Along Came a Wolf

            Jacques’s feet were sore. He had been walking for some hours now. Worry crossed his mind. He should have arrived at Valroux. Time to sit and bring out the bread and cheese he had for the journey and eat. When he finished, he set his mind on finding someone to help him.

            After another half hour, there was a farmhouse. He approached and knocked on the door. A large man opened the door. Jacques could see two women, a young girl and an older woman, behind him working.

            “Bonjour, monsieur. My name is Jacques. I am travelling to Valroux but I think I have taken a wrong turn. Can you help me?”

            The man sized him up.

            “Yes, you have come to the village of Lysange. The road to Valroux is some miles back.”

            “I knew it!” Jacques hit his forehead. “I am such a fool sometimes.”

            The young girl came up behind her father, curious who the stranger was. She looked ten or eleven, maybe twelve years old to Jacques.

            “Papa…”

            “Giselle, go back to your mother. This is none of your business.”

            Jacques smiled at Giselle and she smiled back. The farmer did not look pleased.

            “Yes, you will need to turn around to find your way back.”

            “It is getting late. Could I say in your barn for the night, for shelter?”

            The farmer paused and measured Jacques again. His brow was furrowed.

            “Yes, you may stay there for the night but you must be gone in the morning.”

            “Merci, monsieur, I appreciate your kindness.”

            Jacques bowed, looked at Giselle and her mother, and headed off to the barn.

            The barn was small. It had four goats as well as a number of chickens. Jacques found a spot, arranged some hay, and prepared himself a meal. After he was done, he laid down and went to sleep. The full moon would keep him company tonight.

            The next morning, Jacques rose early and headed off. He had made it a few miles down the road when a group of horsemen came riding up behind him. The farmer was among them.

            “That is him! That’s the bastard!”

            Jacques was immediately surrounded by the horsemen.

            “Monsieur, I place you under arrest for the murder of the child Giselle! Hand cuff him!”

            Jacques was stunned as two men climbed down with iron manacles and clamped them on his wrist. The irons were tied to the saddle of a horse and he was run back to the village of Lysange. 

            When they arrived, Jacques was immediately thrown into the jail.

            “Please, I do not know what you are talking about!” He protested. “I know nothing of a murder! I am innocent!”

            The farmer approached the door.

            “If it was up to me, you would be dead already, you beast.”

            By midday, a court had been arranged outdoors. Jacques was dragged from his cell and presented to the judges.

            “Monsieur Jacques, you stand accused of being a werewolf.”

            Jacques was stunned. He could not believe what he heard.

            “That’s absurd!” He said before being hit in the back by one of the guards.

            One of the three judges hammered the table to bring the trial back to order.

            “Monsieur Guillaume, what evidence do you have to offer before this court?”

            The farmer stepped forward.

            “It was apparent from the moment I answered my door that this unholy monster was interested in my daughter. He glared at her as a beast would their next meal. Look at its eyes!”

            The guards held Jacques head so that the judges and the crowd could see his eyes clearly. There was boos and hisses.

            “Look at its eyes but be careful! They bewitched my daughter! They called her to her death!” 

            The crowd drew back and hid their eyes from this creature.

            “I don’t know what you are talking about!” Jacques protested before being hit in the back again.

            “Can you tell us what happened? We understand the pain, Monsieur Guillaume, but we must hear.”

            The farmer began to cry but he held himself to speak.

            “It came last night, claiming that it was lost on his way to Valroux.”

            The crowd shouted out hate towards Jacques screaming liar and demon.

            “It asked to sleep in the barn for the night. I said yes, not seeing what the harm would be. Something did bother me though. I went there to check on it in the night and when I arrived, it was gone! Later, my wife and I heard noises come in from the barn. Scratching and a low howl.”

            The crowd began to throw things at Jacques. Mud. Rocks. Whatever was at hand.

            “Did you observe anything else unusual, monsieur Guillaume?”

            “Yes, it was agitate and it was a full moon last night.”

            More jeers from the crowd and mud thrown.

            “It also managed to move an old tiller that I have that no one man should be able to move himself!”

            “There is also he has changed his clothing,” the farmer’s wife, Anne, pointed out.

            The farmer held up a piece of bloody cloth.

            “We found this on my daughter.” He began to cry again. “Why else would he change his clothes?”

            One of the judges rose. He appeared to be a clergyman of some kind. He cleared his throat and cleaned his glasses as he looked down on stranger.

            “As you can see,” the clergyman said as he grabbed Jacques’s chin, “he has an usually looking long face.” He pushed up the sleeves on Jacques’s shirt. “Excessive hairiness as you can also see. These are definite traits of a werewolf.”

            The crowd booed and hissed again, calling for his death. Jacques was stunned into silence. The clergyman turned and brought a dagger up to Jacques. He tried to move back thinking they were about to stab him.

            “See how he retreats from silver?” The clergyman responded. “The body traits! The excessive strength! These are all signs of the werewolf as a man!”

            The clergyman moved back to the table with the other judges. They discussed the evidence presented as the crowd called for Jacques’s death. Finally, the middle judge hammered the table again.

            “We have considered the evidence presented and have agreed that Monsieur Jacques is a werewolf.”

            “No! No! This cannot be!” Jacques protested.

            “The sentence is death. The werewolf will be burned at the stake at dawn in the centre square. The court has spoken.”

            The judge banged his hammer again and motioned the guards to take Jacques away to his cell. Along the way, the crowd cried out of his blood and pelted him more.    The guards threw Jacques into the jail, locked the door, and left.

            Jacques leapt to his feet and protested his innocence.

            “Why are you doing this to me! I know nothing of the girl’s death! I am just a traveller! Won’t someone please listen!”

            He yelled all day. No one paid him any attention except to threat him if he did not quiet himself.

            By night, Jacques went to the back of his cell and sat, the irons still clamped on his wrists. All he was doing was travelling to see his family. He stopped for a rest and a meal. Why can’t any of them just see this?

            Jacques raised his arms, strained, and pulled the iron manacles apart. He looked out of his cell at the moon as he bent the bars. He would have time for some revenge on this village before he left.