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“Lonely Troll”

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A long, long time ago there were was a cave in the side of a hill. This hill sat on the coast of Norway, in an area that was never frequented by visitors. Inside the cave lived a troll. The troll was not certain of how long he had lived, only that it had been a very, very long time. And in that time, no one had gone by his cave. There were sea birds that flew above, but they never made their nests close by him.

It might have had something to do with the way he smelled, although the troll was not very aware of his own stench. He had a large head and large hands, which looked even larger next to his small body. His feet were long and thin, and his skin could be described as grey and sickly looking. The troll spent most of his days outside of his cave on the beach, collecting pieces of driftwood and carving them into little figurines. There were horses and sheep and cows and pigs, and they filled the inside of his cave.

Although the troll had lived in his cave for a long time, he had once lived with other trolls inland. He had only been a young troll then, but he had loved his troll family and playing with his brothers and sisters. One day, his mother brought him a human infant for him to cook. The troll found himself staring into the infant’s eyes, and realized he did not want to kill the babe. This was not done in troll families. His father had insisted that he kill it, but he refused. Looking at him sadly, his mother announced that he would have to be banished. That was how he found himself to be living in the cave.

He survived by himself easily enough, for trolls can eat rocks and dirt. In fact, there was plenty of food for him. But he found himself so bored all the time! One night, the troll lay on his moss bed staring at his ceiling.

“I wish someone or something would come visit me!” he cried out, although all that answered him was silence. He sighed and went to sleep, not looking forward to another day.

In the morning, he woke up to the sound of something crying. He thought that he must be dreaming, but he ran outside anyways. On the beach in front of him was a bundle. He picked up the bundle, and realized that inside was a human infant! It looked tiny in his large, large hands. To the troll, it looked identical to the one he had been asked to kill, the one that had forced him to this cave. A small piece of paper was tucked into the side of its bundle, and it read: “please take care of me.”

The troll decided then that this baby would be his, and he would never let another troll try to eat it.

—Anonymous

“Trollrydning”

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Far into the woodlands that border Millifjord, it is said, there is a glade where trees grow no more. The glade is bordered by peculiar rock formations covered in smelly moss and shrubs and mildews. Townspeople called this glade Trollrydning, as legend told that the strange boulders had once been ancient trolls—now petrified by the sun. But these were children’s tales, and brave boys like Kili did not believe in them. So it happened, that one chilly autumn evening, right before dusk, Kili went out looking for dry bark. At the borders of the woodlands, he heard a rustle amongst the leaves. He gazed into the thick green foliage and squinted, but could not see a thing; he could, however, hear a strange crunching and crackling. Curious, as all young boys are, Kili followed the sound into the far deeps of the forest, into Trollrydning; he hesitated and thought of going back, but then, as clouds moved and the last ray of moonlight hit the glade, Kili saw a gigantic dead crunched-over tree in its midst. Happy to have found some dry bark, the boy ran with his little hatchet. As he approached the tree, however, he noticed that it was an odd one, which had the same smelly shrubs and moss growing all over its curved trunk. The boy climbed the warped tree trunk, but the tree screeched and rustled and lift a big deformed head up to reveal a huge troll who had been sluggishly napping and scratching in the midst of the gale! The troll grabbed Kili with its warty shrubby hand and examined the boy with its large slimy eye. Kili was as petrified as the boulders that surrounded the gale; then the troll huffed and slowly put Kili down and thought of him no more. Relieved Kili ran home, but as he ran, he thought that the troll seemed rather sad. So, Kili walked back slowly to where the troll stood moping in the midst of the glade. The boy asked the troll why he was so sad, and the troll, slowly and lethargically looked down to the boy and told him a long story.

