Sex and Murder Magazine

By Mike Phillips

Crowned in bone and iron, the king of the woodland trolls stood before his assembled chieftains. The leaders of the clans had come to pledge their fealty and respect, but they had also come out of fear. For it was rumored far and wide that the Troll King was a witch, practiced in the darkest sorcery, favored with uncanny powers by the forces of the underworld.

Stirring the contents of a huge cauldron made of hammered copper, green with decay and crusted with the blood and offal of a thousand heinous rituals, the Troll King called out, “Come, let the sacrifice be made.”

Laughing with a wicked glee, the chieftains formed a crude line, pushing and elbowing each other, eager to gain the honor of being the first. Soon a semblance of order was established and Trunkna of the hills stepped up to the fire. He was a troll of great stature and girth, with a stomach that bulged from his middle like some grotesque insult to pregnancy. Pulling aside a rusted shirt of linked chain, the troll drew a knife along the underside of his stomach.

Blood ran thick from his belly as Trunkna pulled open the skin, revealing globs of sickening yellow fat within. Thrilled at the sight and the smell, the others clapped their hands and shouted encouragement for this show of dedication and strength.

Licking blood from the knife with a long, green tongue, Trunkna returned the weapon to its sheath. He gave the others a cool grin, taking hold of the oozing fat and ripping free a handful, holding it up for the appreciation of the crowd. The assembled went mad, screaming curses and pummeling those next to them.

With a nod of approval from his king, Trunkna dropped the fat into the cauldron. Hot sparks shot out. A cloud of gray smoke wafted from the surface of the caldron, the stinking brew hissing and bubbling as the fat was consumed. The sacrifice was accepted. Satisfied, Trunkna closed the flap of skin, his flesh healing in an instant, and he took his place next to the king.

“Sacrifice!” the trolls cried in unison, “sacrifice!”

Next in line was Puttygut, a very small troll, but highly regarded despite his size. He was both clever and cruel, known to use poison, and his enemies mysteriously fell dead at the most unlikely of times. With many pats on the back as encouragement, Puttygut went forward.

Standing at the edge of the fire, Puttygut used a bony finger to explore the depths of his long nose. With a quick twist of the wrist, he snagged something on the end of a hooked nail. Out of the nostril he pulled a fetid vein. It stretched the length of his arm before it finally snapped free. With permission from the king, Puttygut made his gift. Sparks flew and smoke fumed as his sacrifice was accepted.

In this way the assembled trolls made their sacrifices, each more terrible than the last; there a toe, here a finger, now an eyeball, then an ear. Again and again the brew sparked and smoked and accepted what was offered. Then it was time for the worker of these terrible magics to make his gift. The King’s offering must be the greatest of all if their desires were to be fulfilled. And he would not disappoint them.

“Now you will know why I am king,” said he. “Now you will learn sacrifice!”

The Troll King picked a heavy stone from the ground, lifting it high above him, showing it to his devoted followers. The trolls cheered, not knowing what would happen next, perhaps expecting with a gruesome thrill that the blood of one of their unlucky fellows would be spilled.

Bawling a wild cry, the Troll King smashed the stone on the caldron’s rim. Selecting the sharpest of the pieces, he drove the ragged edge into the back of his skull. Again and again he struck, as much breaking open his brain’s protective shell as making a cut.

At last the thick bones were conquered, making a gap wide enough for the King to insert his fingertips. Prying opening the lid of his cranium, the Troll King reached inside. There he blindly searched the springy mass of crenulated flesh, seeking what was coveted most by the forces below the earth.

“Sleep,” he said to the others, holding a little piece of bloodied gray flesh up for their scrutiny. “I give them sleep. Never again will I rest in the service of evil, not until the end of days and the realization of total darkness in the world.”

The crowd roared their approval, a frenzy of violence and shouting. The chieftains went crazy biting and clawing, cutting and stabbing, an orgy of bloodlust and ire. The Troll King let their ardor peak, watching in lurid satisfaction as the lesser beasts slew themselves in devotion.

