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This quote from my ancestor, Pamphile Lemay is taking me back in my youth when I spent my summer vacation on the farm with my grandparents.
They had not yet TV and evenings passed slowly between the rosary and sleep. After the dishes washing, my grandmother was preparing the breakfast table in the summer kitchen and my aunts were going to the stable to lend a hand before the rosary. Religion was taking an important place in the lives of farmers and all the stories and tales were revolving around God and Devil.
All were gathered for evening prayers and as soon as the radio station had recited the last prayer, everyone took his favorite seat. My aunts were knitting in the dim light of an electric bulb hanging at a wire and my uncles were generously packing their smoking pipes before beginning their usual mockery. The conversation was quickly turning to strange and scaring stories, to make us stay on the right track.
My grandfather was often telling to who would listen, the following story of Wenceslas Eugene Dick. A little research allowed me to believe it was published in 1895 in a book entitled "Pour la patrie".
Here is the story:
John Plante was living in an old mill located away on the edge of Argentenay point at Orleans Island. During the day his younger brother, Thomas, was helping at the mill with the heavy work, but at night John Plante was sleeping alone on the second floor. The bugger was not scared, he even was violent when he was drunk, which was happening six days out of eight. Someone, if seeing him in this state, was better to run away because he was able to attack you wildly with his scythe.
One afternoon, while John Plante had drank a little too much, a beggar came to the mill and asked for charity in the name of God.
– Charity! kind of beggars! ... Wait, I'll tell ya what to do with my charity! shouted John, who ran to the poor man to give him a big kick in the ass. The beggar turned and stared at the miller with a pair of eyes that shooted him. Then he went away.
On the road at the foot of the hill, he met Thomas, who arrived with a load of grain.
– The charity, on behalf of God? ... he asked politely, taking off his old hat.
– Go to hell! I have no time! Thomas replied harshly, which has started to whip his old horse.
Then the beggar, without a word, stretched out his hand toward the mill and disappeared into the woods. Suddently, the mill stopped. .
John shouted a blasphemy and went to see what there was. He inspected carefully all the gear wheels, belts and all the paraphernalia, he couldn't find nothing, and the water was not lacking either.
He called his brother and began to lecture him harshly because he thought there was stones in his oats. After they examining the grinder parts together, they saw that everything was correct and that the mill should work.
– It is the beggars I saw a while ago that has cast a spell, "said Thomas.
– Stupid! Well, you'll see where I put them, the spells, John said, giving one of his big kick in the ass of his brother.
Poor Thomas, the blow was so hard that he fell ten feet away. When he rose, blue with rage, he rushed to John. But the miller, took his wrists and stopped him short.
– Stop there, brother! he said, nobody raise his hand on John Plante, or he's dead.
Thomas saw that he could not have the last word. He picked up his hat. Then he left, shaking his fist at his brother and said in a threatening tone:
– When you see me !
John then was alone for the rest of the afternoon trying to make his mill to work. But the big wheel was making one turn, then, bang! It stopped short.
– Let's put this off until tomorrow. John Plante finally said. In the meantime, he took a shot of white rhum since nothing else to do.
And our man, his rhum bottle on the table, was drinking glass after glasses, expecting nothing, getting drunk as an ass. At midnight, he then thought to go to bed.
It's easy to get on the 1st floor when one is fasting, but quite a chalenge when your legs are like the rag. Once up the stairs, and after several lurches without finding his bed, he got angry and threw himself to life or to the death in the staircase door, ajar.
John rolled down to the bottom, like a large package, and he found himself outside. Impossible to get back so he decided to spend the night at the edge of the woods on the hard ground as berth. Even drunk, John could not sleep and began to count the stars.
In the early hours of the night a strong wind swept into the stairwell and extinguished the candle remained lit.
– Thank you, wind, having blown out my candle, "said John Plante, you're more conservative than me. And he began to chuckle. But it did not last long, the light reappeared after a few minutes.
