Free Nightmare in Burgundy by Jean-Pierre Alaux, Noël Balen Page A

He had a moon-shaped face, slightly flabby jowls, and thick bifocal glasses that distorted his face. His greasy hair was plastered to his skull. Robert Bressel’s nephew seemed to belong to another era. As he rose slowly, Bressel’s shoulders remained stooped, as if the centuries were weighing them down.
    “Hello, sir. May I help you?” His monotone voice exhaled dust and melancholy.
    “Hello, young man. I was sent here by your Uncle Robert. He interviewed me in Vougeot a few days ago, and he recommended that I meet you in order to—”
    “I know,” Pierre-Jean Bressel interrupted. “You are Mr. Cooker, aren’t you? He called me, and I have been expecting you, more or less.”
    “I was in the area for a meeting in Dijon,” Cooker lied with impressive composure. “I hope I am not disturbing you.”
    “Not in the least. I suppose that you want to talk about the events that have taken place recently.”
    “Absolutely. It seems that you have worked for a long time on the folklore of Burgundy and that you might be able to shed some light on certain matters for us.”
    “I do not know if I am able to help you, but I have, in fact, studied certain phenomena that come from legends or beliefs. Let’s say mysteries, if anything.”
    “Do you think that what happened to Adèle Grangeon might be in your area of expertise?”
    “I am just a historian and do not claim to be anything more, but it does seem to correspond with other events that took place long ago. It’s not the first time that snow has been found on a bed in a home where the furniture has also been moved, and dishes have been broken. There have been many instances of this sort, most notably one that happened in 1826 in the town of Pluvet. Many houses were found this way, with snow on beds and other furniture. The residents said the devil had visited them. Some even claimed to have been hit by rocks in their sleep.”
    “And what did that mean?”
    “We do not know any more about it.”
    The librarian pushed up his thick glasses, which had slipped down his nose. He smoothed his oily hair and extracted a file from a stack.
    “This dissertation deals with several other matters of this sort,” he said in a toneless voice that was beginning to irritate Cooker. “I will spare you the chapter on the haunted houses. There are so many of them. But one particular story might be noteworthy. Back in 1633, a Chrétien Bochot, who ran an inn on the Rue de la Bretonnerie in Beaune, was complaining of nightly disturbances. Each morning, he would find trunks and furniture turned upside down and dishes thrown on the floor. Luckily, in those days, dishes were made of pewter, so they didn’t break. But the noise must have been terrifying. He also said he heard things: whimpering, chains rattling, groans, and screams from the attic.”
    “So, what happened?”
    “After that, we don’t know.”
    “In the end, no one knows anything,” Cooker said, both disappointed and annoyed.
    “We suspect some things.”
    “But you don’t have a vaguely rational explanation?”
    “By cross-referencing, we have observed that there is always a child connected to the story, sometimes several.”
    “Could the children have been playing dirty tricks to frighten people? A little like the two young Bravart kids in some way?”
    “Not at all. It was just observed that children were in the vicinity. There are three more recent examples. In 1877 in Chauvirey, a man who took in a little girl from a social-service agency was the target of the same type of harassment. He heard scratching, footsteps, and a terrifying racket every night for several months. They called in a soothsayer, a sort of exorcist, who concluded that the noise manifested only when the child was in bed and that it was her spirit acting up.”
    “And there, same thing,” Cooker interrupted wearily. “You’re going to tell me that we know nothing more about it.”
    Pierre-Jean Bressel did not respond but rather