“Oh, you’re just trying to scare me,” the girl said.
I sprang upon them and had the boy by the throat before he could utter a sound. I shook him until he was dead and limp in my teeth. Then I looked upon the girl, who had fallen and watched with a pale face and wide eyes and open mouth.
Licking the blood from my jowls, my human side began to push forward. I let my face slide until my mouth could form words. She watched it all, disbelieving her own eyes.
“What pretty eyes you have,” I growled in the guttural way my half-human throat could produce, then in a blink I was full wolf and I had my jaws around her skull. The bones popped like a grape, and her lovely blood flooded down my esophagus. Ecstasy. I crunched just to hear the sounds, before remembering my plan.
The field was remote enough that I could turn human without anyone to see, and I lifted the two bodies and carried them to where I had stowed a gunny sack. The two children fit inside, and then I carried them farther into the forest. As human, my scent would not alert any hunting dog. The Loupe family, however, would be able to recognize my handiwork.
Shame that I could not remain there to laugh at them: the poor peasant humans and confounded hunters horrified at my effigy, and the Loupe family, who had not yet realized who they were dealing with.
-12-
My stunt had done what I had intended, and much more. By the time I next visited civilization all I heard was talk of the Beast. I begged for scraps in my ragged borrowed clothing and listened.
“The King Commander is sending in the dragoon captain to lead the hunts, Captain Duhamel...”
“...bringing soldiers, cavalry... finally, the government sees the terror we face every day!”
“After what happened in Lagogne?”
“I heard they shot the beast four times, point blank, and the bullets had no effect.”
“Then they followed the injured creature, but could not find it before nightfall, and when they continued on the trail the following day, they found...”
“Oh, do not say, it is too horrible!”
“Children. It had killed children, and the body parts were assembled in a neat pile.”
“Disgusting! It is not a simple beast then. It must be loup-garou. A man who is also a wolf.”
“The way it can cast spells on the bullets, I must say that is witchcraft.”
I grinned and laughed as I listened, earning only hard stares from the villagers who thought I was simple or insane or both.
The days passed and I waited for the Loupe family to come for me. The more time that passed, the more confident I became that they had finally learned to fear me, and respect me. And the less connected I became with reality.
I was there the day Captain Duhamel arrived, with fanfare and cavalry and entourage. I was there on the day Duhamel set off on his first hunt for the beast, one misty day in mid-November. And then I laughed and laughed and laughed, for the captain would not find his beast in the forest, and the Loupe boys would not find me either, traveling with the massive hunt. If only they had chosen to stay behind, they might have found me.
My throat ached and my stomach hurt from all my laughter.
-13-
It was time to escalate my attacks.
An army was out hunting for me. I had to keep the legend of the beast alive.
To do that, I would need witnesses.
In Saint-Denis, I leapt at a man in the road, in full view of another approaching villager. I merely growled and puffed myself up so he could see that I was no ordinary wolf. I snapped my teeth at him and knocked him down, spilling his cart of grain, then took off into the woods.
Later I would hear the man describe a creature unlike any he had ever seen. “It had a long, long tail, which lashed out at me and knocked me down,” he said after several liters of beer bought by the curious audience at the tavern. “Its neck was long, a foot long.” He spread his hands apart to illustrate.
“Be gone,” a voice said, and a boot pushed me out of the tavern’s doorway.
Staggering, I merely grinned and stumbled away. I could still hear the man. “And its fur was striped...”
The following day I attacked several more people in the area, never killing them, nor even injuring them. I allowed them to see me in my full glory. Duhamel’s first hunt had been unsuccessful, but now he was gathering for another and I wanted to play.
The entire forest was my playground. I led them deep in. When their guns went off, I feigned being shot, then jumped up and ran faster. I would slow to allow their hunting dogs to catch up, then leave the hounds in my dust.
I knew when Duhamel was not planning to go on a hunt, and those were the days when I would attack. Once, I allowed a man to fight me off with a stick, only to then feel so enraged by the encounter that I ran down an old woman and ripped her head off.
Decapitation became my preferred method of killing. I enjoyed the pop neck bones made as they separated, and the ensuing torrent of blood than ran down my throat. The method horrified the peasants, who knew as well as I that a normal wolf’s jaws did not have the strength to rip a head from its shoulders, or crush a skull. The Beast of Gèvaudan was not an ordinary wolf.
“Perhaps it is a panther,” suggested one of the hunters late one evening at a tavern in La Bessellade. I had sneaked inside, and using some coins I had stolen from one of my victims to purchase a bottle of wine. Though the barkeep glared at me, more for my stink than appearing too young for drink, I sit unobtrusively in a corner and drank and listened without causing any disturbance, and eventually his attentions drifted elsewhere. “Or a tiger. I have heard some say it is striped, or brindled.”
“How would a tiger have arrived in France?” another asked. “The aristocrats may have such a beast in their menageries, but it would be known should one escape, non? Or do you suggest this tiger crossed the ocean from Africa, or travelled all the way from India?”
“The Romany have trained beasts,” someone suggested.
