The villagers held a meeting, everyone came, and together they decided that a big group of strong men would go to the middle of the heart of the depths of the Mousy Mountains and attack the Werewolf in its lair.
Janus, the smith, led the way with a enormous sledgehammer. Behind him came the brave young men with scythes and axes and pitchforks and spears and swords and cudgels and bread knives. And bringing up the rear was the town clerk, because he was a cautious man.
They left early in the morning when the Werewolf was still asleep, and snuck up close to its lair. But the fiendish creature woke up anyway! First the most horrific roar came out of its cave, then a shower of sparks, and then the Werewolf itself. It stood there for a moment on its own doorstep, staring out with a gruesome look in its eyes. And when the men of the village saw it standing there, that beast with its murderous fangs, they realized that they were scared stiff after all! As if they had never planned anything else, they spun on their heels and ran helter-skelter down the mountain with their spears and pitchforks.