Did a woman go off in a fit, he had bewitched her.
Did a child stray off for an hour, the mother shivered with the apprehension that Jean Poquelin had offered him to strange gods.

The house was the subject of every bad boy's invention who loved to contrive ghostly lies.

"As long as that house stands we shall have bad luck.

Do you not see our pease and beans dying, our cabbages and lettuce going to seed and our gardens turning to dust, while every day you can see it raining in the woods?
The rain will never pass old Poquelin's house.

He keeps a fetich.