When it seemed they must all be near death, he shouted, “Stop! See if my sacrifice is worthy.”

Into the boiling pot he threw his piece of brain, his sacrifice of sleep. Red fire erupted from the caldron, shooting far into the heavens, burning as high as the tallest trees. The flames spread to the forest as if the wood had been soaked in oil, burning the mottled hides of the assembled and scarring their lungs with its putrid air. The weaker trolls fell to the ground, suffering an agony they thought they could not bear while the Troll King and his greatest chieftains stood proudly around the caldron, accepting the judgment that had been made against them.

The fire died as quickly as it had swept up, leaving only ash and smoke in its passing. The trolls were alive, burned to a man, but alive. The old trolls had known this magic before, and they now resolutely stamped their feet and rubbed the burnt hair from their bodies. A chant began, a low rumble of syllables that carried no words, a shadow of what they felt in the depths of their dark hearts.

“The nameless evil looks kindly upon us,” the Troll King said at last. “Now the spell is ready and we shall ask our price.”

Clutched in the Troll King’s brutish hand was the gnarled root of an ancient maple tree, the treasure of some terrible deed. Making his intentions known, he cast the thing into the caldron. The world went black. The fire went out. Even the light of the stars seemed drawn into the caldron’s brew.

When the faint light of the night returned, the Troll King reached into the caldron, taking hold of the root and pulling it free of the fetid waters now empty of magic. Holding the wand in front of him, his subjects wild with apprehension, the Troll King pointed the wand at Trunkna and shouted, “Bear!” and it was done.

*****

Waking from a dream in which animals made war with hatchets and scimitars like humans, heart racing, hair limp with sweat, Jenny Bracco couldn’t remember where she was. The seconds of disorientation filled her with fear, more disturbing than the remnants of sleep fantasy. But then she saw the gray fabric of the tent, the dull light of the lamp hanging from a tree outside, and she recalled the camping trip into the mountains with her Girl Scout troop.

Now fully awake due to the beating of her heart, Jenny listened to the sounds of the other girls as they slept, the wind blowing through the tops of the pines, the insects and frogs singing out to distant lovers. She had to go the bathroom, the bushes that is, but she didn’t want to. At last her bladder could no longer be denied. She cursed herself for having had three sodas with dinner. Slipping out of her sleeping bag, Jenny put on her shoes and carefully unzipped the tent, sure not to wake the others.

The air was warm and the sky was clear. Thousands of stars hung in the night above. The battery powered lamp spread light over the clearing, the other tents and their gear. Jenny went off behind a boulder where a few spruce trees grew close together. When finished, she heard a noise coming from the direction of the camp.

Getting a strange chill, Jenny stayed where she was, looking into the clearing. She saw bears, everywhere bears. A hundred bears had swarmed the camp. They were massive, brute beasts with mangy fur and bleeding sores. Even from a distance Jenny could smell them, stinking of rotten flesh and excrement. The bears were collecting in the front of the tents, two or three at each, poised in silence as if awaiting some signal to make their attack.

Jenny gasped, putting her hand to her mouth, but one of the bears, one that stood back watching the others, lifted its head as if it had heard. It was wearing a crown of bone and iron. The King Bear sniffed, pointing its nose in her direction.

Jenny picked up a stone and tossed it into the trees. The stone flew as if charged by some mysterious force, much higher than it should have, crashing loudly into the underbrush on the other side of the camp. Cawing loudly, a black bird flew into the air. The King Bear turned in that direction, spoke to two bears in some a crude language, and sent them off.

Full of herself for having fooled the bears with such an obvious trick, Jenny started in the opposite direction, knowing there was nothing she could do for her friends, not even sure what was happening. None of it made sense. Bears didn’t act that way. The more she thought about, the more she became convinced they weren’t bears at all. She had seen something, underneath, the bear shape only a disguise.

