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“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

“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