Writing Sample

This is a story originally written for an anthology of St Louis Authors. It was self-published by the St. Louis Writer’s Meetup Group in a book called “Toasted Ravioli“.

A Night On The Train With Trolls by Den Dotson

Old Dan’s smelled of rust and petroleum. Erik sat in the chair on the porch reserved for drinking beer in the evening and taking a break to pet Ragnarok, the old junkyard dog. Erik liked Rags and Rags liked anyone who would tirelessly pet him while on the porch. For Erik, it was more than a passing friendship with an old dog. It was in Erik’s nature to love creatures that needed to be cared for and protected. Rags had been the first such creature for Erik when they were both pups. Rags had grown old and Eric had grown into early adulthood. “We need to go,” Erik said to no one in particular. “We’re going, just two more minutes,” Bill replied from inside a pile of nasty looking debris. Bill was looking for the piece, that particular piece of junk Bill couldn’t leave before finding. He would know it only when his eyes beheld it. Of course, it didn’t matter that Bill had already found a hundred pieces he couldn’t live without. No one would be leaving until he found the piece. “We need to go,” Erik repeated. “Almost… got it,” Bill said between metallic bangs and crashes. “Go see if Old Dan has any beer in the fridge. Bring him one and he’ll go easy on me when it’s time to pay.” Old Dan was never easy when it was time to pay. The old sign over the old house, which served as Old Dan’s office and living quarters read “Old Dan’s Antiques, Oddities and Metal Works”. It was a junkyard. Old Dan had more junk than any place within a thousand miles. The pieces ranged from the smallest wristwatch to, at the largest, some piece of a bomber plane and several railroad cars. The oddities, as Dan liked to call them, filled every inch of space over a couple square miles from the front yard of his house off into the distance behind. To the general public, Old Dan was a source for hard to find car parts and a supplier of fixtures and such for renovating old houses. Erik, Bill and their families were some of the few people who had the run of the place. It was a look at some of Old Dan’s oddities as a child, that convinced young Erik his nightmares were more than just imaginary scares. Old Dan also reassured Erik, as a youngster, the monster under his bed may in fact be a monster. As Erik finished up his petting of Rags and headed into the house to try and soften the price tag, Old Dan rounded the side of the house and stepped onto the porch. “You boys buying or are you just here to get in the way?” Old Dan asked in a voice full of gravel. Old Dan set down a bucket full of an oily substance that occasionally splashed on its own. Erik thought he saw a fin and a flash of teeth but he couldn’t be sure. Erik turned from the house and crossed the porch to see Old Dan. Erik used his mental picture of Old Dan to measure if other people were old. Most folks seemed quite young next to Old Dan. Erik’s and Bill’s fathers had come out to this junkyard when they were young and Old Dan was, well, Old Dan. Erik was sure his grandfather had come out here and Old Dan was still Old Dan then too. Old Dan would stand about six foot seven, if he ever stood upright, which he didn’t. In fact, he hunched over to about five foot five, probably increasing the appearance of age. As a kid, Erik was sure Old Dan bent over to keep from blocking out the sun. The old man filled every room he walked into; he made every space feel crowded with him in it. Not to say Old Dan was fat, not one inch of him could be considered flabby. The sun had baked Old Dan to a hard crust and kept him perpetually tanned. His face creased with deep furrows and seemed to crack in new places as his face changed expressions. You would think Old Dan’s ever-present wide brim hat would help, but the shade was too little too late.Old Dan wore his hair long in a single braid running down his back, the grey of his head and beard giving way here and there to strands of stubborn blond remaining from a day no one remembered when Old Dan was just Dan. The feature that stoodout above them all was his one eye. Old Dan had worn a patch over his right eye as long as Erik or his father could remember. When he was young, all Erik wanted to do was sneak in on a sleeping Old Dan and peek under the eye patch. Could there be an eye there? An empty socket? What young boy would not want a look at that? Old Dan pulled a dirty rag from one of the back pockets of his overalls