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Once upon a time in a magical kingdom lived an ugly, lazy and bad tempered troll named Meekawl. Meekawl didn’t care much for anything and especially hated taking baths. His body odour could burn one’s nose off from miles away. It was why many of the animals in the forest had run away, lest they end up like the others who had strayed too close to him and dropped dead.

One day, when Meekawl was out hunting for his favourite food, speckled red cap mushrooms, Meekawl noticed something odd. Someone or something, had been digging up the little patches of fungi and devouring them whole. This made Meekawl very angry as eating his favourite mushrooms was one of the only joys he had in life. Mind made up, Meekawl set off to find the one who had dared to take what was his.

A distance away, a princess named Bianca, who was completely doused in a thick cloud of perfume and thus immune to Meekawl’s hideous troll stink, was on her way back to her castle after a day of horseback riding. Feeling uneasy at the complete silence and isolation of the area she had wandered through, she noticed a huge black shadow overtake the light of the sun. Turning slowly to look over her shoulder, she glimpsed a green hideous face, mouth full of what looked like red mushrooms. Before Bianca could open her mouth to scream, a large ugly fist slammed so hard into the face, propelling the monster far away and rendering it dead.

“TAKE THAT YOU DUMB MUSHROOM THIEF!” Roared the owner of the fist.

Gasping, Bianca being a well brought up princess quickly tried to express her gratitude.

“Oh! Thank you so much for saving me! Since you have done such a good deed, I will grant you entry inside my palace despite my no ugliness allowed rule. Aren’t you lucky?”

Turning to glare at her, Meekawl snarled, “NO THANKS. I DON’T LIKE PEOPLE.” Looking down his large bulbous nose at her he sneered before walking back to his forest. “YOU SHOULD THINK ABOUT TAKING A BATH. YOU STINK.”

—Michelle Shieh

“Trowling”

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Every few years, the trolls living in the gorge next to the valley Eyren put on a competition among the adolescent trolls. The competition was an important one, as it decided which of the young trolls would be chosen to partake in the troll games. What are the trolls games you might ask? Only the most prestigious event for all the trolls of all time! Rock throwers of all size and skill wished to be a part of the troll games, for they all wished to throw rocks at the human town of Eyren over the hill. They all strove for the honour and glory of bashing down as much of the town as possible, yet the honour was only bestowed upon the mighty.

Why stop anyone from the rock-tossing joy, one might wonder? For the pesky humans had a tendency to try and ruin their fun, shooting fiery arrows and cutting them with swords and even, horror of all horrors, trying to coax them out into the sunlight. Such as it were, the games were too dangerous for the youngest trolls, and Troki was not allowed to compete. His older brother Trokar was the most impressive of the teen aged trolls, he was the tallest and strongest of them all, with giant hands that could toss a boulder as far as another troll’s rock! Yet Troki wanted nothing more than to compete with his older brother, why should any self-respecting troll be deprived of destroying human homes?

Thus as night settled in, the games began and the trolls tossed rocks one by one at the human village. It was no surprise that Trokar’s boulder was the first to hand a crushing blow to the human settlement. As the cries went up, of humans in terror and trolls in celebration, Troki snuck in and took his place. With a great cry he sprinted forward, carrying a boulder that was much too large for him to handle. Just as little Troki was about to toss, he looked to his brother Trokar, who shook his head in dismay knowing his little brother would never be able to throw such a stone. Yet with his head turned, Troki did not see the ledge in front of him and slipped, tumbling and bouncing wildly down the hill towards the human village. Trokar shouted yet Troki could not be stopped, smashing and crashing down the hill with a fury, arms still wrapped around the boulder as he gained speed with every bump and blunder. The trolls looked on in shock as the blur that was Troki smashed into the first building of the town, and, to their shock and wonder, destroyed it along with the next! Troki did such wonderful damage to the town that is was then that the games were changed. And thus, my friends, is how Trowling was invented.

—Christine Sherrington

“The Trolls Up In the Mountain Cave”

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Long, long ago, in a cave upon a mountain overlooking the small town of Flåm, Norway, lived a family of trolls. The trolls could see much of the town from the edge of their cave, but from the town one could not see the trolls peering down. In fact, nobody living in the town of Flåm had ever seen one of these trolls, nor did they know of their existence. For if someone had seen one, the absolutely gruesome appearance would cause a shriek loud enough to wake the entire town. Word of these ugly trolls would spread fast, and the town would live in fear.

The trolls were about double the height of the average human, and five times the weight. Their skin was rough and wrinkled, like an elephant, with the occasional large wart – one that a human could not help but to stare at in disgust if ever to see. Their dark eyes were sunk deep into their skull, and their ears, which were oozing with a sticky, grey earwax, took up much of the side of their head. And their hair was located in sparse patches all over.

