Chapter 4

As soon as Larry finished his lunch, the three friends packed up their belongings. Once they were done with their research in Rochegude, they planned to visit several other villages in the south to see if the legends there matched those they would hear in Rochegude. From there, they would head to the Black Forest in Germany to inquire about local werewolf legends.

Fully laden, the trio set off. "So, how do we begin our research?" Larry asked. "Good question, Larry, uh... I hadn't thought about that yet," Alya replied, and then there was a brief silence as they all pondered. Ilana broke the silence with a suggestion that they simply knock on a few doors to ask the locals if they knew anything about local werewolf legends, explaining that they were conducting research on the truth behind werewolf legends in Europe. They would then write down the information briefly and take photographs if allowed.

They had little success. Many houses were empty, and where there were people, many were unwilling to pay attention or time to the fantasies of three tourists. Until they reached a small house halfway up the mountainside. It was an old but well-maintained house with a backyard full of beautiful flowers and exotic plants. The view from the garden was stunning: you could see the entire region, and you could see the campsite and surrounding fields, villages, and mountains in the distance. Through the ivy-covered gate, the three friends saw an old man sitting on his porch with a drink and a book. Knowing now that someone lived there, they decided to ring the bell. Alya would do the talking.

So, the trio walked to the front door. They noticed a wolf's claw hanging on a string on the door. Alya pulled the old-fashioned bell. It was silent for a while, but all three heard the man get up from his chair outside. Less than a minute later, the old wooden door opened, and the man stood in the doorway. He had dark gray, short hair and a short beard. He wore a simple polo shirt and shorts and walked in sturdy sandals. With a questioning look, he asked who had the pleasure and why, but he sounded patient and friendly to the relief of the three friends.

Alya would do the talking, so she began by greeting the man kindly. She then introduced herself and her friends to him and explained that they were here for research. They wanted to know the ins and outs of any legends and folktales in French culture. Once they had gathered enough information, they would continue traveling through Europe to ask the same questions in other countries.

After listening to their story, the man replied, "Ah, I see. Well, I happen to know a thing or two about the old werewolf legends here. There is even such a legend about my family.... But you shouldn't stay out in the blazing sun... Please, come in, sit on my porch in the shade while I get you a refreshing drink, and I can tell you everything."

After some hesitation, the friends agreed. "We don't want to be a bother, but we would love to hear your story," Larry said cheerfully. Alya and Ilana nodded in agreement.

"Oh no, it's nothing," the man said with a friendly smile, "I don't get many visitors anyway - and I'm glad I can finally tell my story to people who are truly interested."

The man stepped aside from the doorway and let Alya, Ilana, and Larry in, and they all took their time to look around. It was a very old house, and although cozy, the windows were small, and the room looked cool due to the bare stone walls. There were antique, classic furniture and a large fireplace. The young wolves noticed that there was a bunch of wolfsbane, also known as monkshood, hanging in front of each window. Even by the fireplace. They also saw an old hunting rifle in the corner of the living room, with an open wooden box containing silver bullets.

Meanwhile, the old man had taken three extra chairs and set them up at the table on the porch, and Larry and the girls had barely sat down when the man walked over with three glasses of ice-cold cola and a beer for himself.

"Thanks for the drinks, sir... Uh..."

"Martien," the man said sympathetically.

"Thank you for the drinks and in advance for your time, Mr. Martien," said Ilana. The man gestured "you're welcome" with a friendly nod. When he was back in his own chair, Ilana asked why there were bunches of wolfsbane in front of all the windows.

Martien replied that these and the wolf's claw on the door would prevent werewolves from entering his house.

"And the rifle with the silver bullets? Do you hunt these animals?" Alya asked.

Martien chuckled. "Yes, but only if it attacks people or livestock. I don't venture into the territory of a werewolf, and I retrieved it when I heard a werewolf last night on the mountain," he said, "but werewolves aren't animals... They're terrible, bloodthirsty monsters," he continued.

In fact, the three were offended by Martien's statement, and they would like to tell him the truth.

"You can't say that! Hunting werewolves is wrong! It's murder!" Larry exclaimed angrily, surprisingly in good French - and Alya and Ilana looked at him in surprise.

Martien seemed surprised too. "You can't 'murder' a werewolf, they're ruthless beasts. And it's not 'wrong' either because killing a werewolf brings relief to its victims - so it counts as a good deed, not a bad one."

Larry actually had more to say, but he changed his mind at the last moment and kept his mouth shut. Instead, he sat sullenly, staring angrily ahead.

"Sorry for our friend - he sometimes acts a bit strange..." Alya said once everyone had recovered from the surprise. "Please continue with your story, it's so fascinating!" Ilana added.

"The story goes that the nature of this region, Languedoc-Roussillon, has been the territory of werewolves for centuries. Villages in the region were regularly plagued by these dangerous creatures, and cattle were killed and taken in droves. People have experienced things with werewolves over the centuries, for example, their sheep herd being attacked or a werewolf seen in the village during full moon. Oddly enough, no story tells that they actively hunted humans or saw them as prey, but some unfortunate people were attacked when they ventured into the territory of the monsters. It often turned out that the werewolf was known among the villagers of the affected village. In some cases, people managed to wound the werewolf when it attacked them or defended itself. Whoever had the same wound the next day was found guilty of being a werewolf. And since that used to equate to witchcraft, a pact with the devil, or being cursed, the guilty party was sentenced to death and thrown onto the pyre."