and began to wipe his hands.The rag and the hands seemed just as dirty after the use as before. “Bill is going to be a while,” Old Dan stated as fact. “But we need to go,” Erik argued. “Come help me out back. He will be done when we are done, you’ll be going in plenty of time.” “Be done and have that stuff ready to go when I get back,” Erik said to a Bill, who wasn’t listening. Old Dan picked up his bucket and headed back behind the house to the wide expanse of the junkyard. To a casual observer, the area contained busted up machinery and bits of lives discarded. Erik saw camouflage for their family heritage. “Anyone ever see anything they are not supposed to?” Erik asked the back of Old Dan as they walked. “Hmpf,” Old Dan answered. “Like what?” Erik approached a refrigerator once a lovely shade of avocado green now rusted to appear more like a hollowed out tree. “Like these.” Erik said whipping open the door of the fridge. The air filled with fairies, iridescent and multi-colored, flittering in the fading sunlight. “They would convince themselves they saw butterflies,” Old Dan explained. “They don’t want to see.” Erik knew it was the family business to keep it that way. No one should see anything, if they did he and his family would make it go away. Old Dan walked up to apile of cars smashed together so tight they formed a wall. The pile was higher and wider than Erik could see above or around. Inside Old Dan kept his keepsakes from their adventures. Old Dan opened a large truck door and stepped inside. The pile was hollow and dark inside. Erik waited outside a moment as Old Dan flipped a switch and mercury vapor lighting flickered to life. Erik stepped into the opening and closed the “real” world behind him. The first impression he always received in the enclosure was the smell. Hay mixed with a hint of ammonia from excrement. Then the really strange smells hit your nose. These creatures had unique dietary requirements and all of it stank. Erik walked along and ran a hand along the cages. The kennel for exotic animals contained different sized holding pens for different sized creatures. The smallest would hold a fairy while it recuperated from an ailment or injury. The largest held a medium sized dragon sleeping soundly on a pile of treasure. The place was not meant to house these creatures forever. It was a halfway house where these fairy tale monsters could be cared for until safe homes could be found for them. These creatures needed to be hidden from prying eyes until they could be fed, healed, and reintroduced into the world. “Legends have always called us killers,” Old Dan began a familiar speech. “We are…” “Caretakers of magic and wonder,” Erik continued. “The last hope for enchantment to live in this world.” “I am glad to hear you have been listening,” Old Dan said as he checked every latch he passed and looked in on every one of his charges. “Too many of your generation have become murderers. It’s easier to destroy than to protect. We are game wardens not hunters.” “Kill only when you have failed,” Erik continued the lesson, “and never fail. You and my father have taught me well All-father. I remember.” “Never forget,” Old Dan turned to face him, “there will be times when you will want to, those are the times to remember.” Erik reached a hand into a cage and stroked the fur and feathers of a griffin. The half lion, half eagle glanced back at him, sensed no threat and went back to rending some creature limb from limb and feeding the pieces to its young. “We are running out of places to hide our finds,” Erik remarked. “People are spreading everywhere. These cages should be empty.” “You don’t have to teach me, boy,” Old Dan growled. “I am the teacher. I know how things are going.” Old Dan’s voice had started out angry but ended in sadness. Where do you hide a dragon, even a medium sized one, where some amateur spelunkers wouldn’t startle it and get eaten? Old Dan reached down and opened a feeding gate on the front of a cage. This particular occupant liked the dark and so all of the sides were covered with heavy fabric. Erik heard hissing and skin sliding across gravel as Old Dan slid the bucket through the gate. As he closed the gate, the bucket banged against the bars, and a soft munching sound followed. “Hungry today aren’t we boy?” Old Dan asked. He chuckled as he wiped his hands on his overalls. “Hard thing about that one is I keep running out of buckets. He likes to eat them after they are empty.” “I believe I heard your friend suggest you bribe me with beer,” Old Dan reminded Erik, “you