Pete Tong.
  • Rating: 1 out of 5 stars
    1/5
    The first half was tense and creepy and promising. The second half completely undermined all that and pulled my rating from 3 stars to 1. The wilderness and isolation that gave the story so much atmosphere was mangled by a ridiculous plot device that just wasted pages. If you are interested in stories about pagan mythology in desolate areas, choose something else.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    I've wanted to read this book for awhile. Very disappointing.

    3⭐️

    Story was pretty good and interesting until the crazy cult teenagers came into the picture. I pretty much lost interest with these new characters. I also did not appreciate the word "faggot" being used several times. I did not appreciate the continued reminder of the girl being overweight. Seems like the writer really is disgusted with overweight women.

    Several chapters later... GOOD GRIEF!! WE GET IT!! SHE'S FAT!! Wtf, dude??!!

    I mean, I get reminding the reader of the 2 friends who were overweight. I feel like that was done to remind you as to why they weren't making much progress in trying to find their way out of the woods. But with the female, there was just no sense in constantly fat shaming her and talking about her "stinking cunt".

    ???????????

    Then, ended without closure. There was all this killing and fighting for survival, then nothing. The end. ?

    First half, great. Second half, waste of my time. Struggled to finish it.

    1 person found this helpful

  • Rating: 1 out of 5 stars
    1/5
    I should have paid heed to all the reviews that said the first half was great, but it went downhill from there. Except I didn't think the first half was especially great. Great premise, especially for this time of year, but executed pretty poorly. This needed some major editing. It was like author had a thesaurus open in front of them and wanted to get all the words from the thesaurus into their book. It didn't seem to be that bad at the start, but it just seemed to get worse the further you got into the book.

    In some ways, the verboseness represents for the reader the virgin forest in which the characters are lost. Instead of thorny thickets, vines and limbs scratching and ensnaring the hiker's head, legs, arms - it's words that are doing the same to you! The author has to painstakingly (and I do mean pain) dictate every single minutia of thought and movement the character makes. I mean it took him 3 pages to describe one of the characters opening his eyes.

    At least it did make the nearly 300 pages I did read fly by - but mostly because I was skimming thru all these descriptions. One example: "The briefest visual offering of which liquefied Luke's guts, then made the sense-memory of his stomach vanish altogether into a total absence." Huh? I don't normally rate books I haven't finished, but I will when the reason I didn't finish is because they're this bad.

