③The Nightmare That Haunts Freddy
December 24, 1899, 9:00 p.m.
Freddy was a young man with a long, crescent-moon-shaped face and narrow, snake-like eyes. Beneath his cold, expressionless exterior, he hid a deep fear of something. He exuded the scent of blood, like a wounded wolf.
Freddy: “Shall I tell the tragic tale of my pitiful lineage…? I was born far from here, to a gardener serving the lord of the fortress city of Avalon and a gypsy woman…”
Upon hearing this, Frank, the novelist, lit up with excitement.
Frank: “What! Then you are a descendant of the legendary Gardener of Avalon, the one called the Shield of the Holy Land!
Your family’s contributions to the eradication of werewolves were extraordinary. Though merely a gardener, your ancestor persuaded the lord to open the manor to protect the townspeople. He also developed numerous traps for repelling werewolves with the stonemasons’ guild, embedding them in statues and fountains across the gardens, ensuring no casualties to werewolves for a hundred years.
He even incorporated gypsy astrology into Western traditions—starlight falling upon the goddess’s fountain would become arrows piercing werewolves, and poisonous snakes would lurk beneath blooming roses.
No matter how much of a scoundrel a man might be, as long as he was not a werewolf, he had to behave like a decent human being to receive a pass to enter the pristine, bloodless holy city of Avalon.”
Sean: “Hmph, I’ve heard the rumors myself. It was your father who discovered that violets nurtured with holy water could disrupt a werewolf’s senses. Remarkable. Before anyone could profit from it, the city was overrun with violets. I grew sick of them! Those meticulously tended, beautiful gardens of Avalon must have looked like ghastly torture chambers or fetid graveyards through a werewolf’s eyes.”
Bill: “But Freddy, I heard your parents were killed by a werewolf right before your eyes when you were just a child. That’s what I want to hear about.”
Chris: “Imagine that—a mere gardener, called the Shield of Avalon, finally slain by a werewolf, and now his heir is cursed with lycanthropy? The world’s gone mad…”
Nick: “Freddy, your father’s true profession wasn’t just gardening—he was a trap maker who laid anti-werewolf devices throughout the estate. And your mother’s real occupation was a huntress who protected women from werewolves.
So tell them, Freddy: why did you, with such parents, end up cursed with the wolf’s affliction?”
Maria, filled with sadness for Freddy, silently prayed for him.
Freddy: “It was when I was seven… the night my parents died…”
Freddy, trembling and struggling to keep his composure, recounted the horrific experience from when he was seven. His story went something like this:
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It was May, and the spring breeze carried a gentle scent. One morning, an honest but desperate shepherd burst into Avalon’s manor in a panic.
He had found several sheep slaughtered overnight. The survivors were maimed—eyes gouged, legs half eaten—as if tortured for sport. He feared it wasn’t a wolf, but a werewolf.
Upon hearing this, the lord of Avalon immediately ordered all women on his lands into the manor. Werewolves were known to target women, toying with and killing them for pleasure. Men were attacked only if they got in the way of a werewolf’s pursuit of women.
The grand ballroom of Avalon’s manor, designed for lavish dances, doubled as a refuge for women during werewolf threats. The massive pure-silver chandelier, intricate obsidian floor patterns, and beautiful stained glass all served as powerful wards against evil.
Freddy’s mother played her hunter’s flute to soothe the frightened women sheltering in the ballroom, while outside, Freddy’s father and the lord’s militia stood watch. The men listened for changes in the flute’s melody to know the women’s state.
In emergencies like this, only women were usually allowed inside the ballroom, but seven-year-old Freddy was given special permission to shelter there.
For a century, Avalon had not lost a single life to werewolves, and for the past ten years, there hadn’t been an attack at all. During those years, Freddy’s parents meticulously maintained their weapons and refined their strategies.