know until I teach Rags to be useful around here and bring ‘em, someone has to go to the fridge for ‘em. I have a cage to clean before you bring me another tenant. I will meet you back out front of the house.” “Sure, sure,” Erik said, turning and proceeding back to the house. **** Inside the house was dim and musty. The office was Old Dan’s territory and looked as old and oily as he did. Piles of papers with odds and ends of junk to hold them down filled the room leading up to a large oak desk and a huge office throne behind it. Beyond the office was another matter entirely. Old Dan’s wife ruled beyond the office. Frigg was the perfect stereotype of a sweet-as-fresh-baked-cookies grandma. Her house was frilly and spotless from the welcome mat at every door to the kitchen where something was always cooking. Erik wiped his feet on the mat at the door from the office and crossed through the dining room into the kitchen. Frigg was leaning over a bowl and choosing ingredients to add from bottles, tins and boxes spread around her on the table. “Erik, child, you look hot, let me get you some lemonade,” Frigg offered, heading around the table and ducking into the fridge before he could answer. “Old Dan wanted me to bring him a beer,” Erik said, “Bill and I really need to pay and go.” “You don’t work here, dear,” Frigg replied. “Here, have a cookie with your lemonade. Bill will certainly be a moment longer and the old man should have enough beer in his system already to hold him for a few more minutes.” Erik sat at her table and took the offered glass of lemonade. It seemed funny to Erik as he realized it never mattered what time of day or day of the week you visited Frigg, there was always food available and offered. Offered was probably too soft a word for the way Frigg served food. She brought out food and someone was expected to eat it. Frigg brought over a stuffed cookie jar, removed its lid and set it next to Erik. “How are your folks?” Frigg asked, returning to the concoction she was mixing in the bowl. Erik recognized none of the ingredients by smell or sight. One item resembled a wing before Frigg crumbled it and let the dust fall into her bowl. “They are good,” Erik said, “Dad worries now that I am in the family business and mom, well she is mom.” “You remind your dad how he was when he started out,” Frigg said, measuring a brown powder in her hands. Erik had never seen a measuring device or a cookbook anywhere in Frigg’s kitchen. The recipes flew through her mind, the measuring was all done by finger and hand, then into the oven and out with magic. “Your father took years before he could even go out on his own,” Frigg continued. “Your grandfather used to sit on that porch out there and moan to Old Dan over beer about the family tradition ending with his son. “The legacy is over” he would wail. He would work until he died and then the world would be without. “You men can be such babies.” “My dad took grandpa out on jobs with him for years?” Erik asked with a smile. “Years?” “Oh, yes and occasionally after that,” Frigg said, with a soft chuckle, “he was a mess. Then one afternoon, he just seemed to finally get it. He shoved aside any assistance, packed his gear and went out into the field alone. It had been the same ever since, until he trained you of course.” “Well, I do take Bill sometimes, not that he is all that much help,” Erik admitted. “In fact, he is going to be going to work with me this evening if he does not hurry up. I had better take that beer now and see how it is going.” “Alright dear. You remind your folks they still know where Old Dan and Frigg live. We’ll set a spot for them at the table anytime they are hungry,” Frigg said with a wink. “I will Frigg. See you soon.” Erik leaned in and kissed the old woman on the cheek as he dipped into the fridge and snagged the beer. Back out in the yard, Erik found Old Dan staring at a pile of metal and plastic Bill had gathered. “Old Dan needs to make a living, you thieving little bastard,” Old Dan said to Bill without looking up. “Come on, Old Dan. I’m still in school, you’re taking the food right out of my mouth,” Bill countered. “And knowing you ungrateful brats, you’ll be back tomorrow expecting my poor old wife to give you the food too,” Old Dan replied. “Ok, we do not have time for this drama to play out,” Erik jumped in. “How much does he want?” “Two hundred,” Bill said softly. “How much do you really want?” Erik asked Old Dan. Old Dan put on his best “who me?” face and then said, “One oh five.” “Pay the man,” Erik said, “We are going to