    2 people found this helpful

  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    There lurks in the pages of The Ritual something even more terrifying than the creepy crawler that stalks the novel's protagonists: A better book. Adam Nevill's 2011 horror novel begins with a promising premise but becomes confused, and, ultimately, disappointing. You've read this before: Think The Ruins crossed with Deliverance.Seasoned readers will be familiar with The Ritual's conceit: Four friends (as they are English, perhaps they are best referred to as "mates") head to Sweden for a camping holiday. Their relationship is tense: Hutch takes the role of leader and peacemaker. Dom and Phil are husbands, fathers, successful businessmen. Luke, from whose perspective the story is told, is the odd man out. Dom snipes at Luke, takes swipes at his record store job, his string of failed relationships. Predictably, amid their bickering, they lose the trail near the forest south of the Arctic Circle. The story takes an interesting turn as the crew winds its way further into the forest. Soaked by rain, with night coming on, the group -- fortuitously! -- discovers an abandoned shack. Only Luke, heeding his instincts, balks at the idea of taking shelter in the cabin; he is vetoed by his friends. Luke et al do not enjoy a pleasant night. The next day, demoralized, lost, low on food, and aware that they may not be alone in the woods, the men face grim prospects. During a heart-to-heart, Hutch tells Luke, "Cities don't work," an ironic statement, given the circumstances. Readers will not be surprised that this is the moment when things really begin to go wrong.Nevill does many things well. He is skilled at describing his setting, in this case the heaths and boreal forest of northern Sweden. Readers will be drawn into the woods with Luke and his friends: The endless rain, the dark, overhanging branches, the rocky hills where lost hikers might hope to find gentle slopes. Nevill's talent extends to human habitats, as well; an especially strong scene involves an abandoned church surrounded by prehistoric mounds. Nevill wisely situates the perspective with Luke, the outcast, with whose anger and self-doubt readers are likely to identify. Indeed, Luke is the most likable of the four characters. The early dynamics Nevill establishes seem to point toward a psychological thriller in the tradition of Scott Smith's 2006 novel The Ruins, but his analysis of his protagonists' behavior and motivations is shallow and remains firmly located with Luke. There is some commentary on the "modern world," especially insight into how friendship in the West has (d)evolved into "PR." Short, punchy sentences move the story forward.But Nevill makes missteps that weaken The Ritual and denude its potential. Perhaps the biggest of these is his decision to structure the story in two parts, the first set in the forest, and the second, well, not far from the forest. The effect is jarring, and the two parts never quite gel into a cohesive whole. The second half of the book is especially weak, and bloated, becoming a repetitive litany of horrors visited upon the characters. How many different ways can a guy hit the floor? Read and find out.The supernatural element becomes more pronounced in the second half of the book. The peeks readers get during the scenes in the forest are effective, due perhaps to the energy Nevill devotes to creating context, and to his decision to keep things unseen, always an effective horror tactic. The reader's imagination is always more effective than the author's words. This truism is borne out as the story winds on, revealing (minimal) supernatural touches that are less frightening than they are bemusing. Capering in the woods figures heavily.This is not to say that The Ritual is not a good book or that readers should avoid it. I enjoyed it, compulsively reading it over the last few days. Nevill clearly drew me in: I cared about the characters, and wanted to know what indignities they might suffer next. I likewise developed an intense (and, given the tone of the novel, unwise) yearning to see the Swedish countryside, where Nevill has clearly spent time. But The Ritual is a disappointment; it does not deliver on its promise. Like the granola bars consumed by its characters, The Ritual is a tasty treat, quickly and easily devoured, but with little nutritional value. Readers should approach The Ritual with managed expectations.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    I'm hovering between two and three stars for this book. On the one hand, there wasn't anything truly exceptional about this story, and the best horror novels for me are the ones with substance. On the other hand, I do love a good lost-in-the-woods story, and I applaud Adam Nevill for sticking with the idea that the things that scare us most are the things that we can't quite see. The main storyline follows a group of four old college friends, now entering middle age, who embark on a hiking trip in the Scandinavian woods. For anyone who isn't aware by now, this is a horrifically bad idea. The four men get lost, discover a disemboweled animal in the trees, and realize that they are being stalked by an unseen, monstrous creature. And on top of all this, there is some deeply hidden anger between the men, who subconsciously resent each other for how their lives have turned out.The first half of the book is a pretty typical survival story, as the men deal with injuries and dwindling supplies, and are picked off one by one by this mysterious creature. The second half involves one of the characters stumbling across a group of young, angry anarchists in the middle of the woods, who plan to sacrifice the surviving character to the creature.The writing is less than stellar, and at first, I was afraid that it would ruin the story for me. This may not be a problem for all readers, but I like an author's writing to feel effortless and natural, whereas Nevill tends to fall back on vague descriptions, clunky sentences, and half-hearted characterization. The clunky writing was especially apparent in several bizarre chapters that were written entirely in the 2nd person. 9 times out of 10, narration written in the 2nd person is unnecessary and distracting, and this was one of those times.However, the story itself actually stood up fairly well. The suspense was well-crafted, and I believed the anger and resentment that the men in the group felt towards each other. I was also pleased that the story took a more interesting turn halfway through, because the survival story wouldn't have been strong enough to carry the entire novel on its own.Recommended for: horror fans who are looking for a good scare and who aren't particularly concerned with writing style. This is a straight-out horror novel, so it probably won't appeal to anyone who doesn't read within the genre.Readalikes:The Terror by Dan Simmons is set in a different location (the Arctic) and a different time period (19th century), but both stories portray a group of men struggling to survive against a mysterious flesh-eating monster. Both stories also offer characters with psychological depth.The Ruins by Scott Smith features a group of college students stranded in the jungle of Central America, battling an unseen evil. Both stories also feature fairly high levels of violence and gore, so be warned!Floating Staircase by Ronald Malfi is a mystery wrapped in a ghost story, but the characterization is psychologically complex, and the horror is built on the unknown and the unseen.Dreamcatcher by Stephen King also features a group of old friends who reunite for a camping trip, and who must confront an unexpected terror. In Dreamcatcher, however, the terror comes from an alien invasion, as opposed to a monster in the woods.
  • Rating: 2 out of 5 stars
    2/5
    Horror is a genre I keep flirting with, but the pursuit ever leaves me disappointed. Sadly, The Ritual confirms to this rule; its promise squandered in an all-too-typical second half.Four friends set off for a weekend in the Swedish wilderness, but an all-advised shortcut takes them deep into primeval forest. Worse, they are not alone in the woods...So frustrating. The beginning of The Ritual is quite good. The friends are largely inexperienced in the woods, and the discomfort of the weather and their fraying nerves - and the growing conviction that they are being watched - is wonderfully creepy, culminating when they stumble across a deserted cabin. Alas, it's all downhill from there. Once the monster is revealed, the book definitely loses some of its spark, but where it really falls apart is the cliched second half - radically different in tone, pace, and setting than the first. The second part throws credibility out the window to engage in some genre cliches, along with ubiquitous (non-scary; is it ever scary?) violence. I suppose the fault is mine in some ways. I'm looking to recapture the feeling of chill I used to get from top notch Victorian ghost stories and writers like Robert Aickman. Horror, as a genre, doesn't do a lot of that, preferring I think something more akin to horror movies as a genre - and it leaves me cold. The Ritual is certainly not the worst horror novel I've read by a long shot, but every single thing in it was done better, a hundred years ago by William Hope Hodgson, Algernon Blackwood, Arthur Machen et al.