The troll said that he and his family were cave trolls, and as such, had always lived within the mountains that surrounded Milifjorn and never knew sunshine nor wind. One day, his seven children, curious as all young trolls are, ventured out into the woodlands, and never came back. The troll searched for them in and out, through every tunnel in every mountain, until it found a little crack, only about the size of an oak, and thought perhaps its children had gone out. It looked far and wide in this strange woodland area, until it found the glade where his petrified children stood. He told Kili they were lazy and would not be woken up and so it came back every night to scratch their noses (since everyone knew that nose-shrugs were very itchy). The troll’s story prolonged throughout the night, as trolls spoke slow and sluggish, but Kili listened patiently. And so it happened, that by the time it finished its story, the sun came out and petrified the huge troll into stone as well. Kili felt sad about the troll, but then realized it would now be with his family for many years to come. So Kili came back to Trollrydning now and them, to scratch the trolls’ noses, until he grew up and thought it children’s stories and forgot all about it.

—Katia Fernández

“‘T’ for ‘Tea'”

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If one wanted to find a Spiddyock, and there were many reasons for such an inquiry, a great deal of searching was in order and it was likely to be an ordeal.

The Spiddyocks are the modest type. Their homes, the same design as one may find in a common suburb, are not concentrated in a “ghetto” sort of way. They are spread out. Intentionally. Not of their own intention of course, but by the Bureau of Spiddyock Management. If they had it their own way, they would live together in a “ghetto” sort of way away from the entire human population. But they would never tell you that, of course.

I sat down for tea with a Spiddyock, once. Earl Grey of course, but there was no honey. At first it struck me as strange; Restricting oneself to one type of meat, be it American, Canadian or Manchurian, and cutting out all other animal products. But with this Spiddyock, that was a personal choice that I found almost entirely respectable.  So I took sugar.

It wasn’t difficult to find this one. He was quite open about his practices. His culinary reviews had begun to acquire a following amongst the older generation and upon my call, he insisted I come to him for our interview.

The Human census bureau controls the Spiddyock’s food stamps. If the Spiddyocks were in need, at any time, of an extra arm or leg, the census bureau accommodates their need and put their “Federal Food On the Go” services into action. However, Bureau of Population Management (BPM) handles the main food intake for the Spiddyocks.

“They do keep us bogged down with all their legislation, but what’s food is food and we can’t complain if we aint hungry.” The National Government keeps a heavy census tally on the Spiddyocks’ food intake, which is to be logged and officially certified after every meal, according to the BPM (who declined to answer questions for this interview.)

This fine Spiddyock allowed me the spectator’s seat as he prepared his breakfast. He usually preferred a European for breakfast as the Westerners tended to bog him down later in the day because of their high carb intake. His spice cabinet was extensive.

The kitchenware consisted of one large Martha Stewart cast-iron cauldron.

Unfortunately, I was unable to stay for the eating of Breakfast as the Spiddyock’s family was soon to arrive and family meetings tended to usually end in another meal, of which I wished not to be a part.

The Spiddyock’s part in society remains essential as overpopulation is a constant threat. They have absorbed themselves into our culture while continuing to practice their own specific rituals while not under watch of the human eye. It is not likely that one may find such an open and social Spiddyock as I was fortunate to stumble upon, yet if any of you readers out there are ever granted with the pleasure of meeting one, don’t wear too much perfume and keep a positive attitude and you may be invited for lunch.

—Noah Cohen

Untitled

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One day, the weather is dark and it is cold. Rain is dropping down crazily. The wind is blowing and the door of an old house was moving back and forth. In this old house, a woman is lying on the floor in pain with cold sweat that was pouring down her face. She is preparing to give birth to a baby. She can feel the pain and it is getting worse. The sound of her moans has filled the house. She is now relieved, when she hears the cries of a baby. She hugs her baby. Darkness fills this house; she does not have clear view. At the moment when a big lightning bolt hits the ground, she sees her baby. When she sees her baby, she drops her baby down on the floor. The look of her baby has surprised her. Her baby has facial wrinkles like an old man, has one eye, and a hairy body. She holds her baby again, prays for happiness even though she realizes that her baby is cursed. She names her baby “Happy.”