work.” “We?” whined Bill. “Oh no, not me. You’ve got plenty of time to drop me off before…” Bill looked at his watch and trailed with an “oh shit.” “’Oh shit’” is right,” Erik said, “pay Old Dan while I start loading this crap in my car.” Erik drove a metallic orange Ford Escape with the license plate SLA-YER on it. The small SUV was sporty enough to attract the ladies and rugged enough to haul Bill’s junk around.There was even plenty left over for Erik’s work gear and an occasional passenger. The “oddities” Bill had so diligently searched for could in no way be imagined as going into a set except in Bill’s mind. Old shoes, car parts, radio tubes, tools, pipes and plenty of things Erik couldn’t even identify. He just threw the stuff into the back of the vehicle and moved his backpack to the side so he could retrieve it for work. Bill was a sculpture student at Webster University and turned the junk from Old Dan’s into art. Truth was Bill had talent. Erik could never imagine the piles they hauled over on an almost weekly basis ever finding a new life as something beautiful. Bill could imagine it, and he made it happen time and again. There were days when he envied Bill. Erik’s talents were the ones passed down to him through his ancestral line. His two brothers and one sister were not so lucky or cursed. So it fell to Erik, and after some training and some practice he accepted his place in the world. Bill would be able to find his as well. “Are you sure we can’t swing me home?” Bill asked as he got into the car next to Erik. “Not a chance,” Erik said, waving to Old Dan and gunning the engine out of the yard. “The later it gets the harder it will get. Besides, I might need a hand on this one. And, you owe me for Hildi.” “Owe you?” Bill asked .“She so wanted me, not you.” “She did not notice either of us until I got her talking. She only noticed you because I kept talking about you. Finally, she said, ‘this friend of yours sounds interesting, you should bring him around sometime.’ That is when I pointed out, you sitting right next to me ogling her,” Erik said. “I do not ogle,” Bill huffed, crossing his chest with his arms. Then after a moment, “She is beautiful, isn’t she?” “If you go for those tall, buxom, blonde types.” “You know you should get yourself a girl,” Bill offered. “I could have had Hildi!” Erik reminded him. Erik waited for his comment to sink in, and then relieved the tension with, “Nah, she is your type. I will know mine when I see her. Enough of the girl talk, minds on the job. We need focus. I feel something about this one.” “What is it? Your dad tell you or is it a reconnaissance mission?” Bill said, his previous mood forgotten and his curiosity fully in control. “Trolls,” Erik said , “the Eads Bridge has trolls.” “Oh god, trolls? The one night I take too long at Old Dan’s and it’d have to be trolls. They stink, they slobber, they’re carnivorous,” Bill needlessly reminded Erik. “If you have any change in your pocket, empty it into the console,” Erik ordered. “No use getting them excited.” “Wait a minute, the Eads Bridge, they’re on the train, aren’t they? I hate the train,” Bill moaned, “the only thing worse than trolls are the people who ride the Metrolink trains.” “The people are fine,” Erik said, “and if not for me, your ass would be on that train most of the time.” “Those trains smell funny,” Bill, said re-crossing his arms, uncrossing them and re-re-crossing them. “And tonight they will smell like trolls,” Erik said. Erik pulled the car up onto the highway and left Old Dan’s property behind. The junkyard was about twenty minutes from downtown St. Louis, on the Illinois side of the river, and Erik was sure it was still closer than the people of St. Louis would like it. The young men spent much of the ride in silence, watching the sun go down behind the cityscape in the distance. As they approached the river, the city was at first next to them, and then loomed in front of them. The sunlight glinted off the glass and steel of the downtown buildings, and the lights began to come on, as they grew close. They crossed the river on the Poplar Street Bridge. The name was somewhat a joke, considering a highway and not Poplar Street had crossed the river for quite sometime. The exit into downtown and over to the Landing was to the right. In the distant past, Laclede’s Landing was a stop for river-men working the Mississippi. Now, the Landing represented restaurants, nightclubs, casinos and bars for college kids and office workers. The area was still paved with cobblestone and lit by ornate