The women, unable to sleep out of fear, grew more exhausted as dawn approached. They began to hope the sunrise would hide the moonlight and strip the werewolf of its power…
That’s when it happened: a werewolf disguised as the lord of Avalon boldly entered the ballroom and, with a convincingly authoritative voice, announced Freddy’s father’s death. The women believed him completely and fell into hysterical despair.
But Freddy’s mother refused to give up hope. She blew her specially crafted wedding ring like a whistle, sounding an urgent alarm to the men outside.
The shrill noise was so jarring it snapped the women from their hysteria, forcing them to remember the importance of clear-headed action. At the same time, it was a direct challenge to the werewolf in the ballroom, revealing that a huntress was present.
The sound enraged the werewolf, forcing him to begin transforming, his monstrous features emerging.
…A normal werewolf couldn’t have entered this warded ballroom in transformed form, nor would it stay after hearing the whistle. This must have been the king of werewolves—the Dire Wolf.
Freddy’s mother, steeling herself, carefully lured the Dire Wolf beneath the massive silver chandelier. She then fired two precise shots at the chandelier’s metal supports.
Even a Dire Wolf couldn’t survive that much silver crashing down. But the sturdy chain only allowed the chandelier to tilt slightly.
Having failed her gamble, the huntress shifted her goal from killing the werewolf to giving Freddy and the women a chance to escape.
She then calmly shot the Dire Wolf in its dominant leg, trying to incapacitate it.
“Freddy, take the women and run! Women, save yourselves—run on your own feet!”
Seeing the lord—whom they believed dead—transform into a werewolf drove the women into deeper hysteria; many began fainting in terror.
Suddenly, a man smashed through the stained glass from outside, bloodied by the shards, and leapt onto the silver chandelier.
Freddy could never forget that terrifying face—far more fearsome than any werewolf. It was his father, the man once called the Shield of Avalon.
Clinging to the chandelier, he swung his axe to shatter the metal fixture holding it up.
Everyone in the ballroom stood frozen in shock. Only the huntress, Freddy’s mother, remained calm. She moved closer to the Dire Wolf and fired another round straight for its heart.
The enraged Dire Wolf killed her with a single swipe of its claws. But the next moment, Freddy’s father brought the entire silver chandelier crashing down on the werewolf, killing it instantly.
Just seconds later—before young Freddy could even process his parents’ deaths—the real lord of Avalon entered the ballroom with the militia.
The lord quickly grasped what had happened: his own clothes on the slain werewolf beneath the fallen silver chandelier, the desperate figures of the dead gardener clutching his axe and the huntress still holding her Enfield rifle.
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Afterward, the lord and people of Avalon mourned Freddy’s parents with great respect, and they expected Freddy to inherit his father’s role as the Shield of Avalon.
But Freddy, traumatized by witnessing his parents’ deaths at the claws of a werewolf, or perhaps cursed after generations of hunting werewolves, developed a rare illness: lycanthropy. He was plagued by hallucinations of transforming into a wolf and killing his father, haunted by nightmares every night.
Until Freddy reached adulthood, the lord gave him small tasks like tending the watch dogs and arranged for many doctors to treat him, but nothing helped. Eventually, the lord took Freddy to a Swiss resort.
Even there, the lord gave him light duties, letting Freddy rest more than work.
During this time, the lord met Nick, a paranormal investigator researching lycanthropy. Trusting Nick completely, the lord entrusted Freddy to him as a research assistant, begging Nick to cure Freddy if he discovered a treatment, and offering generous funding.
Thus, Nick brought Freddy to Bill’s place at the Gentleman’s Club, where they all gathered tonight.
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After hearing Freddy’s story, Chris was the first to speak.
Chris: “So in the end, Nick, you’re the one who benefited most from Freddy’s curse! How lucky you are, landing a golden goose from the Holy Land.”
Nick: “Researching a cure takes money and time. It’s been five years without results, but the lord of Avalon still sends generous donations every year.”
Afterward, the conversation shifted to Chris’s wild tales about the extreme measures he took to secure funding for his Alaskan gold mining, and the night wore on.