“This is not the work of a bear,” scoffed the first man. “Witnesses say striped coat, long tail and neck. Does this sound like a bear?”
The local priest arrived to give his opinion. “It cannot be a corporeal creature,” he announced. “Bullets do not injure it. It has wiles more so than the smartest fox. Clearly, this beast is a man who has made a contract with Satan. Earthly weapons will not have any effect on such a monster.”
“You believe this is the work of a werewolf, Father?”
“It is obvious.”
“And how, pray tell, shall we rid our country of this werewolf?”
“There is a text, the Malleus Maleficarum, which indicates how to identify a witch, through marks upon his body...”
“Yes, Father, once the offender is in custody. But we have not caught it yet.”
The priest interjected. “We must take notice of those in our own communities who do not attend Mass!”
The men laughed. “Father, such a hunt would find many a man here in Gèvaudan.”
As the priest appeared perplexed, I finished off my wine and escaped the building. Even that short period of time in civilization was too much for me. I ran until I had passed all the houses with candlelight glowing from their windows, my bare feet crunching through the late November frost. Then, once the arms of the forest welcomed me, I tore off my clothing and put on my fur coat.
-14-
With the onset of winter, I felt sluggish and wanting to sleep. Far off I found a cave where I allowed myself some solid rest. The rocky hills would protect me from the hunts. I slept through the new moon and did not wake for days.
When I did wake, I felt eyes upon me.
My nose detected nothing in my immediate surroundings. Animals had moved to hibernate now, and the world was icy and still with a slight blanket of snow covering all surfaces. In the quiet, my ears strained to perceive who watched me. As my senses failed me, I circled around the mou
th of the cave, searching for the voyeur.
I imagined it could be the Loupes, that family with the unfortunate name which alone could lead them to becoming a suspect. My family had never taken a name. We had always been of Soissons, and used the simple surname ‘de Soissons.’ We, of course, were simple hunters, peasants, and no officials demanded anything of us. The Loupe family, however, had some dealings with the government. They had been chosen to aid Captain Duhamel in his hunts, and were well-known in the area as both hunters and as good businessmen, with their successful tavern and inn.
And yet, I did not believe this watcher had been sent by Abelard. I could find no trace of their pungent enemy scent that had served so well in helping me to evade the hunting parties. Though the Loupes certainly had good reason to hunt me down independent of Duhamel’s beast, would even they have been able to escape public notice for long enough to find this spot?
For two days I searched, only to find no trace of any other creature.
My stomach complained, and with no evidence that this watcher had been anything more than my own paranoid imagination, I returned to civilization.
I killed the first human I saw: some middle-aged peasant woman, whose head I tore from her body. Ah, sweet sang! Red rivers watered my throat. Ecstasy.
-15-
My drive toward revenge had been all but forgotten; it was a distant memory. Bloodlust was all I knew.
One morning in mid-December I caught scent of something so lovely, so delicious, I immediately began tracking it. A girl, a sweet package of ripe flesh – the first whiff was of an addictive perfume. The longer I traced it, the miles I travelled, the more my hunger grew, the need gnawing at my bones. I had to have her.
It took two days of tracking to find her. I was close, so close. Her scent enveloped me, teased me on the cold winter wind, confused me as it whipped past my nostrils. Alternatively I smelled that sweet, sweet nectar, and something else. Something familiar, but slightly foreign. I stopped, confused, waited, sniffed, smelled Her, that absolute loveliness, and I surged forward again. Then stopped. That odd scent.
I saw her. She was surrounded, others helping her. She and the odd scent were one and the same.
I remained hidden in the bushes, watching as the girl – picture of beauty, fresh and young skin, so creamy and mouth-watering – was escorted to her house. All night I watched, but she did not exit the home. The next day and the next – whenever she left, she was accompanied, usually by men carrying muskets or axes.
Then on the third day, I heard horses clattering down the road. By this time I was starved and half-mad: I could not understand why she smelled so delicious and yet also smelled of something strange, all I wanted was to devour her whole.
I knew who the rider was before he arrived. He had his entourage with him, a collection of men armed with muskets and bayonets and knives. They clattered up to the girl’s home and went inside.
Captain Duhamel remained inside for most of the day. I could hear some of the conversation: the girl spoke of being attacked by the beast. Pacing, I tried to recall the past days. Bloodlust had clouded my thinking, but I did not believe I had attacked the girl. I had barely seen her
gleaming auburn curls
never mind been able to taste her. Had I come close enough I might not have been able to restrain myself.
With the captain’s men guarding the house and occasionally patrolling, peering into the trees, I had no opportunity to hear Duhamel’s interview or receive any more clues as to the girl’s testimony.
Nearing the early sunset of the winter solstice, Duhamel emerged from the house and he and his men mounted and rode off. I had been lightly napping and awoke at the clatter of hooves. Stealthily, I followed the men, staying in the forest as best I could, and waiting until the men were out of eyesight when they reached a part of road through open fields. Not earshot, as my sensitive ears could hear the racket from miles away. The men were never so far that I felt concerned that I would lose them.
