HUNTER'S P.O.V
(SIX MONTHS AGO)
Birthdays are supposed to smell like cake and candles, but mine smelled like blood instead.
"Ma, I'm home!"
It was the day after my twenty-first birthday.
My girlfriend, Vera, had planned a huge surprise party for me. Well, it wasn't much of a surprise; she threw me a party every year since we started dating. It had become a yearly ritual, so I already knew she was planning one.
All I had to do was act surprised each year. Yesterday I did.
Almost everyone was in attendance. My friends, Vera's friends and a few of our course mates that I spoke to from time to time.
Vera's mother was there—and, to my surprise, so was her father, who was usually far too busy to attend events like this.
Everyone was present, everyone except the only family I had —my mother.
"Of course I invited her, we've been planning this party together for weeks."
That was Vera's response when I asked her about my mother's whereabouts.
Halfway through the party, and my mum still hadn't shown up.
"I'll call her, just try and enjoy the party," Vera assured me.
But it was hard for me to enjoy anything. The cake, my guests, even Vera's father, whose approval I'd always chased.
"She's not answering," I stated the obvious, after Vera's third call went to voicemail again.
"She's probably on her way already, you know it's a three-hour drive from her place," Vera reminded.
"No, something's wrong. It's so unlike her." I picked up my coat, turning round to leave.
"Hunter, you have guests to attend to. All Daddy's lawyer friends are here and would love to see you. I'm sure she's on her way," Vera assured me.
"But she was supposed to be here yesterday."
"She'll be here. I promise," Vera's voice sounded certain.
The only thing that kept me there was the effort Vera had put in to make my party perfect.
She'd gotten her father to show up—her father and his powerful connections. I knew that was difficult for her to do, but she did it anyway.
So, I decided to leave the second the party was over.
"Ma?" I called again.
I now stood on the porch of my mother's house, ringing the doorbell continuously. I pulled the handle, but the door didn't budge; it was locked from the inside.
I rounded the house, heading straight to the back yard, specifically my mother's garden.
I scanned the plants for a red flower pot. Mum always hid her spare key there. I found the key and took it back with me to the front door.
The key opened the door, and I stepped in.
"Ma?" I called. The worry was already evident in my voice. I looked around the house—her room, the kitchen, the bathroom. She wasn't anywhere.
By the time I reached the family room, my unease had grown into something larger.
That's when I noticed it—her suitcase, still neatly packed, propped beside the sofa.
Mum had probably spent hours packing for her trip to my birthday party.
𝐼𝑡 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛'𝑡 𝑏𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒.
Seeing it only confirmed Mum never left the house.
My heart skipped, and a cold dread began creeping up my spine. But the rational part of me tried to dismiss it.
𝑆𝑜 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑖𝑓 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑢𝑖𝑡𝑐𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑖𝑠 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒? 𝐼𝑡 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠𝑛'𝑡 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔.
I looked at the suitcase again, and this time, something odd caught my eye. There was a note stuck to it.
I ripped it off immediately, looking at the unfamiliar handwriting scribbled on it.
"Play the DVD"
𝑊ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑢𝑐𝑘 𝑖𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠? 𝑊ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠?
I swallowed hard; my throat went dry.
Something was very, very wrong.
I bolted out of the living room, with the note in my hand, heading straight for Mum's room.
Her DVD player was always there. She had a stack of discs, old favourites she loved rewatching.
𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑒 𝑎 𝑓𝑢𝑐𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑗𝑜𝑘𝑒.
I looked around her room for a disc, in search of it, knocking down a few cases she had collected over the years.
I knew every disc she owned—every label, every title—by heart. I was looking for something unfamiliar, something that didn't belong.
Then it hit me— the note hadn't said anything about finding a fucking disc.
It simply said "𝑃𝑙𝑎𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐷𝑉𝐷."
A small TV rested on Mum's dresser, the remote lay neatly on top, and the DVD player was right under it.
𝑃𝑙𝑎𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐷𝑉𝐷.
I turned on the TV and grabbed the remote.
I pressed play, not knowing what to expect.
The screen flickered, then filled with warm, grainy footage—home videos of me as a baby. Tiny Hunter in oversized pyjamas, crawling across the living room carpet, laughing as Mum lifted me high into the air.
A nervous smile tugged at my lips.
𝑆𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑡, I thought. 𝐴𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑦 𝑏𝑖𝑟𝑡ℎ𝑑𝑎𝑦 𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑒 ...𝑠ℎ𝑒'𝑠 𝑔𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑝𝑜𝑝 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑠𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑙𝑎𝑢𝑔ℎ, 𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝑚𝑒 𝑖𝑡'𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑎 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑛.
The memories were comforting, a reminder of everything safe and familiar. I let myself relax for the first time that day.
I even laughed softly when I saw Mum carefully decorating the cake from my first birthday.
My chest felt lighter, and for a brief moment, the dread that had been twisting in my stomach eased.
Till the screen flickered.
The footage warped. The warm light of the home videos turned cold. The happy scenes stuttered, skipping unnaturally, and the sound distorted into a low, static noise.
My smile faded. Something was wrong. I leaned forward, squinting at the screen, trying to convince myself it was just a technical glitch.
Then a new video started.
It was unfamiliar. Not a home video. The angle was lower, the lighting dim, and I immediately recognised the tiled floors—my bedroom.
But the scene… the scene wasn't playful.
There she was.
Scrambling on the floor, with her breasts out…naked.
A masked man loomed over her.
𝐴𝑚 𝐼 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑤𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ 𝑚𝑦 𝑚𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟'𝑠 𝑠𝑒𝑥 𝑡𝑎𝑝𝑒?