At the end of the village, the old Cassandre lived in an even older house; After its meadow only frequented rabbits, the forest of Mercantour began.
She was called a little witch, a little psychic... a little crazy! We were getting tired of his predictions about time; Did she announce the rain? It was not uncommon for him to make big blue the next day. But when she raised her stick of noodles murmuring:
– One of you won't see Christmas…
We were looking forward to January!
One year, she had pointed her stick to Clement by doing a little « Goodbye! » hand; The whole village was out!
– She's really crazy about the old Cassandre! We'd buy him his health at the Clement!
Only, the Toussaint passed, we buried Clement, died suddenly.
In the village there was also a pretty little house surrounded by olive trees, a house in which, curiously, the inhabitants were uncomfortable; families were not staying there for more than a year.
– The windows must be closed to the west; This is where the winds come in and the Reaper who takes the soulssaid Cassandre.
We smiled... but we nailed boards on the shutters. And it worked! The Landolfi had settled, the happy years had succeeded the happy years... Frederic was born, the last of three brothers.
To celebrate his seventh birthday, his parents prepared a family holiday. The furniture was pushed, the table was enlarged, and the kitchen was turned on.
– Step aside, Frédéric!
- But Mom...
– I don't have time! Move!
Frédéric took refuge in the attic; He wouldn't bother anyone. He searched in the large trunk, moved the broken objects that were piled up for a still possible use although not certain...
– Frédéric!
The voice came from outside... The little boy climbed into the seat of an old broken chair, opened the skylight... the only opening that had been forgotten to condemn.
It is said that there was like a rumbling that shook the house, followed by a frightening silence... Lying on the ground, Frédéric had no more soul. There was no party and the Landolfis moved away from misfortune.
Today, the house is nothing more than ruins... but some villagers prefer to change sidewalks rather than walk along its walls. Others sign up when, at the cemetery, they pass the grave of the old Cassandre... you never know, don't you... Still others say that the days of great storm, in the vacarm of furious winds, we hear howling wolves... we also hear a complaint like the crying of a little child.
But there are so many things about Mercantour...
Author : Jeanne Monin