streetlights. Erik’s thick tires buzzed as they crossed the stones designed to be walked by horseshoes alone. “It sucks we have to pay to park so we can ride the train,” Bill remarked. “Do you get reimbursed for these expenses?” “Reimbursed by who? My dad? He has trouble paying for a cup of coffee. You think we are getting rich doing this? This business should be considered charity work,” Erik returned with a sigh. Erik still tried to think of what he did as a business. Truth be told it was a service, no one knew about or could know about. About a thousand years ago, the world began to change. Mankind left behind the dark ages and established religions then turned to science to find answers. The old gods with their mystical practices and reliance on magic, who had barely held on until now, began to fade. Unfortunately, the gods were immortal and they couldn’t just stop being immortal, so they had to blend in. The stuff of legend became just that, legend. Stories were told as fairy tales to scare children or studied in schools as quaint superstitions and myths. Stories believed by simpler folks and simpler unenlightened times. Erik, his family, and a select few knew the truth. Trolls, witches, goblins, dragons, fairies and all the old gods still very much existed. For the most part, they held down jobs when they could and caused trouble when they couldn’t. The troublemakers became Erik’s family’s problem. He and his relatives all over the world were the last of the Knight Protectors. Their calling had been passed down through countless generations. In each family, there was one born with the talent. To Erik’s parents, he was the gift. If Erik had not been born and recognized for his abilities, his parents would have gone on having children until one was born. Erik’s family received a small stipend for each incident they prevented or otherwise took care of. One advantage the old gods had found to being immortal in a mortal world was compound interest. Each of the old gods made deposits into bank accounts that were fed into secret trust funds, which funded secret foundations. The foundations paid Erik’s bills and provided for his equipment. He would never be rich. He would never be famous. He would always be needed, however, and through the miracle of modern banking, he would always be provided for. Bill had asked once why the gods didn’t just keep their money and live like rock stars. Old Dan had explained it was hard enough concealing their immortality it would be impossible if any of them became a celebrity or visibly rich and famous. Erik found a reasonably inexpensive parking spot a few blocks from the edge of the Eads Bridge. The two rounded the car to the back hatch and divvied up the equipment. Each slung a backpack over a shoulder and headed for the imposing stone structure that was the bridge. Half way to their destination, Erik’s cell phone rang. The ring tone was the Flight of the Valkyries, one of Erik’s personal favorites. One of his fondest memories of childhood was a vacation his family had taken to Norway. It was among the fjords at night where Erik saw his first valkyrie in flight. It was only years later he learned the valkyrie’s flight signaled the death of a warrior. He would never forget them,and it was memories like that night which kept him protecting the secrets of the old ways. “Hello,” Erik answered, breathing a little heavy under the weight he was carrying and the pace they were trying to keep. “Are you there yet boy?” came back Erik’s father’s voice. “You know they get more rowdy at night? Do you remember nothing about trolls? Hmm, tell me what you know about trolls before you go in there.” “It is for you,” Erik said tossing the phone to Bill. “Oh, who is it?” Bill said putting the phone to his ear, “Oh, hello Mister Aegir, how are you? Trolls, oh sure I remember trolls. All right. They slobber; they stink; they infest bridges and want payment to let travelers cross, and well of course it goes without saying that they eat anyone who refuses to pay. “…Erik, well, he seems ready as always. You know Erik. All gung-ho, take-one-for-the-team, Erik. He’d go in there and take on a troll army in his underwear if you told him he shouldn’t. Or as he would say ‘should not’. You could’ve taught him to use an occasional contraction you know. He talks like a science teacher.” “Give me that,” Erik said, taking back the phone, “Dad listen, we are fine. I will call you once we are done.” “Son, are you just getting there?” Erik’s dad asked. “Yes, Bill wanted something out at Old Dan’s. That is