A twig snapped under her foot. Jenny struck her forehead with an open palm, saying, “Oh, I can’t believe it!” She had only gone some fifty yards from camp. Something came crashing through the forest after her, two maybe three of the bears, but she had found the trail and was off.

*****

Somehow Jenny had gotten on the wrong trail. What she had initially believed to be the way to the ranger station turned out to be a little used tract that led down the side of the mountain. The way was overgrown and poorly maintained. Often in the dark of night shadows cast by the trees, Jenny found herself slipping on loose stone.

The bears were getting nearer. She could hear them coming, sounding more like angry men than animals. The trail forked. One way went toward the river and the other along the base of the mountain. Taking shelter behind a tree, Jenny caught her breath. She was exhausted. There was no way she could outrun them, but she had other tricks.

Down the mountainside the bears came. There were three of them, and they stank so bad that tears came to Jenny’s eyes. She could hear them talking, and was able to pick out a few words from their guttural speak that she recognized. Intrigued, she watched them as they came into view, studying them, trying to look deeper into what they were. The deception began to clear before her eyes. She had seen things, strange and inexplicable, but never anything like this.

“Follow me, this way,” Jenny said with a whisper.

The monsters disguised as bears were standing at the fork in the trail, trying to decide which way she had gone. Another Jenny appeared, materialized out of darkness to take form in the night. This phantom stood on the trail leading down to the river. The bears or monsters looked up, seeing the apparition as it ran away from them. They made no pause to wonder why they had not seen the girl standing there before, and they did not hesitate to follow.

After the first hour passed without a sign of danger, Jenny’s mood improved. The menace of the bears seemed distant, the threat too incredible to be real. The path took Jenny out of the mountains, the dense forest opening into a farmer’s field that had been allowed to grow wild.

At the far end of the field was a rundown, two story farmhouse with a scraggly old oak tree. The place looked deserted. Coming to the front door, Jenny knocked, but there was no answer. Unwilling to give up, she sat on the porch and waited. And as so often happens, even after such an eventful night, exhaustion finally caught up with her and she fell asleep.

*****

“So tell me, young lady, what brings you to my doorstep this night?”

Jenny was instantly awake. Before her stood a woman, slight of stature, an ageless quality about her features, with dark hair and piercing black eyes. She wore an ankle length dress of simple cut, a floral pattern that seemed to shift with the shadows of the night.

“Bears attacked my Girl Scout troop. We have to get help!”

“Those weren’t bears, and you know it,” the woman said severely.

Biting her lower lip, somehow compelled to speak the truth, Jenny replied, “Okay, it was a bunch of monsters. I’ve never seen anything like them before.”

Giving Jenny a hard stare, the woman asked, “And you saw through their deceptions, Jenny Bracco?”

“Wait, how did you know my name?”

“I have had my eye on you.”

“On me, why?”

“Again I think you know the answer. But for the sake of argument let me share something of myself. My name is Miss Weigenmeister. This is a magical forest. Many of the enchanted creatures of the world have taken refuge from mankind here. Some are good and some are evil. I am a guardian, not the only one, but I am not at liberty to speak of the others. I am telling my secrets, not theirs.”

“What has that got to do with me?”

“I own this house and I am fond of rhubarb pie so I must earn money and live in the world. Not only do I care for the enchanted creatures, but from time to time certain humans show talents, like you.”

Jenny bit her lip again.

“You need not confirm or deny my suspicions. I know what I know. But you are right to keep your abilities secret. You are going through a most difficult time in life. Never allow yourself to show off, no matter how tempted you may be or how righteous your cause. Will you promise me that?”

“Yes,” Jenny said.

“Good. Now, tell me about the bears. I have had some news of the goings on, but think you have more to say on the matter.”

Starting with the strange dream, Jenny related all the events of the last few hours. Though she felt that she could trust the Miss Weigenmeister, she didn’t explain the arts by which she had evaded the bears. Perhaps respecting Jenny’s privacy, no further questions were asked.