    1 person found this helpful

  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Very, very, very creepy!When a group of four friends go on a reunion hiking/camping holiday in a remote part of Sweden it should be a time to renew friendships formed years earlier at university. Instead the friends stuggle to find anything they still have in common and tensions run high amongst the group. Then bad weather and a series of accidents lead the group to make a decision they will all regret. They stray from the planned route into unchartered forest in the hope of a shortcut and instead find a string of horrors, starting with a corpse hanging in a tree, so badly mutilated it is impossible to tell what it once was.Other horrors follow, a strange house filled with odd relics, terrible nightmares and visions, strange noises in the woods and finally the realisation that something ancient and evil is hunting them through the forests.I really enjoyed this book. It did remind me of Stephen King's The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon with its forest setting and surreal villian but the writing was different and the story was very, very good

    1 person found this helpful

  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    Spannend und gruselig. Ich werde wohl nie mehr mit einem guten Gefühl durch einen Wald gehen können ... :-)
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    Four friends travel to Sweden for a jungle trek holiday in the Scandinavian wilderness. When they decide to leave the main part of the trail and take a short cut, things start going wrong. They encounter a large animal stripped of shing and mounted between two trees. They could not imagine what kind of animal would hang his pray such. They find further evidence of this strange being, a god of the ancient world and they come across a cult of this strange creature's followers and their ritual. It's an average read.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    This book is a mysterious and terrifying glimpse of what it might be like if ancient myths were real and ancient rituals still practiced somewhere in the untouched wilderness of the world. Definitely do not read this at night.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    Interesting book. Enjoyed it. Nothing outstanding, but a good read with some nice tension.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    In The Ritual, four old college buddies from England reunite for a camping/hiking trip in Sweden, near the Arctic Circle. Due to a lack of preparedness on the part of two of the friends, they lose time on their hike and make the decision to take a short cut through a forest, with disastrous consequences for all.The scariest moments in a film or novel is often not what is explicitly shown, but what is implied. Author Adam Nevill understands this well. From page one, a pervading sense of dread grabs the reader and does not let go. As the hikers become ever more lost and encounter strange ruins’ and an impossibly dense forest, they become increasingly disoriented, hostile to each other and physically exhausted. All of which the author is able to convey with unrelenting intensity. What makes the novel even more interesting is how it is split into two sections. The first section covers the failed camping trip and the spiritual and physical breakdown the group. Section two takes the story on an even more ghastly turn as the final fight for survival ensues and the predator living in the forest must finally be confronted. From start to finish The Ritual is a relentlessly terrifying novel.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    “And on the third day things did not get better. The rain fell hard and cold, the white sun never broke through the low grey cloud, and they were lost. But it was the dead thing they found hanging from a tree that changed the trip beyond recognition.”Four old university friends go on a walking holiday in the wildness of sub-Arctic Sweden. However they are not the men they were once, mentally and physically, people change over time and soon tensions rise between the characters. When it is clear that, due to their lack of fitness, two of the party cannot continue, a shortcut rather than intended trail, inevitable, proves a disaster.Lost, hungry, thirsty and injured they struggle through one of the last great, ancient forests in Europe. Things couldn’t get any worse…..but they do…much worse.As they make their way, hopelessly lost, through the forest it becomes clear that they are being hunted by some primordial beast that begins to pick them off one by one……If ever there was a book of two halves this is it… the first half is breathless, panicky and shot though incredulity. The second section…is drawn out, painful with as the one surviving character suffers an almost resigned madness to his fate. Superb storytelling …atmospheric and imaginative with a compulsive writing style that keeps the reader turning those pages although feeling exhausted by the horror and despair experienced by the four friends.I seem to be reading a lot of primordial themed horror recently, The Leaping and The Darkening and now this. The Ritual reminded me of ‘The Wendigo’ and ‘The’ Willows by Algernon Blackwood and the Blair WitchI have always been a fan of Adam Neville since the Banquet of the Dammed and believe he is firmly as the forefront of the British horror revival of recent years

Book preview

The Ritual - Adam Nevill

PROLOGUE

And on the second day things did not get better. The rain fell hard and cold, the white sun never broke through the low grey cloud, and they were lost. But it was the dead thing they found hanging from a tree that changed the trip beyond recognition. All four of them saw it at the same time.

Right after they clambered over another fallen tree to stumble into more of the scratching bracken, they came across it. Breathing hard, damp with sweat and rain, speechless with fatigue, they came to a halt. Bent from the weight of the rucksacks, bedding and wet tents, they stood under it. Looked up.

Above them, beyond the reach of a man standing upright, the dead thing sagged. Between the limbs of a spruce tree it was displayed, but in such a tattered state they could not tell what it had once been.