They had reached an inn in the center of Civergot soon enough, and I was forced to depart to find clothing and turn human. At this time of year, few people hung out their wash, making it much more difficult to abscond with fresh, clean clothing. It was not long before I came across a house with darkened windows and only the faintest smell of humans; peering into the windows, I could see the home was still furnished. The owners must have gone away for the winter, or perhaps had to travel to visit family. Whatever the reason, they had locked their house up and gone, and it was little trouble to smash a window and allow myself access to their dresser drawers. The clothes were ill-fitting, but on the loose side, and there were warm knit socks and boots and a thick sweater to keep off the cold.
Curiously, this family also owned a mirror, a luxury not often seen in many homes. I peered into the dimly reflective surface. I hardly looked a boy of near-fifteen years; my facial hair had grown in and my shoulders were broad from a life of constant exercise and good meals. I had no scissors to neaten my appearance. One drawer yielded a small purse of livres, and I helped myself and made my way down to the inn.
“A room for the night, if you please,” I asked of the innkeep, who pretended not to notice my unkempt appearance after I pulled out the purse. He called for his daughter to show me to a room.
The girl had all the makings of a spinster. Homely face, hair that wisped about her head, a frumpy dress that did little to flatter her. And yet my nose detected something sweet about her, so I made some kind words before she parted, and she seemed to appreciate my smile.
I waited until I heard the other patrons moving down to the dining hall for supper before I left my room. Inhaling deeply, I tracked down what I thought might be Duhamel’s chamber. The door was unlocked. I stole inside and looked around, my gaze landing on freshly inked parchment. I snatched up the papers and glanced over the words.
In the letter Duhamel had given a description straight from the lips of the sweet girl. She described the Beast as being the size of a young bull, with white neck and white belly, but red fur overall with a black stripe along its back. I knew not what color my wolf pelt was. I had always assumed I was a solid gray, that being the color of my paws and tail. I read on.
Duhamel spent much time on her description of the Beast’s six long talons on each paw. “It is not a hyena as theorized,” he wrote. “For I have been told that hyenas have but four stubby toes.” Six talons? I could not say how many talons I had. Five, like the number of fingers?
I nearly dropped the papers. My brother Martin had an extra finger on each hand. Grandfather had also had six fingers.
The girl had apparently been attacked by this beast and fended off the creature with the use of an axe. She claimed to have split the muzzle of the beast with the blade.
I nearly dropped the papers.
Martin, could he be here? My immediate conclusion was that Martin had been sent by Jean-Pierre to kill me. That would not, however, explain why he had attacked the girl.
Too long I had lingered in Duhamel’s chamber. I hurried out silently and joined the supper already in progress. “Master Jean,” said the innkeep’s daughter, blushing. “I have saved a seat for you.”
I smiled at her, eying the empty chair beside her, but my thoughts lay elsewhere. Little did I realize this behavior would keep her attentions. As I chewed thoroughly cooked beef in a stew of vegetables - all the while wishing it were raw - the girl chattered away.
“Where do you hail from, Master Jean?” she asked.
“North,” I said. Duhamel sat farther down the long table, speaking loudly of the beast. “Six talons,” he repeated several times.
“But the coloring, it is similar to the hyena,” one of his men said.
“Which province?” the girl persisted.
I had half a mind to tell her to shut her trap, but I kept a civil tongue. “Soissons,” I said, not even looking at her.
“Have you experienced any wolf atta
cks in the north?” asked one of the Duhamel’s men sitting near. “You have heard of the terrible beast which roams the forests of Gèvaudan?”
“I have heard tell, sir,” I said. “I am thankful Soissons has not seen such madness.”
“Lucky, indeed. There have been nearly fifty attacks from this beast.”
“You are certain it is the same creature?” I asked, for I could not help myself.
“Two beasts? Captain, we have considered this theory, have we not?”
Captain Duhamel looked up and gazed down the table at me. “Certainly we have. Not two beasts, but a man and a beast.”
“A trained hyena,” insisted the man at Duhamel’s right.
The captain appeared annoyed. “As I said, Thomas, the beast has six talons, not four. It is not a hyena.”
“You believe the testimony of a hysterical girl?” Thomas said.
Duhamel slapped his hand on the table. “She was quite composed when I spoke to her, and she handled the attack better than many men, I would say.”
“Perhaps you have found a potential mate.” The men laughed at that.
“A hyena?” I asked, playing the part of a simpleton. “What sort of beast is this hyena?”
“One would find them largely in Africa and Asia,” Duhamel explained. “Although some aristocrats would almost certainly have one in their menagerie.”
“And you believe one has escaped?”
“No, I do not,” Duhamel said, wiping his mouth with his napkin. “Good night, gentlemen. Keep in mind that we shall depart early for our hunt tomorrow.”
He stood and left.
“Look at what you’ve done, Thomas,” said the man near me. “Your hyena theory has been disproven. Stop angering the captain.”
“The girl’s testimony means nothing. As though she could recall how many toes the beast had as she fought it off.”
“A hyena is a wild beast. You believe it is trained, as well?”
“A trained beast, attacked who its owner pleases.”
“Thus we have a killer, and not the random attacks of a beast.”