One day, the sun was shining bright over Flåm, and the children of the town were out on the field playing and running in the sun. Up in the cave on the mountain, the youngest of the trolldren had awoken and went to the edge of the cave. He looked down upon all the children playing. Now, most human children would want to go and join in the games; however, trolldren were different. The little troll wished he could go ruin their games.

The rest of the family was still fast asleep as it was the norm for trolls to sleep during the day. So the littlest troll sat at the edge of the cave, and continued to watch the children play games in the town below. Mother had always told him, in her deep and booming voice, to never go out in the sunlight. She had always warned that if he were to go in the sun he would turn to stone.

That had scared him enough when he was really young. But, the young troll had never seen another troll turn to stone before. As he watched the children even longer he thought to himself, “those children haven’t turned to stone.” Perhaps it was all a lie; maybe trolls don’t turn to stone in the sunlight.

Maybe the troll was just imagining it, but he thought he could hear the echo of the children’s laughter down below. That was it. He had to go and ruin the fun! The troll jumped up and darted out the edge of the cave, planning to head down the steep slope of the mountain to the town. He moved as fast as he could.

The instant sunlight shone on his rough, wrinkled skin, he turned to stone.

The story does not end here though. The stone troll was on such a slope that it tumbled all the way down the mountain. It was loud as it tumbled and shook the entire town of Flåm. The people of the town ran over to see what had caused such a racket. The townspeople of Flåm shrieked when they saw the still intact stone troll.

—Angela Johnston

“Arni and the Golden Whale”

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“Father, what is it that you were saying to that man?” said Arni to his father.

Asmar replied: “Ahhh my son, it is no mere ‘child’s-play.’ For, a place of darkness, gloom and foul odour there is at the end of the Suðureyrl fjord, on the outskirts of our lands. It is said, in the winter, that the shores of Suðureyrl are rank with the scent of death and that no man who wanders the shores in the frigid darkness will be spared of the malevolence that is home to those lands. Agdi, the Troll, looms in the fogs of the sandy shores. Heed your father’s wise warning! Try your luck at the herring, through the ice, and our family will survive this miserable winter by Odin’s grace.”

Arni proclaimed, “Father, surely he will keep my soul safe as I fish those treacherous waters and land my anchor upon those shores. I share my father’s blood, and his father’s before him. We are descended of the noblest lineage and fear non-other than Thor himself. I hold a golden knife that the first borns of our lineage have carried since the start of time! There are many fisherman in these waters, and our stock has been looted by the thieves to the east. I must travel to Suðureyrl to make landfall and catch the great Golden Whale named Sigríður. If we hope to survive this winter I must catch Sigríður and trick her into revealing where all the fish in our oceans have gone.” “Good-bye father. Wish the gods to favour me on my travels.” Said Arni.

Two weeks have passed since I last witnessed the resonance of my father’s words, since I last saw my sweet sister. The journey has been treacherous, my guts are tormented by hunger and the cold has slipped deep into my bones. At last I see the edge of Suðureyrl fjord, with a deserted coast, inhospitable and jagged. I see into the distance, there looms a fog. As I approach, I am overcome with the sense that I am not alone, nor that I am welcome in these waters. The fog grows thicker as I approach the final stretch before the shore. It is such that I can hardly see my own hands gripping the paddles. It is only now, that I recall my father’s heeding words, but I cannot turn back.

At last, my hull drags upon a gravel shore amongst a canyon of towering walls. I see just enough to make out the grey hued outlines of trees, unusually large and tall. I am unaccustomed to seeing any trees in Iceland. It is nearly dusk, so I make a small fire and shelter below a large boulder. I close my eyes and let my dreams take me.

As I wake the next morning, the fog has receded up the steep slopes, the arctic sun has poked through and thawed the beach creating a mist rising from the sands. It is time for me to start my search for Sigríður. I begin by following the shoreline along the sides of the inlet. Scoping across the calm water looking for her golden shimmer below the ripples.
I remembered, long ago, that a sailor once told me that whales are mystical creatures and they only appear when they want to be seen. I waited, and searched, and waited and searched, yet nothing appeared and dusk was upon me once again. I returned to my shelter, but when I returned, I saw footsteps coming out from the ocean. They were ten times the size of my own, and they left a trail of residual putrid slime. It occurred to me, as I stood still in my tracks, that I couldn’t even take another breath. My worst intuitions were correct.

After regaining control of myself, I quietly returned to my shelter, made a small smoldering fire, and rested my legs. I coursed over, in my head, what this troll is that walks these shores, and what I will do if I encounter its foulness before me. After many hours my eyes pulled shut.