As soon as happy is born instinctively, he knows himself that he’ll never cry. She raises her baby carefully, so as not to expose it to the people. As Happy grows up, he is concerned how he looks different than his mother, but does not question to his mom. Raising her child by not exposing it to anyone is a hard task. People have started to notice Happy, and people around her are calling her a witch. People are talking loudly about how this baby should be killed. People do not stop their criticism and even they throw stones at Happy and his mother. When happy’s anger grows bigger and bigger, his mother relieves him by saying “People will notice you that you are gifted, a gifted person in the future”. Her infinite love to happy make him happy. One day while he is helping his mom collecting some vegetables outside of the house, people throws enormous stones to happy and his mom. One of the rocks hits her head and she bleeds. People are calling her “witch” and shouting that she should die. When he reaches his mother, she says to Happy, “I’m so sorry, for making you mi

As time goes by, Happy becomes bigger and stronger. Happy grows 20 times bigger than a regular person. He goes to a village where people live and kills many people by smashing them. His anger grows bigger and bigger. Every time he sees people, he either smashes these people with a rock or throws them far away.

One day, Happy is sitting on the mountain looking at the lake. He sees his face that is reflecting on the water. He cries. He cries because he knows that his feeling does not get better by killing people. He wants a normal life. He wants to be happy like his name. He is lonely and sad. He misses his mother so much. He lays down on the mountain and looks up at the sky. He does not move for a long time. Trees start to grow on his body, and he becomes a mountain.

People call him “sad troll.”

We do not know when he will wake up.

—Ji Won Choi

“The Misjudged Tromsø Troll and the Helpful Norwegian Boy”

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Axel, a small boy who lived in Tromsø, Northern Norway, had just had his 16th birthday. He was well built for a young man of his age, and his crystal blue eyes glistened even in the darkest of winter nights. His mother and father owned a small bit of land tucked away at the foot of a large mountain facing the vast, mysterious Norwegian Sea. Axel would climb the mountain during much of his childhood, and look out across the empty waters in search of sea-battered Vikings on their exciting and eventful journeys. He dreamed of joining them one day.

But he knew his duty lay at his family’s home. He had to stay and help with the fields and cattle – his mother and father wouldn’t be able to do it alone. He could only day-dream of the far away places those ships could take him to. He could only dream of the lush, green forests, and freshwater springs that may be found on the other side of the mountain. His golden locks blew in the wind as he sat atop a small ledge protruding from the mountain. He looked across the sea and said thought to himself aloud, “One day, I will leave Tromsø and go on some great adventure.”

The rock beneath him began to tremble. Axel jumped up in surprise. He braced himself for the possibility of a bear or monstrous creature lurking behind him. No such creature appeared. He began to drop his hands at his sides, when the trembling started up again – this time much more significantly than before. The slab of rock that Axel was sitting on began to lift itself. Axel nimbly hopped into a near-by tree, frightened that a bear might be coming out from under the ledge.

The rock kept lifting itself up until it was standing vertically. A face, dotted with small boulders and shrubs, extended from the other side of the rock slab – the truly and utterly ugly face of a mountain troll. It had a large, drooping nose, and sad, half-closed eyes that seemed to have never seen the sunlight. Its mouth gnawed on a few falling sticks from the shaken trees above. Axel, still perched in the nearby tree, observed with awe-struck eyes. A gasp escaped from his small lips. The troll turned slowly to where the sound had come from. He brought a large tree-trunk arm up to his rock-slab forehead and scratched with his root-like fingers. He spoke with a deep, rumbling voice that shook the trees and gravel around him.

“Yes, I too would like to travel. To leave this desolate mountain in Tromsø and be one with the southern sea winds.” He looked Axel straight in the eyes and continued to gnaw on the branches and leaves protruding from his mouth, lazily and sleepily he slowed the circular motion of his jaw. Axel, still frozen with fright and surprise, only managed a muttered reply.

“Your-you’re… You’re a troll! You’re a Tromsø Troll! The beast – the beast that wanders the Tromsø hills in search for children and livestock!” His eyes widened and he gripped a nearby branch in case he needed a weapon.