For an hour, the light moved from one window to another, as if she floated alone. At the same time, there were sounds of chains and groaning inside the mill. It was to make your hair stand on end. Then, after the fuss, wisps of flames, blue, green, red, started dancing on the roof gables. There are even some that came to touch John's face so that he smelt nasty burning hair.
Finally, make matters worse, a large red-haired dog, prowling on the edge of the wood, was standing besides the miller and was fixing him with his two big red eyes like burning coals. John Plante had the shivers and hair stiff as a floor brush. He tried to get up several times and run to the village but terror as well as drunkenness froze him there. It was only at dawn that all the horrors of that terrible night had disappeared.
John found back his courage and laughed at what he saw. And as soon as he drank two or three good lenses of rhum, he became as pugnacious as before and began to defy all the ghosts and werewolves of the island to come and face.
But not having managed to start the mill, he saw the becoming evening with some fear. Even if he thought he had dreamed the night before, his mind was not realy quiet but pride kept him from going to the village. He bravely went to bed, but not without closing all doors and windows of the mill. John hoped to finally be able to count on a good night and nothing realy happens until midnight.
At the stroke of midnight, the noise began again. Bang! A quick punch over here, boom! A quick kick through there, and lamentations and groans and sounds of chains! Then whispers and murmurs strange that was crossing into his room, enough to die of fright !
John got angry very hard. He caught his big scythe, and swearing like a demon, he looked in every room of the mill and also in the attic but, curiously, when he arrived in a place, the noise stopped there to take in another room. Tired of hunting ghosts, John Plante returned to his bed and hid under his blankets while shivering with fear and fever for the rest of the night. And it happened like that for the whole week.
The evening of the eighth day, who happened to be the day of All Saints, John had missed church, preferring to spend his time drinking. The poor man was feeling very bad. His eyes puffy and brilliant of fever was telling enough about the horrible week that he had passed. Outside, the wind whipped the windows with a little rain, which lasted all day. When night went up, black as ink, John was leaning on the table, watching his pitcher with a crazed look.
It was dark in the room. When the clock struck eleven, John Plante wanted to get up to go to bed to hide. But pride kept him on his chair.
– It will not say I let myself do, Me, I do not fear... No, no, I'm afraid of nothing! he said in a stern voice.
And he poured a gulp of rhum with an air of defiance. When the clock struck slowly stroke of midnight, John did not move. He looked around, eyes wide as eye. At last a gust of wind opened the door that was firmly closed and the big red dog appeared in the frame. He sat on his haunches near the doorway and stared at John Plante with his red eyes, and for five long minutes the miller and the dog looked at each other, one filled with fear and straight hair on head and the other calm and menacing.
In the end, John, to see better, got up and tried to snuff the candle, but the candle went out under his fingers. He looked quickly for matches that had disappeared. So he was really afraid and began to recede in the direction of his bed, watching the animal who did not move.
Then, the dog got up slowly and began to browse to and fro in the room while approaching the bed. His eyes were bright as embers, and he kept them fixed on the miller. When he was within walking distance of John Plante, he caught his scythe, which was still hanging on his headboard.
He knocked furiously the animal and soon there came a strange thing. The mill started to work again and in a sudden glow, Thomas Plante, his brother, appeared with a lighted match in his fingers. The big dog had disappeared!
Without saying anything, Thomas lit the candle, and seeing his brother who was still holding his scythe :
– Eh! Woh! he said, what are you doing there in the dark, with your scythe? Have you gone mad ?
John, looking lost, did not answer. He watched his brother, who was missing an ear.
– Who did this to you? he asked feebly.
– Bah! Thou know! said Thomas, who picked up the ground a piece of the dog's ear, still bleeding. John Plante laughed mournfully. He was crazy !
The End
The Werewolf Page
Werewolf story (Taylor, Mississippi)
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Hello my new friend, I put a link to your blog on my blog and I'm reading yours now. Charlie is a doll and the werewolf story is fascinating!
ReplyDeleteTC, thanks for the link. Your comments are important to me, your blog is a great resource for me as your comments on mine ... thank you very much:^)
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