From the large rib cage drooped the gut, wet and blue in the light seeping through the canopy of leaves. The pelt was spread out across surrounding branches, holed but stretched taut in places. A ragged hem about a crumpled centre suggested the skin had been torn from the back in one quick ripping motion. And at first no head could be seen in the mess of blood and flesh. Until, in the violent red and yellow suddenness of hung meat, the bony grin of a jaw bone was picked out by them all. Just above it was an eye, big as a snooker ball but glazed and dull. Around it a long skull in profile.

Hutch turned to face the others. He always led the group as it staggered through the forest looking for the new trail. It was his idea to come through here. His face was pale and he did not speak. Somehow the shock of this sight made him look younger. Vulnerable, because this mutilated statement up above their heads was the only thing on the camping holiday he did not have an answer for. Didn’t have a clue about.

Phil couldn’t keep the tremor from his voice. ‘What is it?’

No one answered him.

‘Why?’ Dom said. ‘Why would you put it up there?’

The sound of these voices reassured three of them enough to start talking over each other. Sometimes answering questions. Sometimes just voicing new ideas. Only Luke said nothing. But as the others talked they moved away from the thing in the tree more quickly than they had approached it. And soon they were all silent again, but their feet made more noise than at any other time during the hike of the last two days. Because there was no smell coming from the corpse. It was a fresh kill.

ONE

FOUR HOURS EARLIER

At midday, Hutch stopped walking and turned to look back at the others; three colourful figures appearing insignificant upon the misty vastness of the rocky landscape they meandered across. They were spread apart along a plain of flat grey rock, smoothed like a footpath by the retreating ice a few million years before. Every set of shoulders on his companions was hunched, every head was bowed to observe the monotony of one foot before the other.

In hindsight, only he and Luke were fit enough for the three-day hike. Phil and Dom were carrying too much weight and the blisters on the heels of Phil’s feet were now raw meat. Of more concern, Dom had twisted his knee on the first day in a vast boulder field, and after walking on it for a day and a half he now limped and winced with every step.

Through their discomforts Dom and Phil were missing everything of interest: the sudden strip marshes, the faces in the rock formations, the perfect lakes, the awesome Måskoskårså valley grooved into the earth during the Ice Age, the golden eagle circling above it, and the views of a landscape it was impossible to believe existed in Europe. Even in the rain and bad light the country could be astonishing. But by the afternoon of the very first day, Dom and Phil had their heads down and eyes half closed.

‘Take a load off, guys.’ Hutch called back to the other three. Luke looked up and Hutch beckoned with his head for Luke to catch up to him.

Hutch eased his pack off his back, sat down, and pulled the map from the side pocket of his rucksack. His back was aching from walking so slowly at the pace set by Dom and Phil. He could feel his irritation evolving into anger, manifesting as a tightening across his chest; it seemed to bustle behind his teeth too, as if his jaws were clamping down on a long hot monologue of curses he wished to rain down upon the two men who were turning this trip into what now felt like a death march.

‘What’s up?’ Luke asked, squinting through the fine drizzle that made his square features shiny. The rain and his sweat created a froth around his unshaven mouth and upon his blond eyebrows.

‘Judgement call. Change of plan.’

Squatting beside him, Luke offered Hutch a cigarette. Then lit his own with hands red as raw beef.

‘Cheers, buddy.’ Hutch spread the map across his thighs. He issued a long sigh that came from a deep place and hissed around the cigarette filter clamped between his teeth. ‘This ain’t working.’

‘This is my surprised face,’ Luke said, deadpan. Then turned his head and spat. ‘Ten bloody miles a day. That was all we asked of them. I know there’s been some rough ground, but they were done for day one.’

‘Agreed. So we need a new route. Got to cut this short now or we’ll end up carrying them. One each.’

‘Fuck’s sake.’

Hutch rolled his eyes in conspiratorial agreement, but realized in this moment of weakness, he was probably only encouraging a similar tirade he’d sensed rising in Luke since they met at his flat five days ago. Luke just wasn’t clicking with Dom and Phil at all, and the physical hardship and terrible weather had added a whole new element of corrosive tension and sniping into the mix. Something Hutch had been doing his best to limit by remaining enthusiastic, patient, and with his sporadic optimistic outbursts about the weather changing. He could not take sides; could not allow division. This was no longer a matter of salvaging a reunion holiday, but one of safety.

Luke’s mouth went all tight and his eyes narrowed. ‘New shoes. Wrong socks. Phil’s even wearing jeans today. What did you tell him? Jesus Christ Almighty!’

‘Ssh. I know, I know. But breaking their balls is only going to make things worse at this moment in time. Much worse. So we need to put the safety catch back on. Me included. OK?’

‘Understood.’

‘Anyway, I reckon I got it figured out.’

Luke swatted the khaki hood off his head; lowered his face to the map. ‘Show me.’

