②The Witch Trial of Marianne
December 24, 1899, 8:00 p.m.
Bill sliced the meat on his plate while staring at Maria. His face was that of a devil, appraising the worth of her life.
Bill: “So you’re Marianne the dancer, who crawled out of death’s door in France and came running here after receiving my letter. This is our first time meeting in person, but I recognize that face. You’re the defendant from that witch trial that stirred up the newspapers this year.”
Bill spoke as he gazed at his wine, savoring the thrill of having caught such an entertaining plaything. He looked like a vile beast boasting of his prey, Maria, to Nick and Sean from the gentleman’s club.
Marianne, holding her fork and knife, lifted her chin like Marie Antoinette on her way to the guillotine. The men around the table turned their curious eyes toward her.
Bill cleared his throat and began to recount what he knew of the witch trial in Brittany.
Bill: “Three years ago, you ensnared a toothless, senile landlord in Brittany and had him build a small opera house for your troupe.
He built it deep in a dark forest, hidden from prying eyes, where only the most depraved… or rather, the most eccentric patrons could visit. Quite extravagant, I must say.
The villagers of that closed-off region whispered that the rich men frequenting the opera house had eyes like the dead, as if their souls were being drained by you…
…Pardon me, Marianne. You must know full well your own beauty and care nothing for jealous gossip from other women. Yet rumors of you being a witch spread even to here… pitiful, really, and it pained my heart.
Anyway, that night, your troupe held a strange feast in that suspicious opera house, together with your decrepit patron and other shady men of unknown origins.
Suddenly, a monstrous man-eating wolf appeared and began slaughtering your men one by one. Marianne, they say you abandoned those men, who fought desperately to protect you, and fled for your life.
From that pitch-dark forest, it would have taken at least two hours on foot to reach the nearest village in southern Brittany. Barefoot, your dress torn to shreds, stumbling and falling over and over, nearly losing consciousness—you somehow made it to the village.
Witnesses said you looked like a deranged dog, banging on every doctor’s door in the dead of night, screaming for help like a mad whore begging for scraps.
When the doctors, led by that pitiful madwoman, finally arrived at the cursed opera house with their carriage, every man in your troupe had already perished. Yet you alone were unscathed. Tell me, Marianne—do you bear no responsibility for that ghastly massacre?”
Bill paused for a sip of red wine. Marianne glared at him steadily, her eyes sharp. Frank felt increasingly uncomfortable with Bill’s tone, but no one dared speak up. Bill continued:
Bill: “There are two main points of suspicion.
First: were you really rehearsing songs and dances that night? Or were you bewitching those men with black magic, making them fight and kill each other for your amusement?
Second: the autopsies showed the men were chased by something bipedal and were slashed from shoulder to heart by claws like sharp blades, their throats ripped out. This contradicts your testimony that a wolf attacked them.
So there must have been a two-meter-tall creature with savage fangs and claws. Marianne, what are you hiding?”
Bill leaned forward, eager to tear the truth from her.
Sean sat quietly, but his temple twitched every time Bill mentioned “wolf.” Freddy still wore his sinister smile, and Nick smirked mockingly as he ate. Frank looked worriedly at Maria.
No one interrupted Bill’s tale.
Bill continued enthusiastically:
“Of course, the public trusted the coroner over an ignorant dancer. They soon concluded it was the work of a werewolf.
You were tried as a witch who summoned a werewolf to kill those hateful men exploiting you. But despite the scorn heaped upon you, you somehow seduced the judge with your black arts and secured an acquittal…
…So officially, it was ruled the men were killed by a hungry wolf, not a werewolf you summoned.
Yet gossip cannot be silenced, and the newspapers ridiculed your dubious testimony for months. Tonight, I want to hear from your own lips what really happened that night.
Marianne, what were you truly doing in the forests of Brittany?”
Marianne met Bill’s intense gaze, then let out a high, enchanting laugh like a chiming bell. The tense atmosphere evaporated as her genuine amusement filled the room.
Maria: “…Hehehe, Bill, I’m just a dancer, nothing more.”
Maria gave Bill a meaningful look, prompting him to press further.
Bill: “So you claim you’re not a witch?”
Maria: “If you wish, I can act like one. But don’t mistake that for my entire being.”
Bill: “Then who do you claim slaughtered your companions?”
Maria: “As you well know, Bill… werewolves hide among humans, weaving lies…”
Marianne leaned against Bill, her eyes glistening.
Nick, the paranormal investigator, wiped his mouth with a napkin, set down his utensils, and sighed wearily before speaking.
Nick: “I understand, Maria. One of your lovers in the troupe must have been a werewolf. He pretended affection for you, planning to torment you for his own amusement…
When you discovered his true nature, he flew into a rage and butchered everyone. You sensed the danger just in time and managed to escape.
Out of love, you protected him by sticking to your story of a wolf attack. But sadly, his true form was that of a werewolf. Maria, you were deceived.”
Sean: “There’s no end to tales of women duped by werewolves. Those creatures are cunning and silver-tongued.”
Chris: “A woman who survived a werewolf’s deception, huh.”
Chris studied Maria’s face intently with an intrigued smile. Maria returned his gaze and replied:
Maria: “Oh, darling, I can’t remember a single thing about any man I’ve ever been with!”
Frank burst out laughing, and soon the whole table joined in.
Maria: “I’m made of men’s dreams, after all. Feel free to invent any past you like. Even the most beautiful dream can turn into a nightmare.”
She declared this clearly, then downed her glass of red wine.
Just then, the old man by the fireplace dozed off and fell from the sofa, hitting his head. Bill snapped his fingers, summoning the butler.
Bill: “Take that doddering old fool to bed.”
The butler helped the old man up. As he staggered to the stairs, he cackled ominously.
Old Man: “Hee hee… So the fool exits the stage. Farewell, dear friends, trapped in this cursed mansion by the blizzard! If there’s a werewolf among you, who will die tonight…? Ha ha ha… how terrifying!”
Supported by the butler, he climbed the stairs unsteadily. Sean, eyeing him with disdain, wiped his mouth and muttered.
Sean: “Hmph, what a dreadfully ominous joke. And he reeked of liquor.”
Chris: “Still, the old man’s words ring true. Werewolves reveal their true selves on nights of the full moon.”
Bill: “Tonight’s moon is full and especially bewitching, even visible through this blizzard.”
Frank: “They say werewolves are masters of lies… but could we truly see through them?”
Maria: “Oh, Frank, don’t even joke about it. If men ever saw through a werewolf’s lies, they’d only be killed.”
If a werewolf lurked among them on this stormy night… would a tragedy like the one at the Brittany opera house unfold again? The portrait of the mansion’s previous master—killed by a werewolf—gazed down at them in silent judgment.
Sean: “On a night like this, even the wind sounds like a werewolf’s howl. How absurd.”
Nick: “Oh? Perhaps they’re closer than you think, Sean.”
Freddy: “Hehehe… I know how to kill a werewolf…”
Maria looked at Freddy with eyes full of hope.
But Nick sighed darkly and spoke.
Nick: “Freddy, don’t speak nonsense. If you face a werewolf, you’ll end up like your parents.”
Freddy: “Hehehe… I’m not their heir… I’m one possessed by the wolf.”
Bill: “Very well then, Freddy—let’s hear your tragic tale next.