“Might I rely upon your assistance to determine the location of your camp?”

Jenny made a toothy grin. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Some evil from the deepest forest has come out of hiding and they mean to make such mischief as they are able. They are trolls, if I don’t miss my guess. I know of a certain troll capable of what you describe, a despicable creature. Well, if it is him, his time has come.”

Miss Weigenmeister went on, “You see, the enchanted creatures of the forest usually keep to themselves, staying out of the way of mankind. Afraid, as they ought to be. If people found out what lives in the depths of that forest, not a living creature, good or evil, would have a chance of escaping the scientific and media investigations. Taking the guise of black bears they think to protect themselves, foolishness all of it.”

“Well, trolls generally have to finish their business before the sun rises. Your friends may yet be unharmed. Most likely they are intended to be a part of some ritual, and so our time grows short, but this is not a hopeless situation.”

Taking Jenny’s hand, Miss Weigenmeister said, “Focus your mind on the campsite. Picture the area in your mind.”

Remembering her walk through the forest, the trail as it led through the mountains, Jenny felt as if she were beginning to run. Though the countryside passed in a blur, the journey took no more effort than a pleasant stroll. Soon they had disappeared into the forest and were on their way.

*****

With a new confidence won by their victory over the Girl Scouts, the trolls began their wicked business in earnest. The disguise, taking bear form, allowed them to travel with impunity. They no longer feared the other enchanted creatures or the park rangers with their handguns and satellite phones.

The night had been busy, such a night as they never had before. The trolls found several small groups of campers scattered throughout the mountains. All that were discovered were taken prisoner.

When coming of dawn could not be denied, they returned to the palace of the Troll King, for these were not merely beasts to be roasted for a grand feast. These too were sacrifices, necessary to increase the dark magic the trolls so desperately craved.

“Drive them into the circle,” the Troll King roared as the last of the chieftains returned. “Get them together and we’ll decide what to do with them.”

Horrified, unbelieving, the campers were herded or dragged, beaten or pushed, into a makeshift corral with the Girl Scouts. Many were grudgingly tolerant of the situation, having accepted on some level that creatures of the wild had taken them captive, the roles of humanity and nature reversed at last.

Pointing the wand at himself, the Troll King said, “Back.”

The command returned him to his previous form, a thing more terrible than any the humans could have imagined. The Troll King looked into their faces, enjoying the fear he saw there, glad to have had done his part in their misery. He came to his full height, putting on a display, watching them cower before him. He was terrible to behold, tall with thickly knotted muscles, his face ugly beyond imagining.

Taking a small sack from his collection of potions, the Troll King grabbed a handful of dust and blew it out amongst his captives, laughing as he said, “Sleep, sleep.” The people sank to the ground, breathing the dust and falling victim to the spell, lost in the oblivion of sleep.

“Back,” the Troll King said, pointing the magic wand at his followers, changing them into the monsters they had once been. “Now, my trusted allies, my friends, what shall we do with these mortals until the moon is full?”

“Turn them into pigs,” said Trunkna. Many shouted their agreement.

“No,” Puttygut interrupted. A general indignation arose as did a sense that violence loomed. “No, not pigs, I say. Pigs are hearty stock. Pigs are tough. Pigs are clever in the forest and difficult to catch. No, it must be something else.”

“And there is hardly room for all of us in the mine, no less for all of them,” added one of the other chieftains, safely behind Puttygut and out of sight from the offended Trunkna. “We could never keep them from escaping.”

“Right you are,” agreed the Troll King, putting an end to the argument. He had not worked so hard to have everything destroyed by bickering. Secretly he had taken out his wand and was deciding who would be the first to be changed into a worm.

“We must make it something small.” The Troll King added with a lurid laugh, “something easy to care for.”

“Rabbits,” Puttygut finally decided. “Not too big and not too small, rabbits are just the right size to keep in the pit with no chance of escape.”

