"Two patrolmen killed in three nights." The old man whistled a sigh through his crooked teeth and leaned back in his rocking chair on the porch. Beside him, an elderly woman did not look up from her knitting. "I tell you, Madeleine," the old man went on self-righteously, "it just ain’t right that a feller can’t walk from his front porch to his neighbor’s home without worryin’ about some rangy wolf jumpin’ out at ‘im."

"Paul," the old woman reprimanded him softly but sternly. She looked at him crossly over the silver rims of her spectacles. "Keep your voice down. The children haven’t been in bed long enough to be sleeping. Don’t give ‘em nightmares."

"It ain’t nothing to be nightmarin’ about!" the old man trumpeted and slapped his thighs with his hands. His pipe toppled from his mouth and clattered to the ground. "A man’s got a right to be angry ‘bout the injustices done to ‘im, don’t he Maddie? Don’t he?"

A patient sigh. "Yes, I suppose he do, Paul," Madeline said with a placating smile. She continued her knitting as the old man sulked and grumbled.

Two boys and a girl sat huddled together in the loft of the cottage, staring out the dusty glass window at the evening sunset. One of the boys had his ear pressed against a crack in the wooden frame of the wall, straining to hear the conversation outside. The girl watched him eagerly.

"What’re they talkin’ ‘bout, Graham?" she whispered, but the boy flailed a hand at her and hissed, "Shh, Naddie, I can’t hardly hear!"

The second boy wiped a small circle of the window clean and peered out it curiously. The girl, Nadine, crawled over to sit beside the boy, peeking out as well. "Whatcha lookin’ for, Pete?"

"One of them wolves Grampa was talkin’ to Grandma about," Peter answered and squinted into the opaqueness of the falling night. Nadine scooted closer to her older brother and shivered.

"I don’t like wolves much, Pete," she whispered nervously. "You heard about what they done to Mr. Tucker’s son down the ways a bit, doncha?"

"Ben, y’mean? Yeah!" Graham answered, sitting up with a wide grin spreading across his freckled face. "I heard one ‘a them wolves got at ‘im and tore him up real good—"

"Shut yer face, Graham," Peter interrupted at the sight of Nadine’s horrified expression. "Don’t you talk about stuff like that as if it’s one ‘a yer stories."

"Aw, you know I don’t mean no harm in it, Pete," Graham said in a whining tone. "It’s not as if old Tuck can hear us any how, right?"

"It’s not a very gentlemanly thing to say," Nadine commented primly, struggling on the long word. "Grampa says that gentlemanly boys don’t talk bad ‘bout dead people."

Graham grinned slyly. "I guess that means I ain’t the gentlemanly type then, don’t it Naddie?"

"Nope," Nadine agreed with a sneer and glared at her brother. "It means you’re a naughty scoundrel—"

Outside, a long, mournful howl caused Nadine and Graham to temporarily silence in their arguing. They squeezed against the window beside Peter and stared out into the woods.

Seconds later, they heard the front door slam shut as their grandparents hurried inside. The barking of the family hound intermingled with the hushed voices of the old folk.

"Paul, get yer gun."

"I ain’t gittin’ my gun, Maddie!" Paul replied irritably. "The ol’ wolf ain’t here yet, is he?"

"I’m not goin’ to risk my chickens, Paul," Madeleine sternly retorted. "Now git yer gun and go sit out on the porch!"

"All right, all right, no need to get smart about it…"

"I’m goin’ upstairs to check on the babes."

"Quick!" Peter hissed and scrambled into his cot on the wooden floor. "Pretend yer sleepin’!"

Graham and Nadine scrambled into their beds, pulled the covers snugly around them, and closed their eyes just as the light from Madeleine’s candle filled the doorway. The old woman squinted into the room and whispered, "Are you awake?"

Silence. Graham gave one loud snore and rolled over in his bed.

Madeleine sighed softly, a placid smile playing at the corners of her mouth. The children had come to her as babies when their parents were killed in an accident. Madeleine had taken their mother’s death hard, for she had been her only daughter. There was no question that the children would be raised in her household.

Peter had been six when the incident occurred, old enough to understand that his mother was dead and could never come back. The two younger ones, Graham at three and Nadine at two, soon forgot their parents and never thought of them.

Madeleine could see the pain in Peter’s eyes even now, at thirteen. He would never recover.

Quietly, she turned from the room and closed the door. When the latch clicked into place, Graham sat up, threw his covers back, and ran over to the window, Nadine hot on his heels.

"D’you see it, Graham?" she whispered, pressing her face against the glass. "Y’see the wolf yet?"