Alya and Ilana listened intently and made notes here and there. Larry was also listening but was still angry.

"That old hunting rifle also plays a role in such a story. It's a family heirloom, it's been in my family for generations. My great-grandfather was the

first to get his hands on it. Because Rochegude was being harassed by a werewolf in his time, and almost all the cattle were killed, my great-grandfather decided to take matters into his own hands and kill the beast so that the suffering would finally end. He had silver bullets cast by the blacksmith, and with his horse, he set out into the woods on the next full moon night. He had a sheep with him that he would use as bait. When he thought he was far enough, he led the sheep to an open spot and tied it to a large stone with a long rope. He wounded the animal so that the werewolf would be attracted by the smell of blood, and then hid at the edge of the forest, upwind, behind a clump of bushes.

After a while, he saw a wolf emerge from the bushes and slowly, hesitantly walk onto the open spot. My great-grandfather loaded his gun with the silver bullets and took aim. The wolf quickly killed its prey and began to tear it apart. My great-grandfather waited for the right moment and then shot twice at the wolf. It recoiled, severely shocked and fatally wounded. Now, my great-grandfather mounted his horse and rode onto the open spot to take a good look at his hunting trophy. The wolf crawled, whimpering in pain and panting, trembling with panic on the ground, more and more blood coloring the earth red. The wolf looked at the hunter pitifully, its bright yellow eyes almost human-like. Then the hunter saw something miraculous: the jet-black fur of the wolf began to thin out until it was a kind of dark downy fur. The legs and claws shrank and formed into human arms and legs. The ears became smaller and drooped down to the side of the head, the snout became shorter, and the teeth shrank. The werewolf slowly transformed back into human form; a young man in his early twenties. The hunter was shocked. Not only because he didn't expect the werewolf to return to human form, but he also recognized the man as one of his workmates.

The man himself couldn't say anything, because shortly after he had changed back, he died from his injuries."

Alya and Ilana were speechless and took a sip of their cola in silence. Larry still hadn't touched his drink, and when Ilana asked why not, he said he wasn't that thirsty.

"What did the villagers and your great-grandfather do with the dead werewolf?" Alya asked.

"My great-grandfather brought his body back to the village, where he explained the story. He was seen as a hero because he was the one who finally freed Rochegude from the reign of this monster after decades of suffering. The werewolf's body was burned, and the villagers celebrated all week to mark the death of the demon, although it is said that the werewolf's family mourned their loss in silence and seclusion."

"He wasn't a demon! Your great-grandfather was the monster here! He should have been punished for shooting that innocent man!" Larry exclaimed angrily. Alya hissed at him, asking what was wrong with him and telling him to behave. Ilana grabbed his arm to calm him down, but she couldn't believe her eyes when she saw the veins in his arm and hand suddenly darken and become more visible. She grabbed him by the shoulder, but when Larry turned around in response and looked Ilana straight in the eye, she was shocked by what she saw. His eyes had changed from gray-blue to a bright gold.

"You need to get out of here before you make Martien even more suspicious," she whispered, and Alya, who had become just as suspicious by Larry's behavior, also saw his changed eyes and veins. She quickly and inconspicuously gestured to Ilana to get Larry out of there.

"Sir, Larry isn't feeling well. Could you show him the toilet, please?" Ilana asked, and Larry bowed his head, averted his gaze, and pretended to be nauseous. Hastily, Martien pointed him to the toilet, and Larry hurried there. Ilana and Alya sat down again and tried to reassure the old man.

"But that howling last night on the mountain, do you really think there's another werewolf in the area?" Alya asked to divert attention.

"You bet," Martien said as soon as he noticed he was being asked something and had to divert his thoughts from the whole thing that had just happened.

"In thirty-five years, I haven't heard or seen one, and if there's apparently one again, we better act right away before there are human victims."

"But don't you think it's a better idea to call the police, or at least convene a village council to solve the problem? Because going alone after the world's most dangerous predator, in its own territory, is suicide... With a group, you have a much better chance."

"The police? And what should I tell them, if I say they should hunt a werewolf, they'll put me in a madhouse. And the rest of Rochegude already thinks I'm a crazy old nag. So I would have to do it alone. Besides, I have the blood of a werewolf hunter. That monster won't be able to do much to me!" Martien said.

Meanwhile, Ilana had gone to find Larry to see how he was doing. Larry came out of the toilet, his veins and eyes back to normal.

Alya walked up to him. "Are you feeling a bit calmer now?" she asked, to which Larry nodded briefly but didn't answer. He lowered his eyes.

As they walked back to the porch and Martien, who hadn't moved from his seat and took a few sips of his beer, Alya and Ilana looked at each other. Now they were sure.

Larry was Wolf blood...