why I brought him with me,” Erik explained. “You brought Old Dan out on a troll hunt? Are you crazy, boy? Old Dan is way too important to take a chance on some troll eating him.” As always Erik’s father didn’t listen and worried too much. “No Dad, I brought Bill with me,” Erik re-explained, “Old Dan is probably sitting down to a nice meal with Frigg about now. They really miss you, you know. They wonder why you and mom do not drive out there more?” “We will son, we will. Now, you left your money in the car, right?” Erik’s dad asked. “Did you really take grandpa out on your hunts for years?” Erik asked. “Now, well, those were dangerous days, and don’t you believe everything that crazy old woman tells you now,” Erik’s dad returned. “Be thorough, but be safe son. You are a hundred, make that a thousand, times better than I ever was, but I am your father and I will always worry.” “I know, Dad,” Erik said, “We are at the station. It is time to go to work. I will call you after.” “I am proud of you son,” Erik’s dad always seemed to choke up when he was really worried. “For the gods’ sake Dad, they are just trolls. Bill could do this one. Kiss mom for me and I will see you Sunday for dinner.” Eric hung up, tucked away the phone and pulled the backpack up higher on his shoulder. “You’re not sending me in there alone,” Bill said with a pout. “Not a chance,” Erik smiled as he said, “trolls are too much fun for you to have them all to yourself.” Erik had a special place in his heart for trolls and their kind. He was about fifteen the first time his father took him out on a “hunt”. The assignment was more of reconnaissance rather than any kind of confrontation. The Chain of Rocks Bridge in north St. Louis County had a new family of trolls living there and Erik and his father were sent to make sure they had settled into the old abandoned bridge and not onto the new active one. Erik’s father had packed a cooler full of fresh meat to feed them if they looked hungry and brought along his equipment in case there was any trouble. “They’re not evil, you know,” Erik’s father said in a soft voice as they walked out onto the abandoned bridge. “These creatures are our responsibility. We are above all else their caretakers.” “Then why do you carry weapons and traps?” Erik asked. “I am thinking a two handed broad sword is not what the folks down at the zoo use to care for the animals in their care.” “Hardly,” Erik’s father replied. “The creatures we are managing are far more fierce than anything safely kept in a public zoo. These creatures are dangerous and destructive when not properly respected. Never forget, the weapons are our last resort. If we do our job right, no one gets hurt and these creatures are allowed to live in peace and secrecy.” Erik forced his mind back to the present as they neared the bridge. The Metrolink station for the St. Louis end of the Eads Bridge was built into a leg of the bridge itself. The supports for the bridge were brick that seemed to flow from the cobblestones right up onto the bridge and across the river to the Illinois side. Much of the bridge had fallen into disrepair and it was the addition of the Metrolink route running beneath it that gave the old crossing a new life. Even the tracks the trains ran on were repurposed from old tracks used by the railroad in years past. “Aw, hell no!” Bill thought aloud as he stepped into the shadow of the massive structure. The pair could already smell the urine and spoiled food odors coming from the area around the Eads Bridge station. The smell of human waste and sweat grew thick as they entered the stairwell and the fresh air disappeared around them. The stairs wound up through the leg of the bridge and exited out onto a standard Metrolink passenger platform. All the benches, signs, lights and vending machines associated with a Metrolink station appeared out of place here within the stonewalls of the bridge. The interior was high with arched openings looking back out over the Landing in one direction and to the Arch in the other. In Erik’s mind, it more closely resembled a battlement from an ancient fortress than a stop for an urban commuter train. Erik removed his backpack and set it between his knees as he settled onto a bench. He dug into the bag for a moment and pulled out a book on ancient mythology and warrior cults, took one last look around, and began to read. The cool river air moved the acrid smells around the cavernous space but never quite dissipated them. It was a typical autumn evening. It had been warm during the day and had turned