“Rabbits!” they all agreed. “Turn them into rabbits.”

*****

In a secret hollow on the mountainside, sheltered from the rising sun, was a curious tangle of old sticks and broken limbs, a pile of enormous size and complexity. The brush pile looked almost like a gigantic beaver dam, built on high ground for some unknowable purpose. But this was not the product of an overactive rodent or some modern artist returning to natural media.

This was the palace of the Troll King. At the far side of the brush pile was an opening, framed by a pair of larger branches, disguised not to look like an entry at all. It was a labyrinth constructed to hide an old mine shaft, down which the Troll King would secrete himself when the light of day appeared.

To this less than austere construction the trail from the Girl Scout camp led Jenny and Miss Weigenmeister. When they arrived dawn was far off and the forest teeming with activity. Trolls in the shape of bears were leading groups of people into the hollow, collecting them into circular pile of sticks, a sort of pen by the look of it.

The pen was not well built even by the standards of the brush pile. It looked like the branches that were easiest to lay hands on were taken from the pile and just tossed one over the next, hardly enough to keep the three dozen people held captive if not for the overpowering fear.

“It’s time,” Miss Weigenmeister whispered to Jenny when the Troll Kind had put the prisoners to sleep.

Using a clever bit of sorcery to conceal themselves from unfriendly notice, the two had taken refuge at the edge of the hollow, trying to understand what they were up against, what had made the trolls act so boldly. Now they knew. It was this wand that gave the trolls the power to change form, encouraging them to put aside their petty differences and band together.

“What can we do?” Jenny replied. “There’s too many of them.”

“Trolls are cowardly beasts, and the day is nearly upon us. If I can distract them until the sun rises, I may be able to keep them from taking the people underground. Then we might come back in strength when the moment is more opportune.”

“That doesn’t sound like a very good plan.”

“I am possessed of a fair bit of magic, and have a trick or two I may employ.”

So saying, Miss Weigenmeister began a transformation of her own. With no need of an enchanted root, her body grew smaller, the fine hair of her arms and legs broadening to feathers, her nose stretching into a beak. She became a crow.

“Neat trick,” Jenny said appreciatively, “I’d love to learn how to do that.”

“Someday perhaps, but now we have other business to attend.”

“So you’re just going to try to grab that wand and fly off, huh?”

Even under the guise of the crow, Miss Weigenmeister scowled. Sounding annoyed, she said, “Yes, that was the thrust of my plan.”

“And leave me all by myself?”

“You will be safe enough until the day or my return.”

“Again, I’m less than filled with confidence.”

“No time for argument. Once those people are inside that hole, we may never be able to save them.”

“Okay, go on then, and be safe.”

“I will,” Miss Weigenmeister said, and took off into the air.

Distracted as they were by the fate of their captives, the trolls failed to notice the small, black bird as it flew toward them. Crows are not birds given to nocturnal activities despite what their appearance would imply, and as she came, Miss Weigenmeister barely avoided being swept from the sky by low hanging branches on several occasions. But her timing could scarcely have been better.

Just as the Troll King raised the wand to begin changing the people into rabbits, Miss Weigenmeister took hold of the twisted tree root in her claws. The Troll King wailed in surprise, finding this nightmare bird clutching his prize. Barely able to think for his panic, the Troll King slapped with his other hand, intent upon squashing the bird into a bloody pulp of bone and feathers.

Pushing with all the strength in her wings, Miss Weigenmeister went nowhere. She could do nothing to free the wand from its owner. Finding she had lost the advantage of surprise and that the Troll King was about to flatten her, she let go of the wand and dove in amongst the shocked chieftains, taking shelter in their midst, their arms flailing uselessly around her.

“Worm,” the Troll King said, pointing the wand.

But crows are the quickest of birds, used to the necessity of speed for survival. Miss Weigenmeister dodged the flurry of magic, escaping behind the nearest and largest of the trolls.