In the morning the fog was dense, the air cold, and the sky occluded. I had forgotten what transpired the night before until it shocked me awake. I peered around and saw nothing due to the dense fog. I walked to the seashore to wash my face, and as I bent over I saw a golden shimmer, just across the bay near some rock outcroppings. I frantically ran to where I saw the shimmers. As I got closer, I was able to make out the shape, it was indeed what I was looking for, the great Sigríður. I approached, and asked, “great Sigríður, I have come far to seek your wisdom! Why is it that there are no fishes in our waters?… where can I find them to feed my family?”

Sigríður replied in a rhythmic voice: “Arni, I’ve watched you come, and watched you search the cove from point to shore, but these deep waters hold more than you and me. Your lust for knowledge intrigues me so, listen to my words and listen well. One night more you will walk these shores, for when fog reaches the forest edge, you’ll receive that which you came to find.” As soon as Sigríður’s last words trickled from her mouth, she was gone as if she was never there.

I have heard stories of whales telling sailors of mischievous trickery, leading them on treks across Iceland only to meet their death. I was upset that I failed, but I had a sliver of hope that Sigríður spoke truth, hidden beneath her twisted words. I returned to my shelter to wait, and waited I did until the sun showed its last ray and slipped below the horizon. No sooner, did the fog come cascading down the slopes amidst the giant trees and ferns that, unusually, all the forest had become absolutely silent. It felt as though there were forces at work in these forests that had no business among men. I grew tense, and held my golden knife, gripping the handle with a cool sweat.

A foul odour was coming from the water’s edge. By now, the fog had just passed the forest and made its way across the beach to the water on the shores. I stood in wonder before a vulgar looking beast, covered in hair and kelp, slowly walking out of the water. It was massive, nearly the size of a whale. It could be no other than a Sea Troll, the one my father warned me of! I was ready to fight, I knew there was no running away, and nowhere to hide. I now knew what Sigríður was eluding to. If I was to find food for my family, I must confront this troll and find what I came for. I jumped from my shelter and yelled at it. “I am Arni, I am seeking you, troll. Who are you?”

The troll, lumbered forward and yawned. Then, with his foul smelling breath, he said in a low pitched tone, “I am Agdi, Troll of the Western Seas, and you are in my forest!… I eat men who intrude into my forest and sail in my waters!… tell me, why should I not tear your limbs and skewer you like I’ve done to those before you?”

“I have come far to find where the fish have gone. I challenge you to a riddle? And if you get the answer wrong then you must obey one command of me, great Agdi, you are the smartest troll, are you not?” said Arni.

“Of course I’m the smartest troll, how dare you think I could not answer a trivial riddle thought of by a mere man!” said Agdi.

“What hides during the day, only comes out at night, makes no sound and is always watching?” Asked Arni.

“Argghhhh!! This is not a riddle, it is trickery!… Oh wait! I know! It is the owl!” proclaimed Agdi.

“Wrong answer, silly troll! It is the moon! Now you must obey my wish” said Arni.

“I hate the trickery of men!! But troll honour requires me to fulfill your wish” said Agdi.

“I wish for you to find fish for my family to help us survive this frigid winter” asked Arni.

Agdi said “But I am only a sea troll, only the golden whale Sigríður knows where the fish are, and only she can help you. By night’s end I will transform, and Sigríður will take over my earthly body as I turn to pure gold. Arni, you must offer Sigríður something she can’t resist, the only thing she values is gold. You must offer her gold in exchange for her help. This is the only way you’re family will eat this winter!… I have fulfilled my bargain, and mark my words, by the next nightfall I will have you on my skewer, and I will delight in human flesh!”

It was almost dawn and Agdi waded back into the ocean as the fog receded back up the mountain slopes. I knew that somehow I must find Sigríður and tempt her with my golden knife, in exchange for fish.

Later that afternoon, I waited where I last saw Sigríður for hours. Then at last I saw her golden splendor appear out of the blue ocean. Sigríður asked, “Why have you returned man, you have not found what you seek? You have not found Agdi?”

I replied “I have come to seek you great Sigríður, I have come with a gift in exchange for fish to last my family the winter”.

Sigríður replied “A gift you offer, what gift could a man have that a whale could ever want?”.

I replied “I bear the golden blade which has sent many men to Valhalla. Surely this you could not refuse!”

Sigríður replied, “You interest me man, I will give you what you seek, for gold I cannot refuse. Meet me at your village and I will bring you what you wish.”

I travelled for two weeks back to my home. As I went, Sigríður followed beside me filling her mouth with fish, until no more could fit. As we arrived, at my home I had grown worried about what I would do when Agdi reappeared at dusk. There was only one solution. I gripped the blade in my hand, and as soon as Sigríður spit out the fish on the shore, I carved a deep wound in her belly. As soon as she bled out, she turned into Agdi and once the sun struck Agdi’s flesh he turned immediately to a rigid rock. All could see what a beast he was. But, when I look upon the beach where his rock corpse lays, I see the hero of a troll who saved my family.

—Ants Hoiles

“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

“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