cold with the approach of night. Erik could smell his own breath as he watched it travel as a mist into and out of his mouth. The odors and chemicals in the air made the taste in his mouth rancid and he felt a little sick. Shadows moved around the station and danced across the brickwork. Erik was sure he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. It was slow, then quick when he would look away, and then slow again. He noticed a bulky shadow round the bridge support and head up into the bridge’s underbelly. Rats, Erik thought. It must be rats chasing pigeons around in the dark. The movement was too scratchy-scurry like to be their trolls. Except for the two youngmen and the local wildlife, the platform sat empty. The cold lighting and cool breeze made the feeling of loneliness and exposure complete. Erik wasn’t afraid. He lived in a rough neighborhood. He was normally the guy others were afraid of, not the other way around. Erik stood tall at about six foot six inches. He had long blond hair which he pulled back in a ponytail or a braid to keep it out of his way. Tonight, he sported the braid. His beard was cut into a long van-dyke that he kept neatly groomed. He was every bit a product of his ancestry and there was no way he could hide it. His parents were immigrants from Norway, and he had been raised to respect the old ways and to honor his heritage. The religions, thoughts and cultures of his people were in his blood. He had no interest in other subjects and had his high school report cards to prove it. It wasn’t a lack of intelligence that spawned his grades. He just couldn’t get interested in what they were teaching. He loved old dusty books full of formal descriptions of magic and monsters. Learning algebra seemed pointless. His parents had forced their dreams upon him, at first, but at some point he had embraced them as his own. He was allowed to follow his own path as he discovered it. He discovered his path led him back to his family’s way of thinking. As much as Erik tried to rebel against his responsibilities, the more he realized how important it was for him to embrace them. His father was always proud and his mother always supportive as long as he did his best. They were patient, and knew if they waited long enough Erik would do the right thing. The right thing was in his blood. Bill sat fidgeting next to Erik. He whistled and then kicked a rock around resting by his feet. He looked up and around at every noise. They made for an interesting pair. Erik was big and blonde. Bill was tall but wiry with a dark complexion. Erik’s hair was long. Bill’s cut close. Erik wore a beard. Bill was clean-shaven. Two less likely friends would be hard to find. In fact, they had to find each other. Bill had been doing chalk drawings on the playground in second grade, when the class bully, some clod named Randy, came over and tracked mud across the soon-to-be masterpiece. Bill jumped up to defend his work and Randy began to pummel him senseless. It hadn’t been necessary for Erik to ever touch Randy. Erik was known by reputation and by his prowess on the sports field, even in second grade. “Randy,” Erik spoke in as deep a voice as second grader’s vocal cords could muster, and Randy knew he had picked on the wrong kid. “Uh, hi Erik,” Randy said with his fist frozen in mid swing. “Just talking to Bill here about messing up the playground.” “Randy, I am thinking about messing up the playground with some blood,” Erik said with a sinister smile. “Maybe you might want to help?” Randy was gone before the word “help” had faded from the air. Erik lifted Bill to his feet, dusted him off, and helped repair the drawing the best they could by the time recess was over. That day, over chalk drawings and playground politics, a life-long friendship was formed. Bill was the bard, the poet and the artist. Erik would grow to be a hero to inspire the artistic soul. Erik was Achilles to Bill’s Homer. “What if they don’t show?” Bill asked hopefully. “We get a train ride and a parking bill with no payment afterwards,” Erik replied. “They will come. It took me a few minutes to smell them and hear them, but now I have them. They are watching, waiting, biding their time and wondering if we will make the first move. We have all night,” Erik said without looking up from his book. “You could have told me you were bringing a book,” Bill said. “I thought we could at least visit while we wait.” Erik chuckled at Bill’s use of the word ‘visit’ like they were old women sitting at home knitting and sipping tea. “Not really reading