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Authors: Bill Schweigart
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podium in a gray suit and jacket with no tie. She imagined he was in his late forties, but with his sandy blond hair and impish grin, it was hard to pinpoint. He was an amateur cryptozoologist—
Is there any other kind?
thought Lindsay—but he held court at the National Zoo whenever he wasn’t traveling. He was beloved among the staff, even though no one particularly believed him. Friday was a training day for the new docents, who heard lectures on everything from safety policies to care of the animals, and Severance was the final speaker. It always amazed Lindsay that the zoo allowed him to present to those who would give guided tours, but the director loved him and he was a bit of harmless fun, and he held attention with ease. After a long day of administrative training, who would not want to cleanse the palate with a PowerPoint presentation on Bigfoot?
It also did not hurt that he was a massive donor.
“The precise death count is disputed,” continued Severance, “but we do know that this was no fairy tale. Many, many attacks occurred, and the creature in question caused so much hysteria in the Gévaudan province of France that it even drew the attention of
this
guy,” he said, and an image of a painting of a bewigged noble appeared on the screen, “my esteemed and distant relative, King Louis XV.”
Severance offered his profile to the crowd, mimicking the king’s pose in the slide. He jutted his chin. The crowd laughed again.
“Anyway, the countryside was in such an uproar that King Louis rolled off his mistresses long enough to dispatch professional wolf hunters to kill the Beast of Gévaudan. After months of killing wolves, the Lieutenant of the Hunt, François Antoine, killed a particularly large wolf and declared victory. Some of the locals who had seen the beast or survived attacks corroborated specific markings on its hide and the villagers celebrated. Antoine stuffed the beast and returned to Paris a conquering hero.”
Severance tapped his pointer and the screen changed to another engraving of a stuffed wolf, regarded by a man in a tricorne, surrounded by a crowd of more men in long wigs and grandiloquent women.
“Who here has seen
Jaws
?” asked Severance.
All of the hands in the auditorium shot up.
“This would be the part of the movie when they catch the smaller shark and reopen the beaches.”
The crowd murmured in anticipation.
“Another beast attacks two children then goes on another year-and-a-half rampage. Finally, a local hunter, Jean Chastel, killed a second wolf. And legend has it that Chastel shot the beast with”—he reached into his breast pocket—“this.” He produced a small, shining object and held it aloft between his thumb and forefinger.
“A silver bullet.”
The crowd gasped.
“Our beast—and a French author with a flair for the dramatic—is where that little bit of lore originated. I’m inclined to believe that it wasn’t so much the composition of the bullet as its velocity, but that’s just me.”
He tossed it to an attractive young lady in the first row. She caught it.
“See? Harmless. But killing
this
wolf finally seemed to do the trick. This beast allegedly had human remains in its stomach. Reports of attacks stopped. And nothing bad ever happened in France again.”
Richard took a sip from a bottle of water and waited until the laughter died down.
“To this day, no one knows for sure what the beast—or beasts—was. It has been described as resembling a bear, hyena, wolf, panther, and any combination thereof, and as large as a horse. A long snout like that of a wolf, pig, or greyhound is another common feature of most accounts, with a long tail that the creature could use as a weapon. And, of course, fearsome teeth.
“The most widely accepted theory is that it was a pair of wolves or a pack of wolves. Other theories include mastiffs, boars, and hyenas. Theories also include hybrids, crosses between dogs or wolves. Even a mesonychid, a
Is there any other kind?
thought Lindsay—but he held court at the National Zoo whenever he wasn’t traveling. He was beloved among the staff, even though no one particularly believed him. Friday was a training day for the new docents, who heard lectures on everything from safety policies to care of the animals, and Severance was the final speaker. It always amazed Lindsay that the zoo allowed him to present to those who would give guided tours, but the director loved him and he was a bit of harmless fun, and he held attention with ease. After a long day of administrative training, who would not want to cleanse the palate with a PowerPoint presentation on Bigfoot?
It also did not hurt that he was a massive donor.
“The precise death count is disputed,” continued Severance, “but we do know that this was no fairy tale. Many, many attacks occurred, and the creature in question caused so much hysteria in the Gévaudan province of France that it even drew the attention of
this
guy,” he said, and an image of a painting of a bewigged noble appeared on the screen, “my esteemed and distant relative, King Louis XV.”
Severance offered his profile to the crowd, mimicking the king’s pose in the slide. He jutted his chin. The crowd laughed again.
“Anyway, the countryside was in such an uproar that King Louis rolled off his mistresses long enough to dispatch professional wolf hunters to kill the Beast of Gévaudan. After months of killing wolves, the Lieutenant of the Hunt, François Antoine, killed a particularly large wolf and declared victory. Some of the locals who had seen the beast or survived attacks corroborated specific markings on its hide and the villagers celebrated. Antoine stuffed the beast and returned to Paris a conquering hero.”
Severance tapped his pointer and the screen changed to another engraving of a stuffed wolf, regarded by a man in a tricorne, surrounded by a crowd of more men in long wigs and grandiloquent women.
“Who here has seen
Jaws
?” asked Severance.
All of the hands in the auditorium shot up.
“This would be the part of the movie when they catch the smaller shark and reopen the beaches.”
The crowd murmured in anticipation.
“Another beast attacks two children then goes on another year-and-a-half rampage. Finally, a local hunter, Jean Chastel, killed a second wolf. And legend has it that Chastel shot the beast with”—he reached into his breast pocket—“this.” He produced a small, shining object and held it aloft between his thumb and forefinger.
“A silver bullet.”
The crowd gasped.
“Our beast—and a French author with a flair for the dramatic—is where that little bit of lore originated. I’m inclined to believe that it wasn’t so much the composition of the bullet as its velocity, but that’s just me.”
He tossed it to an attractive young lady in the first row. She caught it.
“See? Harmless. But killing
this
wolf finally seemed to do the trick. This beast allegedly had human remains in its stomach. Reports of attacks stopped. And nothing bad ever happened in France again.”
Richard took a sip from a bottle of water and waited until the laughter died down.
“To this day, no one knows for sure what the beast—or beasts—was. It has been described as resembling a bear, hyena, wolf, panther, and any combination thereof, and as large as a horse. A long snout like that of a wolf, pig, or greyhound is another common feature of most accounts, with a long tail that the creature could use as a weapon. And, of course, fearsome teeth.
“The most widely accepted theory is that it was a pair of wolves or a pack of wolves. Other theories include mastiffs, boars, and hyenas. Theories also include hybrids, crosses between dogs or wolves. Even a mesonychid, a
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