Hutch pressed a finger to an approximation of where he believed them to now be floundering, and behind schedule, on the map. ‘Another afternoon and a full day in the rain up here is going to ruin things beyond repair. So forget Porjus. We’re just not going to make it. But if we drop south east. Here. Through this forest, which you can just see in the distance. See it?’ Luke nodded at where Hutch was pointing; at a dark spiky strip of distant woodland, half concealed by drifting white vapours. ‘If we slip through the section where it’s narrow, here, we should come out near the Stora Luleälven River by early evening, maybe earlier. We can follow a trail along it eastwards. And downriver there’s a couple of tourist huts at Skaite. Bit of luck and we’ll be at the river by nightfall. If we shift it. We can walk downriver to Skaite tonight. Or, worse-case scenario, we camp by the river and hit the huts tomorrow morning. We can put our feet up for a day at Skaite and demolish Dom’s Jack Daniel’s before an open fire. Smoke some cigarettes. Then I’ll look at arranging some transport back to Gällivare the day after. And in the forest this afternoon we’ll be less exposed to the rain, which is showing no signs of stopping.’ Hutch looked at the sky, squinted, then turned his gaze upon Dom and Phil; the twin huddled lumps, coated in Gore-Tex, seated and silent, just out of earshot. ‘Not much walking left for this pair. So I’m afraid, buddy, that the expedition is over today, more or less.’

Luke gritted his teeth. His whole face tensed hard. He dropped his head when he realized Hutch was studying him.

Hutch was shocked at how much anger Luke had in him these days. Their regular phone calls, that Luke tended to initiate, often deteriorated into rants. It was like his friend could no longer internalize his rage and deal with it. ‘Hey, anger management.’

Luke looked startled. Hutch winked at him. ‘Can I ask a huge favour?’

Luke nodded, but looked wary.

‘Like I said, cut the Slim Fast Massive some slack.’

‘I will.’

‘I know there’s some attitude there. Especially Dom. But they’re both feeling the strain right now. Not just this. Other shit too.’

‘Like what? They never said anything to me.’

Hutch shrugged; could see how disappointed Luke was to be in the dark about Dom and Phil’s domestic situations. ‘Well … kids and stuff. You know Dom’s youngest lad has a few problems. And Phil’s wife is a permanent state of ball-ache for the guy. There’s some trouble at both mills, if you follow. So go easy, is all I’m saying.’

‘Sure. No worries.’

‘On the bright side,’ Hutch said, trying to change the conversation, ‘we cut this crap in half today, then we get more time in Stockholm before we head back. You love that town.’

‘I guess,’ Luke said.

‘But?’

Luke shrugged. Blew smoke out through his nose. ‘At least here, we are on a trail we can see on the map. The forest is new ground. It’s off piste, mate. There are no trails marked.’

‘It’ll be a treat. Trust me. Wait until you get inside. It’s National Park. Completely untampered with. Virgin forest.’

Luke’s index finger tapped the map. ‘Maybe … but you don’t know what the ground is like in there. At least this rock is flat. There’s marshes in there, H. Look. Here. And here.’

‘We won’t go near them. We’ll just weave through the thinnest band of the trees, here, for a couple of hours, and voilà … pop out the other side.’

Luke raised his eyebrows. ‘You sure? No one will know we’re down there.’

‘Makes no difference. The Environment office was closed when we left, and I never called ahead to the Porjus branch. It’ll be fine though. That’s only a precaution for winter. It’s hardly even autumn. There won’t be any snow or ice. We might even see some wildlife in there. And the fat men couldn’t walk on sponge for another two days, let alone rock. This short cut will halve the distance. We’re still looking down the barrel at walking through the second half of today. And we’d need another whole day and evening to reach Porjus tomorrow. Look at them. They’re done, mate.’

Luke nodded, exhaled long twin plumes of smoke down his nostrils. ‘You’re the boss.’

TWO

FOUR HOURS, TWENTY MINUTES LATER

Dead wood snapped under their soles and broken pieces were kicked away. Branches forced aside snapped back into those walking behind. Phil fell and crashed into the nettles, but stood up without a murmur and jogged to catch up with the others who were almost running by this time. Their heads were down and their shoulders were stooped. Twigs whipped faces and laces were pulled undone, but they kept going. Forward, until Hutch stopped and sighed and put his hands on his knees in a tiny clearing. A brown place where the dead wood and leaf mould was shallow and the thorny vines no longer ripped into socks or left burrs, impossibly, inside shirts and trousers.

Luke spoke for the first time since they’d stumbled across the dead animal. He was breathless but still managed to get a cigarette into his mouth. Only he couldn’t light it. Four attempts he made with his Zippo until he was blowing smoke out of his nose. ‘Hunter I reckon.’

‘You can’t hunt here,’ Hutch said.

‘Farmer then.’

‘But why put it up there?’ Dom asked again.

Hutch took his pack off. ‘Who knows. There’s nothing cultivated in the whole park. It’s wilderness. That’s the whole point of it. I could use a smoke.’

Luke wiped at his eyes. Tears streamed down his cheeks. Bits of powdery bark kept getting under his eyelids. ‘A wolf killed it. It was an elk, or deer. And … something put it in the tree.’ He threw the packet of Camel cigarettes at Hutch.

Hutch picked the cigarette packet from the ground.

