“I’m scrambling around in the dark fending off monstrous wicker men”
Grappling with myths and monsters in hand-pencilled folk horror MUNDAUN
Switzerland’s rolling hills and snowy peaks seem like the ideal destination for a bit of peace and quiet. But in the horror game Mundaun, instead of being charmed by Swiss countryside, my first day in the snowy Alps ended with me scrambling around in the dark fending off monstrous wicker men with a broken pitchfork. My first day in town has been, in a word, surreal. The game’s heavy charcoal hand-drawn visuals really should have been my first clue that this was not going to be the getaway I had envisioned.
A little bit of context: You play as a young man named Curdin, who has returned to the secluded rural village of Mundaun after receiving a troubling letter. The local priest has written that Curdin’s grandfather has tragically died in a barn fire, but don’t worry—the funeral and burial have all been sorted, and there’s no reason why you should ever need to return to Mundaun, ever. So, of course you go to investigate…
After leaving the safety of the bus and a short hike later, I finally arrive at Mundaun and I’m immediately greeted by the burnt husk of my grandfather’s barn. I search what is left of the barn, and my soul leaves my body as I come face-to-face with old grandpappy himself, the white of his open eyes standing out against the charred remains of the rest of his body. That’s not all that lurks inside the barn, and within the ashy remains, something grabs my hand—a ghost, a phantom, or something else entirely. As they let go, I look down at my hand to see that it’s turned burnt and black like scorched tree bark.
But the troubles of my first day in Mundaun don’t end there. As I amble through the quaint meadows and peaks, I meet a stone-faced little girl who has only goats for friends and a hysterical priest who babbles on about demons, his church defiled with scrawlings of hellish retribution. They’re not much for company, and an uneasy feeling starts to sink in of just how alone and vulnerable I am.
NOT THE BEES
Night begins to set in, and as I head back to grandpa’s house I hear a hollow wailing. Peeking around a tree, I see a group of ominous wicker men. They look like the monsters you’d see in bedtime stories meant to spook children, and would almost seem comical if it wasn’t for the incessant howling. As I try to defend myself with my broken pitchfork, I fumble for the box of matches in my bag, set these thankfully very flammable monsters ablaze, and run for the house, slamming the door behind me to block out their screams.
It’s only been one day in Mundaun, but I already feel completely out of my depth. Delving into this village’s long forgotten history feels like I’ve fallen head-first off the side of one of the mountains, hurtling down into the snowy depths.
The Swiss Alps in Mundaun are certainly enchanting, but for all the wrong reasons.
I MEET A STONE-FACED LITTLE GIRL WHO HAS ONLY GOATS FOR FRIENDS