“Alas, dear boy, I am not said creature. Your people seem to tell tales of enchantment and exaggeration. I am the Tromsø Troll, but I do not wander nor do I eat children and livestock. That would be rude and unhealthy. No, no. You are mistaken.” The Troll gave an exasperated sigh and turned to face the now-calm Norwegian Sea.

“If you are not the monstrous troll I’ve heard a great deal about, then who are you?” Axel crept down from his perch and approached the Troll, climbed up his rock-slab back and sat near a small shrub on the Troll’s left shoulder.

“I am the Troll of the Tromsø Hills, forever confined to this region because of my duty to the Bodojonk Trolls. It is my task to guard and protect these mountains from harm and danger. I must sit here and keep a watchful eye on the seas, take notice of any suspicious rustle in the leaves of my trees or the movement of the pebbles beneath my feet. I protect you and your family, your cattle and crops, from the Trondersky Trolls, of the Southern region. They hunt these lands. And they destroy anything and everything in their path on their search for food.” The Tromsø Troll spat out his chewed debris and sat back against the weight of the mountain behind him. Axel had to grab onto the Troll’s large tree ears so that he didn’t fall to his death.

“So you are misjudged? My people have thought you to be dangerous and harmful. We send out our best men to hunt for signs of you, for signs of trolls that may come and destroy our seaside village. I must tell them that these are lies!”

“You can tell them what you want, dear boy, but it will not free me of this duty. I must wait here. I am sworn to this mountain. I cannot leave as you one day dream to do.” He let out another long sign, and they weight of his breathe bent all the trees in the valley below.

“Then I, too, shall wait with you, friendly Troll,” Axel said, with a nod of his head.

“Do you really mean it?” The Troll stood up so suddenly that Axel fell to the ground, nearly landing on the jagged rocks below. The Troll swooped his large root-like hands and caught the boy just in time. He scooped him up towards his large, ugly face and spoke softly as to not blow him over with his powerful wind-breathe.

“You would stay here and keep me company during my watch? I am very lonely up here.”

“I will come up once a day, after I’ve herded my cattle, and keep you company until sundown,” Axel promised, with his right hand over his heart.

And this marked the beginning of an unusual – but beautiful – friendship between a small Norwegian boy, and a friendly Tromsø Troll. Today, you can see the Troll’s silhouette in the Tromsø mountains – a slab of grey rock protruding from the face of the cliff and a small human-like rock figure sitting on his left shoulder. Together, they watch the mysterious waters of the Norwegian Sea for unfriendly faces who may threaten their sweet, small town of Tromsø.

—Zoe Arthur

“The Modern Troll”

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Once upon a time there lived a hideous, grumpy troll under the Burrard bridge. He would yell emerge as soon as the sun came down and bombard passersby on their bicycles and on their roller blades and chortle and yell at them any abrasive sounds that would escape his slimy troll mouth. It was rumored he sold illicit substances to teenagers in exchange for pieces of raw uncooked steak of the best quality.  Parents of these children are very curious as to why their teens are coming home stinking like dead animals, their coats covered in a gooey slime. The only reason the troll lets these kids go scot-free is because he can count on them for raw juicy steaks. Kids never tell the authorities about the troll because they don’t seem to care much about public safety. They are mainly concerned with being rebellious, defying all social constraints placed on their by society and their parents in particular. This is perhaps the main reason why the troll hasn’t been found out or killed. The troll under the Burrard bridge is very selective with who he shows himself to. He is not like the other trolls in the world. His brain is more advanced than other trolls, perhaps a genetic mutation of the troll species. He is therefore able to discern between who and who he should not expose himself to. That is why he only fraternizes with teenagers, to keep himself away from the troll hunters. As the days go by, more and more teenagers are dying because of these crappy cheap troll drugs and the word is getting out. It shouldn’t be long before the authorities find out and someone steps up to the plate and hunts the Burrard bridge troll.

—Megan