Phil frowned, stared at his feet. ‘A forest has wardens. Rangers. Would they …’

Hutch shrugged, lit up. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if we were the first people to walk through this bit. Seriously. Think of the size of the county. Twenty-seven thousand square kilometres. Most of it untouched. We’re at least five kilometres from the last trail, and that’s hardly ever used.’

Luke exhaled. He tried again. ‘A bear. Maybe a bear put it up there. To stop things eating it. You know, on the ground.’

Hutch looked at the end of his cigarette, frowned. ‘Maybe. Are they that big in Sweden?’

Dom and Phil sat down. Phil rolled a sleeve up a chubby white forearm to his elbow. ‘I’m scratched to buggery.’

Dom’s face was white. Even his lips. ‘Hutch! I’ll ram that map up your useless Yorkshire arse.’ He often spoke to Hutch like this. Luke was always surprised at the outbursts, at the violence of the language. But there was no genuine hate in these exchanges, just familiarity. It meant Dom and Hutch were closer these days than he and Hutch. And he’d always considered Hutch to be his best friend. It made him envious because Dom and Hutch were better friends. They’d all known each other for fifteen years, but Dom and Hutch were just as close as they had been back at university. They even shared a tent. Both Luke and Phil felt short-changed by the arrangement; Luke could tell Phil felt the same way, even though it would be impossible for them to admit it without offending each other.

Dom pulled a boot off. ‘Some holiday, you tosser. We’re lost. You haven’t got a clue where we are, have you, you mincing fruit?’

‘Dom, cool your boots. Just about a click that way’ – Hutch pointed in the direction they had been scrambling towards – ‘you’ll be eating hot beans and sausage beside a river. There’s a quartet of Swedish beauties pitching their tent right about now, and getting the camp fire ready. Relax.’

Phil laughed. Luke smiled. Dom felt obliged to join in, but in seconds his laughter was genuine. And then they were all laughing. At themselves, at their fear, at the thing up in the tree. Now they were away from it laughter was good. It felt necessary.

THREE

They never found the river, and the mouth-watering dream of Swedish girls and hot beans with sausage dimmed like the September light, and then vanished along with any expectation of finding the end of the forest that day.

While the other three squatted in silence – Luke sitting apart from Dom and Phil, who wolfed energy bars – Hutch glared at the map again, for what must have been the fifth time in an hour. With a dirty finger, he traced the intended short cut between the Sörstubba trail they had abandoned at midday and the river trail. He swallowed again at the frisson of panic that had appeared in his throat as the light started to dim.

In the morning he had known exactly where they were on the map, where they were in the Gällivare municipality, where they were in Norrbotten County, and where they were in Sweden. By late afternoon, with the glimpses of sky through the treetops changing from a thin grey to a thicker grey, he was no longer certain where they were in the forest that intersected the two trails. And he never anticipated so much broken ground or the impenetrable thickets when he chose this route.

Which wasn’t making any sense at all. They were no longer even following an approximation of a direct course; the sense of moving in the right direction stopped for him over two hours before. The forest was leading them. They needed to move south west, but once they were four kilometres deep it was as if they were being pulled due west, and sometimes even northwards again. They could only move where the foliage was thin, or where spaces occurred naturally between the ancient trees, so they were never moving in the right direction for very long. He should have compensated for that. Shit.

He glanced over his shoulder at the others. Maybe it was time for another judgement call: to go back the way they had come in. But if he could even find the haphazard route now, it would be dark by the time they returned to the place from where they had started at midday. And it would mean going past that tree again, with the animal hanging from it. He could not see the idea going over well with Dom and Phil. Luke would be cool with it. The forest made him uneasy too; he could tell. Luke’s lips moved as he talked to himself; always a sign. And since they had been so deep among the trees he’d been smoking constantly; another bad sign.

At least the exertion was limiting the speculation on how the corpse came to be hanging from the tree. Hutch had never seen, read, or heard of anything like it; not in twenty years engaged in outdoor pursuits. It had confounded Luke too; he could tell his friend was still struggling with the mystery in silence. And also thinking exactly what he was thinking: what the hell could do that to a large animal? In his mind Hutch ran through images of bears, lynx, wolverine, wolves. No fits, but it was one of those. Had to be. Maybe even a man. Which seemed even more disturbing than an animal performing such a slaughter. But whatever had done that much damage to a body, wasn’t far away.

‘On your feet, men.’

Luke tossed his butt and stood up.

‘Piss off,’ Dom said.

‘Here, here,’ Phil added.

Dom looked up at Hutch. The lines at the side of Dom’s mouth cut deep furrows through the filth on his face; his eyes were full of pain. ‘I’m waiting for the stretcher, H. I can hardly bend my leg. I’m not joking. It’s gone all stiff.’

‘It’s not far now, mate,’ Hutch said. ‘River’s got to be close.’

FOUR

Four kilometres due east from the thing in the tree, they found a house.