Trunkna had been in the way. The once proud troll grew smaller and smaller. His arms and legs were pulled into his body. The shape that once defined him as leader was taken away and replaced with that of the lowliest of creatures, a worm.

Angered by what had happened, the Troll King was more determined than ever to have this interloper caught and punished. Getting a clear shot he called out his curse, but again the King missed his target, the shot going wide of the trolls by his fortune or their vigilance.

Worn out from her efforts flying in and around the trolls, Miss Weigenmeister was soon breathless and aching. She was getting slow. One of the trolls succeeded in striking her with a club, doing little harm, but knocking her into the trees.

The Troll King shouted in triumph and pointed his wand, starting to call out the word that would finish the crow for good. Something struck his hand. The wand went flying from his grip. He shouted in pain, not knowing what had happened or where this new attack was coming from.

“Wahoo!” shouted Jenny, punching her fist in the air with triumph. The trolls stared back wordlessly. “Uh oh. Sorry, my fault!”

A ghost in winged form, Miss Weigenmeister came from nowhere, catching the wand as it turned in the air. Before any of the trolls noticed, she was up and away, flying toward Jenny with the wand clutched in her claws.

“Take this and run,” Miss Weigenmeister said, dropping the wand into Jenny’s outstretched hands.

“No way,” Jenny said quietly, pulling back her sleeves and going to meet the trolls as Miss Weigenmeister flew off. “They need to be taught a lesson.”

Pointing the wand at the closest of the trolls, Jenny said, “Mouse!”

Again and again Jenny made her cry, the trolls transforming in an instant, many being changed before they understood what was happening. When they realized what was going on, the trolls began to scatter, running with abandon into the dark places of the forest, anywhere to find safety.

The big troll with something like a crown on his head was headed toward the brush pile. Jenny blamed him for all the trouble, with his crooked twig of magic and his wicked schemes. If the monster thought that he could just run away while others suffered, he was wrong. Heedless of danger, Jenny chased after him. Into the heap of sticks and branches the Troll King went and after him came Jenny.

*****

Within the tangle of sticks and tunnels of darkness, the Troll King waited. Dawn would soon come, and the labyrinth he had created was far from perfect in keeping out the light, made worse by the building of the corral. But in his maze there would be time to do what must be done before seeking the protections of his palace. It was just the place to trap the girl and recapture his magic wand.

“Come on now, just a little further,” the Troll King silently urged, luring the girl toward him, willing her to find the path that would lead her to him.

The maze was his, of his own make, and he could feel her movements as if the broken and rotted branches were an extension of his own body. As the girl approached, the Troll King put his creation to work. Every stick a finger, every bough an arm, he reached out for her, receiving her into his deadly embrace.

*****

Fearless where better sense might have dictated otherwise, Jenny followed the Troll King into the pile of branches. Though she was much shorter than the trolls, who had to go in on their hands and knees, Jenny still had to stoop down to pass beneath the arched branches. Soon the way turned, plunging her into a complicated world of tunnels that became darker and darker.

Though she was following the sound of some large creature moving ahead of her, Jenny lost track of the twists and turns, and had only a vague idea of where she was. She knew the leader of the trolls could not be far ahead. He was cumbersome and slow even on open ground. Here in the maze, though admittedly it was his maze, Jenny was sure she could catch up.

Thinking that she could almost feel the big troll’s presence, Jenny readied the wand and listened. She could hear labored breathing nearby.

Summoning her courage, Jenny stepped forward, but her shirt caught on a twig. She reached back to free herself, trying to work quietly, for she knew that a dead branch would break with a snap as loud as a gunshot in this silent darkness. But the more she struggled, the more she became entwined. It seemed for every branch she freed herself from, another was there to take its place.

The walls were closing in around her. It felt like a hundred spiders crawled on her skin. The branches were tearing into her clothes, cruelly pricking her bare arms and legs. The branches were everywhere. She could not get away.

