Tag Archives: seemed

“Trolls”

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(For the full effect this should be read in a bad Brooklyn accent.)

As he stood outside the restaurant on the corner of 200 and 5th Joe Smart finished his fifth cigarette and made his way across the street to the back door of the shoddy Brooklyn restaurant. He could feel the sweat from his palms make the handle of the briefcase slide through his hand as he was crossing the street, as he walked through the door he was met by the largest Italian man he had ever seen.

“I- I’m here to see Marty.”

Joe stammered. As the Italian stared back at him with dead eyes he said “The fuck are you?”
As Joe didn’t have an adequate response due to his completely unassociated identity with these people he felt compelled to add a,

“…please?”

The man turned from him and called into the din behind him.

“Marty!”

Suddenly Joe heard a

“Yeah, I got some time.”

And was sent through.

Now Joe had heard stories of Marty Troll, what seemed like myths or legends even, he had always assumed they had been the construct of exaggerated gossip, as Italian housewives are prone to create. But what Joe saw before him now slackened his jaw and made all the stories seem that much more horrifying. Standing before Joe in the smoky back room was the ugliest man he had ever seen. Marty Troll seemed to be coated in grease, it started at the top of his head, combing over the few strands of dyed black hair into a cow lick all across his shinning round head, dripping down into the sweat drops that crawled over his face which one could hardly see due to the giant bulb of a nose that was jutting out of it, Joe thought he could smell the sweat seeping into Marty’s XXXL black t-shirt, it seemed like the fabric was stuck to his skin, forming into the deep folds in Marty’s belly. Joe could feel those beady black eyes staring at him but for the life of him he couldn’t shut his mouth, it felt like all the courage he had was seeping out of his gaping mouth leaving him with nothing but the accelerated beating of his heart pounding in his ears.

“There somethin’ in particular you lookin at?”

“N- n- no sir. I- I’m sorry.”

Joe stammered.

The room shook as Marty let out a deep-bellied howl of laughter. This both frightened and eased poor Joe who began to hesitantly laugh along with Marty, although Joe knew now what he hadn’t before, he was unsure of whether he could really go through with this, if this was really what he even wanted. But now he knew, after seeing Marty fuckin Troll he knew he was in way over his head and didn’t want anything to do with this kind of company. As he was trying to think of some excuse to leave the place Marty interrupted his thoughts with–
“So what is it you’re lookin’ for? I see you’ve got quite a nice briefcase in your hands there.”
Marty continued to chuckle through his words, Joe didn’t know what to say so he just nodded vigourosly.

“So tell me, I’m a reasonable man, you’ve obviously come here lookin’ for something, let’s do some business.”

Marty seemed truly genuine with these words, it eased Joe up and loosened his tongue,
“Well- well thank you, really, because you see the thing is, I- I thought I wanted
something, and so I came here, thinking I was looking for something”

“uh-hu”

“But you see that thing, that’s just not me.”

“I see”

Marty responded with a smile, which relaxed Joe even more

“yeah, yeah. It’s just, not. Who I am”

“I understand”

“You do? Really? That’s, that’s really fantastic, because I’m just not- y’know I’m not like this, I’m just-“

“Yeah, you’re a good kid, right? I can see that”

“y- um yeah.”

“I can see that, you. You’re good. I can see you. You think you’re good. You think you’re better-“

“wha- NO!”

“Do NOT interrupt me.”

Marty was glaring at Joe with those beady eyes, Joe unconsciously started backing away until he bumped into the wall. Cornered.

“You come in here, with your weasel fucking face and your god damned briefcase lookin like some punk out of a movie and you’re trying to come to ME. You? You insignificant little fuck come to me in my place of business and try to tell me that you’re better than me? Is that fucking it? What, because you got a damn desk job? Does that make you’re money better than mine? You think I don’t work as hard as you? What, you feel like “this isn’t you” like you got somethin’ fuckin’ better to do? What’s the difference between you and me, huh? I was born into my life and you were born into yours, I grew up this way, this if my family, while you were at college what exactly the fuck do you think I was doing? Even if I fuckin—“
And for a moment, Joe thought he saw something flicker past Marty’s eyes, just for a moment.

“Yeah… Yeah, well you know what. Not today kid. Today is not the day I forgive or forget, you came here for business, so let’s do some business.”

—P. Sehat

Untitled

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It was a long, long time ago when trolls moved in great numbers across vast Norwegian plains that Nora was only a small child, and was warned about their dangers. The youngest in a family of boys, Nora was a curious child, and enjoyed exploring the forests around her village.

One particularly shadowy night, Nora’s curiosity led her into the forest just behind the soft lights of her village. She didn’t dare tell any of the elders, as there were recent whispers of evil mountain trolls moving closer to the human villages, and she was forbidden from exploring at that hour. She innocently clutched a simple doll, made of straw, and braved into the mysterious dark woods. Mesmerized by giant canopy trees and the faint murmur of woodland creatures, Nora became easily disoriented. She was suddenly aware of her surroundings and how unfamiliar they looked as the light began to grow dimmer. Panic struck, and she grasped on to a thorny branch, scraping her palm, then stepped onto a slippery stone. Thud. She fell, onto the moist forest floor. Her head hit a larger stone, and she could feel the wind being sucked out of her. She looked to the forest ceiling just as her eyelids closed, one last glimpse the dark night sky before everything was black.

