Once upon a time there was an old man and old woman who had been married for 58 years and lived in a little cottage deep in the wood. The old man had developed a nasty habit of gambling away every penny, and even every thing, they ever had. When he had run out of money to wager, he offered up their horse, which rightfully belonged to his wife, and ultimately lost it to his oppenent. The small cottage was nearly bear from the losses over the years and never any money to replace things lost or broken.

The old woman, who never had a child to call her own, had one delight left in the world. She had a lovely doll collection that dated back as far as 250 years that had been passed down from her great grandmother to her grandmother to her mother and, finally, to the old woman herself. And while they were poor, she would not sell a single doll for, to her, each one had a life all it's own. They were more valuable than money in her heart. 

The old woman, dressed herself in rags, a shabby coat and no umbrella on this late October afternoon while the rain came down in buckets and an uncomfortable chill had settled in the air. She walked 8 miles to town in order to buy, barter or beg for food. She cursed the flapping sole of her left shoe that allowed the mud to ooze in with every step and her socks were soaked through. She cursed the old man for being a sluggard, sitting comfortably by the fire, at home reading yet another book, while she trudged through the cold rain to fetch food that he too would enjoy.

Eight miles is a long walk for an old woman, so she had much time for reflection. She thought of her life; how different it was before she married. She wondered why she hadn't left early on, for the purpose of self preservation. "To have and to hold until death do you part," she mumbled bitterly, "after all, a promise is a promise."

On her way back home she was thankful not to have an umbrella for it would surely have been cumbersome to carry along with her groceries.

She veered off the path, deeper into the wood, to check on her fox traps. After a few moments of looking around for the landmarks in the wet and muddy terrain, she finally located the hole she had dug and covered with thatch. "I could have fallen in," she said to herself, " I had better set a marker so that I can be sure to avoid such a fate for surely that old codger would never come look for me and I would lay in a hole till my death."

The old woman stabbed a small tree branch she found lying nearby, into the muddy ground in front of the pit. She removed her white head scarf and tied it onto the stick. She then picked up her lot, having had no luck with her traps, and continued on into the woods to pick up a shortcut path to the cottage.

The old man was fast asleep by the fire with his book over his face, snoring like a fattened sow. The old woman nudged him aside with her foot but he didn't wake up so she let the inner contents of her shoe drip onto his chest. The old man jumped up and did not become irritable by the gesture, but rather began scurrying around the kitchen putting away the goods and preparing the cook pot for their evening meal over the fire.
 

The old woman warmed herself by the fire, watching the old man's suspiciously helpful behavior carefully. He made merry conversation as was also very much unlike him to do, "Have I ever told you how lovely that dress looks on you, dear? The color is so very flattering. Why you look just like a school girl."

When the old woman's clothes were sufficiently dry, and since the old man seemed to be taking care of the evening meal, she went about dusting her doll cabinet by candle light as dusk had already arrived. She delighted in the automated doll that sits at a desk and when the key in the back of the chair is wound, he moves his quill gripping hand from left to right as if he is writing, the oil lamp on his desk lights up and then he pauses a moment, placing his other hand to his chin as if he is pondering his next thought, then continues to write.

She located the key wind and started him in motion. When he finished his writing task the old woman moved on to dust and arrange other dolls in her cabinet.

She paused. "Where is the French Bebe that was my grandmother's first doll?" She moved some dolls around to see if it had fallen down under another doll.

"Eh, what's that," the old man asked, nervously.

"The French Bebe that belonged to my grandmother. The one with the chipped tooth. I can't find it," she said turning back to the cabinet now searching frantically.

"What's it look like," the old man said wringing his hands.

The old woman knew full well the old man knew which doll she spoke of. Before he became a total waste of space he'd had a woman in town sew 3 different outfits for it because it was the old woman's favorite of them all. The old woman turned slowly to the old man and pointed her feather duster at him, "YOU!" She accused, "YOU DIDN'T..."

The old man now holding up both hands in surrender, said, "Now, now dear, I promise..... I'll get it back for you. I have a game with Ned in town around midnight in his basement. I'll get it back for you tonight even if I hafta cheat to do it."

The old woman burst into tears for she knew the old man was never good for his word and what's worse, he was the worst card player alive, even when cheating.

Later that night the rain still pounding on the roof and tapping at the windows, the old woman emerged from her bedroom for the first time since discovering her latest loss. She poked at the fire and told the old man he needed to take the short cut to the main path. "And please bring back my white head scarf. I left it by a tree when I stopped to wipe the mud off my shoes today and forgot about it," she said.

The old man agreed to do as she had requested. He took his oil lamp and set out into the darkness, while large drops of rain threatened to extinguish his light, and headed for the shortcut path.

The old woman set a kettle of water to boil for some hot cocoa, then went out to the shed to fetch the snow shovel. She walked along the shortcut path in total darkness until she came upon a light in the ground. Just beyond it was her head scarf, still tied to the branch. She began to poke and dig at the hill of mud next to her fox hole now illuminated by the old man's lantern. The mud began to ooze and slide down the hill. She helped it make the leap from hill to hole with her shovel. Soon the lantern light was snubbed and when the hole was filled the old woman untied her head scarf from the branch and placed it again on her head. She pulled the stick from the ground and reached for the shovel that she had leaned against the tree to head back home.

But the shovel was no where to be found. She finally gave up the search in the darkness opting to come back in the morning for it. When she returned home the kettle whistled and she drank a nice cup of hot cocoa in front of the fire. As she sat nodding in her chair, she heard a "squish" sound behind her. The sound of a soggy shoe having the weight of it's owner's foot placed upon it's sole. She froze, but before she could turn around to see the old man standing behind her covered in mud with a murderous rage in his eyes, he raised the snow shovel and whacked the old woman's miserable life right out of her body.

The old man took a swig of bourbon, buried the old woman in the same grave she had meant for him, went back to the cottage, cleaned up, went to bed  and fell asleep straight away. He was awakened, not long after, by the sound of a baby crying and when he opened his eyes he saw the old woman standing in the doorway of the bedroom. She was soaked through, her hair in a stringy long mess hanging in front of her face, obscuring her features.

The old man was horrified when the old woman crossed the room at lighting speed in a squatty sprint and was suddenly nose to nose with him. "Till death do we part," she whispered, then smiled a hideously evil grin. Her pupils dilated to the full size of her irises making them full on black. The old woman opened her mouth like a snake with an unhinging jaw and swallowed the old man up.

The End