Troll bridge

It was my grandfather who told me about the troll. Years ago there was a stone bridge up near the top of the valley, crossing the stream and boggy ground there. Most of the time the troll was harmless enough; it was just an ugly ill-tempered creature who would throw stones now and then at passers-by – visitors from the city who came to walk the fells and didn’t know any better. But from time to time a terrible hunger would come over it …

I don’t know what happened to the troll but a year ago two boys went missing not far from that valley. I was part of the search party and we spent two or three days combing the hillsides before we gave up. I happened to be near the old bridge and remembered what my grandfather had said. It isn’t there any more – the ground has been drained and the stream passes under the road through a large pipe. Being curious, I looked into it and I’m sure I saw a deeper darkness lurking in the shadows.

It was only a glimpse and perhaps I was mistaken but I don’t think we should forget the old stories.