But this was only after another four kilometres of wading through ivy, nettles, broken branches, oceans of wet leaves, and the impenetrable naked spikes formed by the limbs of smaller trees. Like everywhere else, the seasons were confused. Autumn had come late after the wettest summer since records began in Sweden and the mighty forest was only now beginning to shuck its dead parts to the ground with fury. And as they had all remarked, it was so ‘bloody dark’. The thick ceiling of the trees let little daylight fall below to the tangled floor. To Hutch, the forest canopy left an incremental impression of going deeper inside something that narrowed around them; while looking for the light and space of an open sky they were actually descending into an environment that was only getting darker and more disorientating, step by step.

During the late afternoon and into the early evening, when they were too tired to do anything but stagger about and swear at the things that poked and scratched their faces, the forest had become so dense it was impossible to move in any single direction for more than a few metres. So they had moved backwards and forwards, to circle the larger obstacles, like the giant prehistoric trunks that had crashed down years before and been consumed by slippery lichen; and they had zigzagged to all points of the compass to avoid the endless wooden spears of the branches, and the snares of the small roots and thorny bushes, that now filled every space between the trees. The upper branches ratcheted up their misery by funnelling down upon them the deafening fall of rain in the world above, creating an incessant barrage of cold droplets the size of marbles.

But just before seven they suddenly fell across something they were sure they would never see again. A trail. Narrow, but wide enough for them to walk upright in single file, without lurching about or being tugged backwards by a sleeping roll or backpack snagged on a branch.

By this time Hutch knew that none of them even cared where the trail led, and they would have followed it north, just for the luxury of being able to walk upright and in a straight line. Even though the trail would lead them either due east or even further out west, instead of southwards, the forest had cut them their first break. He could sort out exactly where they were later and chose the eastern direction to try and compensate for the north-westward course the forest had thus far enforced. Someone had been here before them and the path suggested it went somewhere worth going. Somewhere out of this dark and choking nowhere.

It led to a house.

Their packs were soaked. Rivulets of water ran from their coats and soaked the thighs of their trousers, and Phil’s jeans were sodden and black; the jeans Hutch told him in Kiruna not to take in case it rained. From the cuffs of their sleeves the rain poured onto their scratched and red hands. And it was impossible to tell if the rain had saturated and then seeped into the fleeces and clothes they wore underneath their Gore-Tex coats, or if the moisture was sweat soaking outwards from their hot skin. They were dirty and dripping and exhausted and no one had the nerve to ask Hutch out loud where they could pitch a tent in the forest. But that was what they had all been thinking; he knew it. On either side of the trail, the undergrowth was as high as a man’s waist. And it was during that time, when the fear in Hutch’s own belly began to turn into a shivery panic reminding him of childhood, and when the realization of the fact that he had made a terrible misjudgement and was now endangering the lives of his three friends hit him, that they found the house.

A dark and sunken building that slouched at the rear of an overgrown paddock. The ground was covered to the height of their knees with nettles and sopping weeds. A wall of the impenetrable forest they were lost inside bordered the grounds.

‘It’s empty. Let’s get in there,’ Phil said, his voice wheezy with asthma.

FIVE

‘We can’t just break in,’ Luke said.

Phil bumped Luke’s shoulder as he walked past. ‘You can have the tent to yourself, mate. I’m spending the night in there.’

But Phil never took more than a few steps through the paddock. Whatever instinct made the other three hesitant caught up with Phil and he eventually stopped with a sigh.

They had seen hundreds of these Stugas on the train journey north from Mora to Gällivare, and then again around Jokkmokk. Outside of the cities and towns of northern Sweden there were tens of thousands of these simple wooden houses; the original homes of those who lived in the countryside before the migration to the cities over the last century. Luke knew they were now used for recreation during the long summer months by Swedish families when they renewed their bond with the land. Second homes. A national tradition; the fritidshus. But not this one.

It lacked the bright red, yellow, white or pastel walls they were accustomed to seeing on these fairy-tale houses. There was no neat white fence or lawn mowed flat as a bowling green. Nothing cute or quaint or homely about it. No sharp right angles or neat windows about its two storeys. Where there should have been symmetry it sagged. Tiles had detached and slid away. The bulging sides were blackened as if there had once been a fire and the place had not seen any attention since. Boards sprung loose near the foundations. The windows were still shuttered fast against winters that had come and gone. Nothing about it seemed to catch or reflect the watery light that fell into the clearing, and it suggested to Luke that the interior would be just as wet and cold as the darkening wood they were lost inside.

‘What now, Hutch?’ Within the confines of his glistening orange hood, Dom’s round face was tight with irritation, but his eyes flicked about. ‘Any more bright ideas?’

Hutch’s eyes narrowed; they were pale green with long inky lashes and almost too pretty for a man. He took a deep breath, but didn’t look at Dom. He spoke as if he hadn’t heard his friend. ‘It’s got a chimney. Looks solid enough. We can get a fire going. We’ll be as warm as toast in no time.’ Hutch walked to the small porch, built around a door so black it lacked all definition within the front of the house.

