The good Doctor Canard was beginning to feel hopeless. They were making very little progress finding the murderers, and time was running out. The people were running out. All the way home, he pored over his notepad, his chickenscratch somehow legible to himself. He, like his departed friend, had started with “Moutard” “Oak Tree” and “Wolves?” written at the top of the first page, and a list of names crossed off one by one. He wandered home, and sat down to ponder, forgetting even to eat. Just about midnight, he had an epiphany and sprang to his feet, “Zut alors! I have … Continue reading Werewolves XXXVIII – Days Seven and Eight

After her husband died in the war, leaving her alone with the children, RiverSong never really adjusted to life without him. Even with the generous help of the villagers around her, it was all still simply too much. Sometimes, she would go somewhere she could be alone and just cry. But with werewolves now terrorizing and decimating the village, being alone was no longer safe. Keeping her children locked inside with her each night was beginning to wear on her last nerve. She sat in front of the fire, staring, trying not to let her children see her break down. … Continue reading Werewolves XXXVIII – Day Six

First, as promised, Smapti Jones’s death Smapti Jones, the extraordinarily old rabbit farmer and prolific breeder, was always a little suspicious to everyone there. His eyes never quite focused on one thing or person, watching the rabbits out of one eye, the grandchildren out of the other, all the while following you around the room with both. It was inevitable that old Jones would draw the suspicion of a town already on edge. When they were finished with him, Smapti Jones’s stomach was found to contain large pieces of meat that were decidedly non-leporine and very raw, though dusted with … Continue reading Werewolves XXXVIII – Day Four

Madame Clafoutis dusted herself off and returned to the bakery, dusting herself with a fresh layer of flour. All this commotion had interfered with her work, and a proper baguette cannot be rushed. “Well, tomorrow they’ll just have to make do with an ordinary abundance of bread, instead of the usual obcene glut of bread,” she said, rolling up her sleeves. Just as she began kneading, the bell above the door rang, and four familiar faces came in together. “Bon soir, Madame!” they said, “We were headed home from the uh, fight, and we realized we haven’t eaten all day. Just … Continue reading Werewolves XXXVIII – Day Three

Dianoga only had one good eye, but as soon as Moutard’s body was found, that eye was trained on rooting out the villanous scum that killed him. The town agreed that nothing would be solved by lynching someone without cause, so they went to bed. Dianoga stayed up late, staring into the hearth. With a piece of charcoal, Dianoga wrote some words on scraps of paper–“Moutard” “Old Oak Tree” and “Wolves??”–and pinned them to the wall of the study. As he stood there contemplating by firelight, a furious pounding came from the door. “Dianoga! Come quick!” someone shouted from outside. … Continue reading Werewolves XXXVIII – Day Two

It was the summer of 1764. The gentle townsfolk of La Fosse de l’Avocat tended to their herds and flocks in peace. The mediterranean sun beat down on the field where Col. Moutarde, an officer in the King’s army rested under a shady tree. In time, a smell was noticed coming from the old oak. In a little more time, it was noticed that the young officer was days late for duty. It was a shepherdess who finally approached him. She was not a doctor or anything, but even she could tell the Colonel had been killed by a viscious … Continue reading Werewolves XXXVIII – Day One