Hours later, Nora’s eyelids were heavy and it seemed that everything around her was spinning. Struggling, her eyes half opened to see watch a blurry, dark, forest rushing past her. Confusion swept over as she noticed that a large, bark-skinned creature appeared to be carrying her. With thoughts of trolls flashing through her head, Nora again slipped into a blackened consciousness.

Startled again, Nora awoke to two creatures that seemed to be arguing over her. One was large, stout, with blackened bark-skin and menacing yellow eyes, carried a sharply angled stone. Arguing with the creature was another, shorter companion, with dim purple eyes and a soft brown colored bark coat. She turned to Nora, cradled her in her arms, and with gentle eyes, whispered a spell in strange tongue that caused Nora to, again, slip into her dreamy state of darkness.

This time, when Nora opened her eyes, things were clearer. She felt better, her senses coming back to her, forming the familiar sight of a house hole in the dark night. As she slowly came back to consciousness, Nora realized she had been lost, deep in the unknown forest. But how had she gotten here, safely, back home? Confused, Nora turned just in time to catch the glint of two purple eyes watching over her at the edge of the woods. Quickly, the creature that they belonged to turned and disappeared back into the dark.

Nora, now one of the elders of her village, to this day believes that it was a mountain troll that saved her life that day, through her faint memories. Once a month, she leaves out an offering to them – three ripe figs and a dandelion – a troll’s favorite meal, along with her little straw doll. And every so often, just for a second, there will be the glimpse of those familiar purple eyes.

—Chloe Jung

“The Tale of the Not-So-Ugly Troll”

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In a mountainous Norwegian area lived a band of trolls. This group was no exception to the general rule that trolls were extremely ugly. They were big and disproportionate, with long arms, stumpy legs, and tiny heads that looked peculiar on their bodies. They had huge bulbous noses, yellow pointed teeth, and if they were lucky enough to have two eyes, they were too close together. If you could picture the most grotesque combination of parts in your mind, then that would be the “perfect” troll. The ugliest ones were also the scariest, and were the best at driving out unsuspecting humans who had wandered into troll territory. These humans often fled without taking their belongings with them, and so the trolls benefited from the food and other resources left behind. Thus, there was a troll hierarchy of sorts, with the ugliest trolls accumulating the most wealth.

However, there was one young troll who really did not fit in with the rest. Yes, he was still ugly, but almost comically so compared to the other trolls, and therefore he was quite an outcast. Most humans were even willing to fight versus flee when they saw him, and so he had a very difficult time stealing any of their goods. No matter how hard he tried to make himself uglier and scarier, nothing seemed to work, and so one day, this troll left home and began to wander through the mountains.

On the third day of his travels, he stumbled upon a small farm. He was very hungry but knew the chances of him scaring anyone enough to get any food were minimal, so he turned to go back the way he had entered. Suddenly he heard someone exclaim, “Hey!” He turned around and standing in front of him was a young boy, who was looking at him with a mix of curiosity and revulsion. “Wow!” the boy said, “Are you a troll? I’ve never seen anyone so ugly so you must be!” The troll was stunned by the fact that he had been called ugly. However, clearly he was not even able to scare a young boy, and this upset him so he said nothing.

The boy began to talk again, “I thought trolls were supposed to be scarier, have you ever scared anyone in your life?” The troll sadly replied that the only beings that had been truly scared of him were animals, and how miserable this had made his life. Noticing how sad the troll looked, the boy tried to think of something he could do. His face suddenly lit up and he said to the troll, “Wait right here, I have an idea!” He ran back towards the farm where his father was working in the barn and proceeded to explain his idea to him. Just the other evening, his father had been upset because yet another one of his goats had been eaten by a wolf that crept onto the farm. He tried his best to keep the herd safe, but nothing seemed to be working. The boy thought that maybe they could use the troll to scare off these wolves, and in return, they would feed him and give him an area of the farm to live on. The father was skeptical at first, but he was willing to try anything.

So the arrangement was made. And this troll, who had never felt useful in his life, was the perfect fit for the farm. He was not so scary that people on the farm had to worry, but the wolves certainly did. So goes the story of the not-so-ugly troll.

—Erika F.

“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

“An Unlikely Friendship”

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At fifteen years old, Svein knew he was the outcast of his village. Unlike the rest of his blonde, beautiful, pale-skinned Norwegian community, Svein had dark brown skin, big brown eyes and curly brown hair. His mere appearance cut him off from the rest of his peers.  As a result, Svein spent all of his time alone, wandering the vast Norwegian countryside.