Something was coming. It smelled horrid. Jenny kept struggling against the sticks, but she could not get free no matter how hard she tried. Though she was blind in the darkness, Jenny could feel the presence of something huge and she could smell the stench of its body, its fetid breath.

A cruel voice said, “Gotcha.”

*****

Exhausted, Miss Weigenmeister perched on a branch to take a breath. She soon realized that Jenny was not following her as she thought. The girl had turned away, gone toward the trolls.

“Foolishness,” Miss Weigenmeister said aloud, taking to the wing. “The sunrise is coming on quick now, but will it be soon enough?”

Coming to the lip of the hollow, Miss Weigenmeister heard Jenny shouting commands and realized the girl must have figured out how to use the troll’s magic wand. She was about to fly down to help when she spotted three trolls skulking in the shadows, trying to sneak up behind Jenny.

A little one with clever eyes was in the lead, two very large ones following close behind. They were moving up the far side of the hollow, using trees and small bushes to cover their movements.

The small troll pointed and gave a call. An arrow slid by the crow, its tip was of copper, a sickly light glowed dully on the surface. Another arrow streaked toward Miss Weigenmeister as she folded her wings and dropped. The missile went over her head and she flapped away, shouting torments, drawing the trolls in pursuit.

Remembering the hurts they had suffered due to this bird, the trolls followed. Puttygut was a troll of position and honor even among the greatest of the trolls, and it would not due for his career to let such an enemy escape. “After it, boys,” he said, taking a long knife from its sheath, covering the blade with poison.

“They’re getting closer,” Miss Weigenmeister said as she dodged another good shot. She wheeled in the air, heading straight for them. “Time for the direct approach.”

An arrow passing near enough to feel the brush of feathers, Miss Weigenmeister flew at the little troll. Though he held a long knife in his hand, Puttygut was little adept at its use. He flailed his arms and called out curses as the crow tore into him. The contest becoming desperate, Miss Weigenmeister went for the eyes. Puttygut stabbed at her with the knife. He stopped suddenly. A trickle of blood leaked down his nose.

“No, the poison,” he said, dropping the knife and falling to his knees, his arms wrapped protectively around his head. “No, no, I am killed, I am poisoned.”

“Antidote?” Miss Weigenmeister said, perching in the trees, searching the area for medicinal herbs.

“None,” said Puttygut stoically. Gripped in pain, he clutched his stomach, the cramps bending him over at the middle. Foam gathered at the corners of his mouth. Puttygut collapsed into the dirt. All was quiet.

“What do we do now?” said the larger of the two trolls.

“He is dead,” said Miss Weigenmeister from her hiding place. “You are defeated. Go toward the mountain’s peak. You will find a pile of rocks under a shelf. If you are quick you can dig shelter. You will be safe enough there from the sunlight until the day is done. Go and remember this night. Trouble the world no longer.”

*****

Miss Weigenmeister had not seen what happened to Jenny, but she feared the worst. The girl had followed the Troll King into his abode, and what dangers she could only guess. Seeing the trolls making haste toward the mountain’s peak, she went to find the girl. At the archway that marked the entry to the maze, Miss Weigenmeister heard dead branches crackling like fireworks.

“Hi,” Jenny said as she appeared from the labyrinth, looking very smug.

“Hello, yourself. It is good to see you unharmed,” Miss Weigenmeister replied. “What of the Troll King?”

Jenny smiled, digging into her pocket and pulling out a mouse. She cupped the Troll King in her hands, holding him tightly so that he couldn’t bite. She had found that out quickly. Some trolls never learned.

“You didn’t” Miss Weigenmeister said.

“Yep,” Jenny replied. “He’s kind of cute now. I think I’ll keep him.”

“Probably cause all sorts of troubles for you. I have another idea.”

Jenny pouted, “Oh, you’re not going to kill him, are you?”

“No, I have a better notion.” Miss Weigenmeister laid a hand upon the little beast, saying in a soft voice, “Go now, and have my blessing. For a hundred years you will be under my protection and no harm will come to you.”