Grandma's Cottage, the locals called it. It's proper name was The Down, because it sat on the edge of the woods and overlooked the chalk downlands before it. But the locals knew than when a kindly old woman moved into any old house to live on her own, you called it Grandma's Cottage. It was just what tradition demanded. Tradition also usually demanded that you were suspicious of any old woman who lived in a remote cottage by herself, but since Grandma was too old to do most things herself, there was little to be suspicious of. Her strawberry jam was quite excellent, and her chickens always laid healthy eggs, but then you could say that of anybody's jam or eggs and nobody would bat an eyelid.
What was suspicious was the fact that, despite the cottage being fairly isolated, it was never disturbed. It seemed like such an obvious target - a defenseless old woman on her own, with it's back to the dark woods... But no burglar dared set foot near the place, and the majority of the beasts and birds of the wild seemed to keep a wide birth from it. It wasn't anything wrong with the place itself, people agreed from a safe distance and with a cup of tea to keep their minds off it. No, it felt more like there was something lurking about the place, something ominous that watched and judged those who came and went. And it seemed to get worse during the winter months, tho nobody knew why.
The wolf who pushed his way into the cottage was new to the area, and either didn't know about the local whispers or didn't care.
It should be explained that the animals of the district were a lot smarter than most, and aside from being able to speak in rare cases, were more given to careful planning and thought. It had been three days since this particular wolf had last eaten, and in most circumstances he would have eaten the old woman up there and then without much thought. But he'd heard other rumours - about the granddaughter who came up from the village through the woods to deliver groceries, and tender young meat sounded much more appetizing. And he thought he knew a trick or two that would enable him to get close enough.
There were a lot of difficulties that came from having paws and no opposable thumb. Tying the old woman up was a bit of a struggle, since he wasn't very good with knots, but it was made easier by the fact that, for whatever reason, she didn't struggle much. Locking the broom cupboard was a little better, since he could just twist his jaws to turn the key, but keeping the old door shut with one paw proved an irritating business. And then, after fighting for at least ten minutes to get the nightgown and shawl on, he still wasn't sure if he had it right. Oh, well. Can't win them all.
He'd just crept into bed when he heard the knock at the door.