‘Hutch. I don’t know. Better not,’ Luke said. This wasn’t right. Neither the house nor breaking into it. ‘Let’s get moving. It won’t be dark until eight. We’ve got another hour and could be out of the forest by then.’

Around Luke the tension from Dom and Phil gathered until it felt like it was squeezing him to a standstill. Phil turned his bulk quickly with a rustle of wet blue Gore-Tex. His doughy face was dark red. ‘What’s wrong with you, Luke? You want to go back into that? Don’t be a stupid arse.’

Dom joined in. As he spoke a drop of spit hit Luke’s cheek. ‘I can’t walk any more. It’s all right for you, your knee isn’t the size of a rugby ball. You’re as bad as the Yorkshire twat who got us into this.’

Luke went dizzy and hot. They would be forced to stay here for a night because Phil was so fat his feet were ruined merely by walking outdoors. His feet were ruined the first morning. That’s when he started bitching about them. Even in London he drove everywhere. He’d lived there fifteen years and never used the Underground once. How was that possible? Dom was no better. He looked about fifty these days, not thirty-four. And every time he swore, it made Luke grind his teeth. Dom was a marketing director for a big bank with a mouth like a hooligan; what had gone wrong? He used to be a superb fast bowler who came close to county cricket, a guy who travelled across South America, and a friend you could stay up with all night, smoking joints. Now he was one of these married men with children, and a forty-six-inch waist, dressed from head to toe in Officers Club casuals, who tutted and sniggered and dismissed him whenever he mentioned some new girl he’d been seeing, or a crazy bar he’d visited back in London.

He recalled his shock when he’d struggled to continue a conversation with either Dom or Phil on the first day of the reunion, when they all met in London the night before the flight. They had laughed at his shared flat in Finsbury Park before they and Hutch fell to the usual banter, as if the three of them had been seeing each other every week for the last fifteen years. Perhaps they had. Right from the start he’d felt left out. A lump formed in his throat.

Hutch must have seen his face. ‘Chieftain,’ he said, and winked at Luke, conspiratorially, like a grown-up coming to the rescue of a boy being picked on in a playground. It just made Luke’s face flush hotter, but his anger immediately switched to himself and against his own poisonous thoughts. Hutch followed the wink with a warm smile. ‘I don’t think we have much choice, buddy. We have to get dry. We’ll never do it in a tent. We’ve been pissed on all day.’

‘Knock knock, we’re coming in,’ Phil called out and joined Hutch before the front door with more purpose than he’d shown all day while floundering and wheezing in the undergrowth. Suddenly, Luke couldn’t stop himself glaring, all over again, at Phil’s rounded shoulders and pointy head in the blue hood. He actually hated the sight of him right now, so he made a decision: once he was back in London, he’d even avoid their one drink a year.

‘You can stay outside with the wolf that gave that moose a good seeing-to,’ Dom said with a half-smile on his face.

Luke refused to meet Dom’s eye, but found his voice; a tight, aggressive, sarcastic thing that slightly shocked him when he heard it come out of his own mouth. But he didn’t care what he said, just wanted the others to know how he was feeling. ‘Or we could feed you and your useless knee to him, and while he’s busy stoving you in, we’ll head to Skaite.’

Dom paused as he walked after Hutch and Phil. Disappointment and surprise softened his features for a moment before anger tightened them. ‘Spoken with all the petulance of arrested development. Stay outside you silly arse and you can freeze to death. Who’s going to miss you but some tart. This is for bloody real, if you hadn’t noticed. I’d like to get home in one piece. People depend on me back there.’

Hutch snapped away from the door again, realizing the irritation behind him had turned to provocation. ‘Time gentlemen, please. If you don’t cool it, I’ll fetch me a long piece of green cedar and stripe your arses.’

Phil burst into his dirty laugh that sounded unpleasant near the house, but didn’t bother to turn around. He banged and pushed at the door.

Too angry to move or breathe, Luke stared ahead, meeting no one’s eye. As if the exchange had meant nothing to him, Dom followed Hutch back to the house. He even laughed. ‘You’d enjoy that. Beating the buttocks of a fine young man in the woods.’

‘I would. And I wouldn’t check my swing either. You’d get it backhand.’

‘There’s no lock. But it’s stuck,’ Phil said.

Hutch removed his pack. ‘Not for long. Step aside.’

Luke took the cigarette packet from the side pocket of his wet combat trousers. His hands were shaking. This was not the time to be analysing the situation, but he couldn’t help it. Could not stop himself thinking about the four of them. Because the trip had been such a disappointment. Not because of the weather; he’d have come out here even if he had known it would rain every day. He had been so excited about hanging out with them all again and looked forward to it for the six months following Hutch’s wedding, when the idea was first mooted. But the trip had been so wretched because he recognized so little of the others now. Which made him wonder if he had ever really known them at all. Fifteen years was a long time, but part of him had still clung to the notion that they were his best

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