The town of Vire, nestled in the valley of Normandy, sat in the quiet embrace of the evening. The wind had long since died, leaving a strange calm in its wake. The cobblestone streets reflected the last faint light of the sun, casting shadows that seemed to stretch longer than they should. The trees, standing like sentinels along the edge of the village, whispered nothing, as though holding their breath. A few villagers moved between buildings, their faces downcast and tired, their conversations kept to a hushed murmur.
There were rumors in Vire, whispers of a man who came in the dark. A man who charmed. A man who killed.
They called him the Snake Charmer.
He was known to walk into towns in the dead of night, bringing with him a haunting melody from a flute. At first, it sounded like any other tune, drifting through the streets with the wind. It was soft, almost inviting, a lullaby that played just loud enough to stir a feeling, but too soft to comprehend.
But there was something about it. Something unsettling.
It had started a few months ago. No one knew where he came from, or who he was, but it became clear, quickly, that he left death in his wake. People vanished from the village without warning, without any sign of a struggle. No one knew how they disappeared. Some thought it was a curse, others a trick, and some whispered it was something far worse.
In the middle of October, the townspeople decided they had had enough. The Snake Charmer had taken more than a few lives, and they were done with him. They locked their doors at night, stayed inside, hoping their own will would be enough to keep the darkness away. But it wasn't.
One evening, as the sun sank behind the hills and the chill of autumn crept in, the flute began to play again. It was a low, soft sound that curled through the streets. No one knew where he was, but they felt it.
Etienne, the innkeeper, was the first to hear it clearly. He had been cleaning the bar, setting out mugs for the night crowd. The soft strains of the flute drifted through the open window, cutting through the dull clinking of glasses and the low chatter from the few locals still seated by the hearth. His hand froze, the rag still in his grasp. He knew that sound. He had heard it only a week ago, after the disappearance of young Margaux. She had simply vanished from her home, and no trace of her had been found. No sign of a struggle. Just gone.
A cold shiver ran down his spine. Etienne turned and closed the window. The music, for a moment, seemed to stop, then picked up again, stronger. And then, it was gone.
It had become an unspoken rule in Vire to ignore the flutes, to pretend they couldn't hear it, but Etienne couldn't shake the feeling that this was it. The Snake Charmer had come again.
Outside, the streets were empty. It was nearly midnight, and the town had gone silent, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the trees. Etienne stepped outside, a lantern in hand, and walked into the square. His breath misted in the air, but the chill wasn't what made him shiver. It was the sense that something, something very wrong, was waiting for him.
The flute's song grew louder. He turned toward the alleyway that led to the old chapel, where the sound seemed to originate. His heart quickened, but he couldn't stop himself from following the music. He should have turned back. He should have stayed inside with the others, locked the door, and never opened it again. But his legs carried him forward, down the narrow, cobbled path that led into the darkness.
It was when he reached the chapel that he saw him.
The man sat on the steps, his legs crossed in front of him, his back to Etienne. His face was hidden beneath the dark hood of his cloak, and in his lap, a long flute rested, the end slightly raised to his lips. He played without moving, as if the music was the only thing keeping him alive.
Etienne stopped in his tracks, his breath caught in his throat. There was something unnerving about the figure, something that chilled him to the bone. It wasn't the music, not entirely. It was the stillness of it, the unnatural way the air seemed to hold its breath in his presence. The sound was hypnotic, drawing him in, wrapping around his thoughts. He tried to turn away, but his body refused. It was as if his feet were glued to the stones beneath him.
"Who are you?" Etienne managed to ask, his voice barely a whisper.
The man didn't respond at first, the music flowing on without pause. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, smooth like velvet, but there was an edge to it. "You want to know who I am?" The flute lowered for a brief moment, just enough for the question to hang in the air. Then, with a small, almost imperceptible smile, he added, "I am nothing. But I make you forget."
A strange pressure filled the air, like a storm waiting to break. The streetlights flickered, casting jagged shadows against the chapel walls. Etienne felt his heartbeat quicken as he tried to step back, but his legs didn't respond.
The man stood up then, slowly, deliberately. His movements were fluid, practiced, and each step he took toward Etienne felt like it was taking him deeper into some unknown abyss. The flute was silent now, hanging in the man's hands as if it no longer mattered.
Etienne tried to call out, but the words stuck in his throat. His limbs felt heavy, as though the weight of his own body was too much to bear. Panic clawed at him, but it was as though the air itself pressed down on him, suffocating him, forcing the air from his lungs. He could barely breathe, barely think.
The man took another step forward, his eyes now visible from beneath the hood. They were cold, empty pits, like deep wells that held nothing but darkness. Etienne felt himself stumbling backward, unable to tear his gaze away from those eyes.
And then, with a swift, sharp motion, the man lunged forward.
The last thing Etienne saw was the flash of steel.
The village woke the next morning to find Etienne missing, his lantern dropped in the square, its light still flickering weakly. The people searched, but there was no trace of him. No one would admit to hearing anything the night before.
They tried to stay inside, but the Snake Charmer never gave them peace. He came every night after that, always in the darkness, always with his flute. He never took anyone else in the same way. Sometimes he charmed them with his music, drawing them in slowly, like a snake coiling around its prey. Other times, he would just vanish into the mist, his haunting melody still lingering in the background, a reminder of what had happened.
No one knew how to stop him. No one dared to try.
And then, one evening, the music stopped.
The village was silent, too silent. The people were afraid to step outside, afraid to leave their homes. They huddled together, wondering if the charmer had finally gone, if they were safe.
But then, there was a sound.
The flute began to play again, but this time, it was different. This time, it was a melody twisted, broken, like a dying man's final breath. The wind howled outside, and the doors rattled, but no one dared open them.
The Snake Charmer had come again.
But this time, he wasn't alone.
In the center of the square, a figure stood. Etienne.
His face was pale, his eyes wide, but there was no recognition in them. He stood, unmoving, as the music filled the streets. His hand was stretched before him, fingers curled into an unnatural grasp, as if he was still holding the flute.
And in the quietest, most terrible moment, the Snake Charmer stepped out from the shadows, his flute raised once again.
And the town of Vire, for the first time, knew what it was to truly die.