One day, Svein was hunting down a slow, fat squirrel with his homemade spear, when suddenly there was a large “CRACK!” Before he knew it, he was hanging upside-down in a large hand-made net, swinging from a thick tree branch. He had unfortunately dropped his spear in the chaos, and was utterly without any tools to free himself. Svien didn’t even attempt to scream; he knew he was too far into the forest for anyone to hear him. But who had made this trap? Was it an enemy from another tribe, or one of his own?

Another “crack” echoed from below. Svein froze. Something resembling a large boulder rolled out underneath him. Svein stayed very still, watching. Suddenly, the boulder-shape unfolded into a large, lumpy, hairy troll. Now Svein couldn’t help but scream out of sheer terror. A pair of huge neon green eyes peered up at him, almost curiously. Then the troll spoke.

“Friend?” Svein didn’t move. The troll repeated himself, louder this time. “Friend? Friend? Friend?” Svein had to think quickly.

“Yes! Friend! Friend! Down!” Svein wasn’t sure how much Norwegian the troll spoke. A moment passed as they just stared at each other in wonder. Finally, the troll picked up Svein’s spear from the ground and slashed the net rope with one graceful swoop. Svein crashed to the ground, narrowly missing landing on top of the troll itself. Gathering himself, Svein stood next to the troll. Even at his 6’5” height, the troll towered over Svein by at least a foot.

“Come,” stated the troll. Svein decided he had no choice but to follow. After they quietly trekked through the forest for some time, the troll stopped suddenly. He pointed at a small squirrel squatting on a rock a few feet ahead of them. The troll aimed Svein’s spear at the squirrel, and pinned the squirrel against the tree behind it. “Dinner!” the troll exclaimed. He rolled over to the squirrel, unpinned it from the tree, ripped off an arm, and handed it to Svein. Svein hesitated, turning up his nose; he preferred cooked squirrel to raw squirrel with the fur still on. He took it anyway, however. The troll seemed to like this; he nodded excitedly and then shoved the rest of the squirrel into his own mouth.

They continued to hunt well into the evening. When it occurred to Svein that his mother might be worried about him, he told the troll he had to go. The troll’s eyes got wide and filled with tears. “Don’t worry, I will come back and hunt with you tomorrow! What’s your name?”
“It’s Gorg..”

To be continued…

—M. Cowley

“Troll Jerky”

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You know, not so long ago, over there in the hills on the other side of the bay, there was a family of trolls that settled into an old mine shaft.

In the summertime, some of the local kids would go over to the mine and dare each other to go further and further along towards the trolls’ den, which surely must have lain at the very end of the tracks, in the darkest part of the cave. The bravest boys and girls would creep deep down into the shaft until the daylight behind them was only a whisper, and the air grew damp and began to stink a bit of pork.

“Troll farts!” observed one girl. “They smell like bacon ‘cause the trolls have been feeding on mister Jensen’s hogs. They smoke ‘em, make jerky out of ‘em. But they prefer human jerky when they can get it!”

When they wouldn’t dare go any deeper into the mine, the kids might pick up stones and see who could throw one hardest and farthest into the darkness, closest to the troll family’s lair. Of course, all of the kids made sure that they were well on their way home from the hills by the time sunset came around.

One sunny Saturday, a group of girls and boys had crept as far as they would creep along into the mine and were throwing stones in the direction of the troll den. One large boy hurled a stone as straight and as hard as any boy could, and to everyone’s surprise, a cry of sharp pain echoed down the shaft.

“Ow!” shrieked a voice. It wasn’t much deeper in tone than the voices of the young girls, but it was enough of a shock to freeze every kid on the spot.

They seemed to wait silently and motionlessly for some instruction from someone. To run? To scream? To stand and fight the nasty, ugly brutes?

But before a decision could be made, a stone whizzed back up the mine shaft, striking the large boy sharply on an ear. He wailed horrifically and the kids bolted back towards the daylight.

All the kids ran back except one little girl, who lingered a moment, then dared to creep just a little further into the darkness. She had a sugar cookie in her pocket, baked that morning by her mother, which she now offered out towards the darkness.

A dainty, brown, fuzzy hand, almost the exact same size as the girl’s, reached out for the cookie. It didn’t snatch, but gently took the cookie back into the darkness. The little girl heard a soft crunching and munching, and even a polite groan of satisfaction.

“Mmmmm…” cooed the little troll in the dark. And before the girl knew it, the small fuzzy hand reached back into the light, and offered her back a slice of the most deliciously scented pork jerky she had ever caught a whiff of. And, you know, it was magic jerky! For as soon as the last bite of the stick was finished, another would surely reappear in the eater’s hand.

“Thank you” said the girl towards the darkness, and she went back down the tracks, out of the mine and home to her family.

Well, the bloody-eared large boy who threw the stone told his large dad who got all up in arms and eventually he had the mine blown up and caved in with dynamite.

It really is too bad, you know. But at least I got my piece of jerky! And one is really all you need.

—Matt Clarke

“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