Chapter I: Mrs. Thorne’s Dog
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“Bonjour, mes chers!”
A voice called, a leather-bound notebook flying over a fence and onto the cobblestone street with a smack.
Fidèle, Hervé and Frédéric stood in the street, waiting for who was about to follow the notebook.
Frédéric, who was the eldest of the group at the age of sixteen, was the leader of the group.
He was broad-shouldered with blonde hair that was almost white, dull green eyes, and a thin face.
Hervé often followed Frédéric around like a lost puppy, agreeing with everything Frédéric said and, more often than not, laughing too heartily at Frédéric’s jokes.
He was rather stout and had similar proportions to that of a toadstool one would find in the forest.
Hervé was the youngest of the group, just around fourteen, with dark hair, round blue eyes, a piggish nose, and tanned skin.
Lastly, Fidèle, who was fourteen and a half, had large brown eyes and a long, sloppily done, brunette braid that hung down to the middle of her back and a slightly crooked nose.
A young boy, just around the age of fifteen, leapt over the fence.
This young boy was Poéte.
Frédéric rolled his eyes, but he still cracked a half-smile, his hand on his hip.
“Poe, you must find new nicknames for us. We can’t tell who you’re talking to, and people might think you’re strange.”
“Yeah! Strange!”
Hervé echoed.
Poéte shrugged, scooping up the notebook like it was an injured bird.
“Oh dear! I suppose you don’t know, do you? But I don’t mind being strange.”
He replied.
“What an odd thing to say.”
Fidéle remarked, chuckling slightly.
Poéte spun around in a small circle, looking down at the ground.
“Oh, dear… it seems I’ve lost my quill!”
Frédéric chuckled.
“It’s in your pocket.”
“Yeah! It’s in your pocket!”
Frédéric turned towards Hervé.
“Tu vas arrêter ça?”
Hervé looked down at his feet like a small child who had just been scolded for eating sweets before dinner.
“Oui, Frédéric.”
He mumbled.
Fidéle snickered.
Frédéric puffed up like a proud rooster at the sound of her chuckle, almost as if he had just won an award for silencing the younger boy.
Then a loud, bellowing bark echoed through the streets, startling the pigeons that had settled upon the roofs and fences of the surrounding houses.
Their heads snapped up.
Fidéle touched Frédéric’s forearm and looked up at him a bit uneasy, and he smiled softly down at her.
Poéte tilted his head in interest as he stared down the street, and Hervé looked up at Frédéric almost as if waiting for him to act first.
The barking came from house number 442 on Avenue du Lieu de Trahison.
Mrs. Thorne’s house.
Mrs. Thorne was a rarely seen old woman, just around the age of seventy, no-one knew her well enough to know her true age, with thin silver hair.
When she was out and about, she was often seen wearing pearl earrings, vibrant maroon lipstick, a threadbare navy blue shawl around her shoulders, and scuffed black flats on her feet.
She had been a widow for just about nine years and had no other living relatives.
No children, no grandchildren, no brothers or sisters, just… her.
This caused her to be terribly lonely, and so she had her dog, Doux.
Doux was a large Anatolian Shepherd whom most hadn’t seen due to the tall wooden fence around Mrs. Thorne’s small property.
Rumors had gone around that Mrs. Thorne was a witch of sorts who was raising a monstrous creature since no-one had seen the barking thing behind Mrs. Thorne’s fence.
Frédéric chuckled nervously as the barking quieted.
“There really might be a monster behind that fence!”
He exclaimed half-jokingly, his voice cracking slightly, his brow furrowed.
Hervé chuckled slightly too loudly.
“Indeed! There must be, Frédéric!”
Poéte laughed and rolled his eyes.
“All of you are ridiculous! It’s just a silly dog!”
Fidéle slowly turned towards him, shocked but amused.
“How do you know that?”
She teased.
“Because it barks and Mrs. Thorne talks to it like it’s her own child.”
He said a bit indignantly, crossing his arms over his chest and arching an eyebrow, a small smile playing at his lips.
Hervé turned to Frédéric.
“He does make a good point-”
“Chut, Hervé!”
Frédéric half-whispered to Hervé.
“I want to see where he’s going with this.”
He mused, grinning out of the corner of his mouth.
“Frédéric! No!”
Fidéle scolded him, her voice rising.
“You’re going to get us in trouble again like-”
She started to warn them.
Frédéric waved her off.
“Nonsense! What could possibly go wrong this time?”
He chortled amiably.
“Yeah! Nonsense! Nothing’s gonna happen this time!”
Hervé reverberated confidently.
Fidéle buried her face in her hands.
“Oh mon Dieu…”
She muttered.
Poéte gestured down the road.
“Oh please! You all must be joking! It’s only a talkative dog! I bet it’s a tiny little lapdog!”
Frédéric stood up straighter and rolled his shoulders back.
“Alright…”
He said slowly, glancing around at the others, enjoying the attention.
“We’ll see you tonight then, Monsieur La Malédiction.”
Poéte crossed his arms stubbornly.
He’d been in similar situations before.
They all knew Frédéric was about to do something reckless when he spoke formally.
“Where and at what time, Monsieur Tyran?”
Poéte purred, almost smug.
“The back fence of Mrs. Thorne’s house. Midnight. Deal?”
Frédéric said, stepping forward and extending his hand towards the younger boy.
“Poe, don’t you dare-”
Fidéle shouted.
Poéte watched Frédéric for a moment, nodded once decisively, and shook the older boy’s hand, ignoring Fidéle.
“Deal.”
A triumphant smile spread across Frédéric’s face and he grinned over his shoulder at Hervé and Fidéle.
“See you tonight, mon ami.”43Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLFMcMdheXT
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