"Nah, not yet," Graham answered, disappointed. He wiped more dust off of the window. "Check along the forest line. I bet that’s where it’s gonna show up."

"How d’you know?"

"Well where else is it gonna come from, stupid? Y’think it’s just gonna jump out of the air or something?" Graham frowned when he noticed his brother was still in bed. He looked over at Peter’s cot. "Hey Pete! You not gonna watch fer the wolf with us?"

Peter sat up slowly and rubbed his eyes with his palms. He yawned and shook his head. "No, I think I’m gonna sleep. If you see somethin’, wake me up."

"You not feelin’ well, Pete?" Nadine asked in concern.

"Just a little tired, I guess," Peter answered in a distracted tone as he lay back down. Nadine frowned, but immediately forgot her brother’s lethargy as Graham exclaimed, "Naddie, look’it at the forest line, I think that’s it!"

Nadine squinted into the darkness for a moment, her excitement making her blue eyes light up like crystals. Trotting out of the forest was an ebony figure, two red rubies stuck in its forehead for its eyes. Sudden fear gripped her and she scrambled to her feet, backing away from the window. "Graham, I think we should tell Grampa," she whispered feebly.

"Aw Naddie, it ain’t gonna do you no harm," Graham reassured her, grinning. "We’re inside, ain’t we?"

A gunshot rang out, followed by the high pitched yelp of a dog. The wolf sprang back from the porch favoring its left front paw. Peter threw back his blankets and stood up, his heart pounding.

"Somethin’ ain’t right," he murmured uneasily. Nadine hurried over to him and hugged him tightly around his waist; her fear was practically tangible. He draped one arm around her shoulders in an attempt to placate her. "Graham, git away from the window," he said sternly.

"Pete, the wolf is outside," Graham insisted stubbornly, furrowing his dark brows and pursing his lips stubbornly.

"It don’t look normal," Peter retorted and tightened his arms around Nadine as yet another gunshot rang out in the night. The wolf snarled in outrage; Peter saw the black creature streak across the grass towards the front porch. Towards the old man.

"Grampa!" Nadine wailed just as the front door slammed shut. Not even a second later, there came a loud crash as the wolf collided with the wooden door. It snarled wildly and clawed at the door, gnashing its teeth against the walls in a desperate attempt to rip into the cottage.

Madeleine, Paul and the family hound came bounding up the stairs seconds later. "So much for yer chickens, Maddie," Paul grunted as he struck a match and lit a candle. The loft was softly illuminated, revealing the worried faces of the children. Madeleine ignored her husband’s comment and hurried over to Nadine, who was crying uncontrollably.

"Come here, precious," she whispered soothingly and took the girl from Peter’s arms. Nadine wrapped her arms tightly around Madeleine’s neck and sobbed into her shoulder as the old woman gently stroked the girl’s back, cooing, "It’s all right, love, everything’s going to be just fine…"

"C’mere Cody," Graham called nervously to the hound. The dog wagged his tail and ambled over to the boy happily. Graham knelt down in front of Cody and wrapped his arms tightly around the animal’s thick neck.

Downstairs, the wolf continued thrashing itself against the door; the violent sounds were barely muffled by the thick wooden walls. While Madeleine tucked the children into their cots and tried to knit, Paul kept a silent vigil beside the window, watching, waiting, listening. Peter sat up straight in his bed, watching his normally eccentric grandfather’s grave features. The old man puffed quietly on his pipe.

He looked at where Graham and Nadine were sleeping close together, the hound Cody nestled in between them. Nadine held onto the animal’s coat and buried her face in its fur; Graham had one arm wrapped tightly around Cody’s middle. They felt safe, secure. Nothing word hurt them if Cody was near.

Peter would have given anything to feel that sort of security again.

An hour passed, and at length the wolf’s fury faded. With one last low, guttural growl, it stalked off into the forest, limping from the bullet wounds to its shoulders. Paul watched it go with growing uncertainty blossoming in his heart. Peter swallowed; his whisper was unusually loud in the silence of the loft. "What’s wrong with it, Grampa? Why’s it want to hurt us?"

Paul was hesitant in answering his grandson’s inquiry. He watched the forest line sagely, his eyes growing steadily distant. At last, he sighed slowly and murmured, "Some questions, Peter… they just ain’t that easily answered. I got the answers to lots ‘a questions, m’boy. But this one… well, I’m afraid I just… I just don’t know."

Silence. Peter looked down at his hands; they had twined themselves in the blankets nervously. He closed his eyes and lay back on his cot.