thebook,” Erik explained, “it is an old favorite I picked up at Old Dan’s. Frigg recommended it.” “Old Dan has books?” Bill asked, wondering how he missed that during his many excursions into Old Dan’s treasures. “Shhhh, listen,” Erik ordered. “If you listen, you can hear them laughing and moving around under the bridge. We definitely have trolls.” Bill sat quietly and heard nothing but city noises. He heard cars moving across cobblestones. He heard drunken people moving about on the street below after a night of partying. Bill wished to be one of those lucky drunken people. He even heard a horse drawn carriage, a favorite of the tourists, the horse’s hooves clomping along the street below, and the gentle ringing of the tack. Definitely no troll sounds. However, he had learned to trust Erik. This was not their first hunt together and if all went well, it probably wouldn’t be their last. As Bill continued to strain to detect even the slightest sign of a troll, the train made its appearance. First, it was a blinding light coming down the track in their direction. Then, there was the sound of metal on metal as the wheels slowed. Finally, he heard the buzz of electricity running from the wires above the track down a wand into the engine of the machine. The train whistled softly as it pushed through the air. The train eased itself to a stop in front of them and the pneumatic doors hissed open. The air coming from in the train had a metallic smell mixed with the unmistakable scent of humanity. By the time the train reached the Eads Bridge and was about to cross the river, the crowds that relied on the train going to and from work had reached their destinations so the cars were barely occupied but the smell of closely pressed bodies remained. “Have I mentioned how I hate the train?” Bill asked rhetorically. “Have I mentioned you never shut up?” Erik offered in place of an answer. The train was decorated primarily in blue and white with small touches of red here and there.Generally, as urban commuter trains go, the Metrolink was exceptionally clean and well maintained. Erik took a seat across from the door where they had just entered. “They know we are here,” Erik said, knowing it would put Bill on edge. Erik expected a long night of riding the train back and forth across the bridge, waiting for the trolls to make a move. He hoped it wouldn’t come to him and Bill climbing around underneath the bridge flushing them out by morning. Erik allowed himself a few moments to take in the surroundings. A lady sat with a bag in front of her, two rows back on the opposite side of the train. Four rows back, on Erik and Bill’s side, were two young men laughing and talking. Down the aisle, between the seats, near the back of the train car, sat a troll. To an average passenger, he would appear to be a homeless person. His hair was long, filthy and had never been combed. He had a massive head with a large nose, small eyes and a mouth full of big crooked teeth. The bone structure of his head was oversized and thick. To hold up the humongous head was a tree trunk of a neck. The neck was short, quickly becoming broad shoulders and a massive frame. Completing the image a round belly protruded from the middle of this unkempt physique peeking out from beneath filthy and ragged old clothes held together by magic unknown to modern tailors. Once the train was moving, the troll wasted no time in getting to his feet and heading down the aisle. “Pay to ride,” the smelly, gross creature demanded of the young men. The men looked up at the creature, then returned to their conversation as if they thought they had heard something and were mistaken. “Pay to cross bridge,”the troll demanded, this time shoving the one youth into the other. Erik had his backpack off and was unzipping it as soon as he saw the troll. He would need to be quick or this situation could turn ugly right from the start. First out of the pack was a bloody-rare piece of meat wrapped in aluminum foil. Erik unwrapped it and flung it on the floor just in front of the troll. Bill looked over to see why Erik was responding to the troll by choosing now as an appropriate time for a lunch break. “Hey did ya’ bring enough for everybody,” and then after a whiff “Gaa-ross,” Bill said, wrinkling his nose and covering his mouth. “What the hell is that?” “Goat carcass, on whole wheat, one of Frigg’s lesser known delicacies” Erik answered, “nothing a troll likes better than a little goat. It can usually even put them off demanding payment. However, it is an acquired taste.” The troll took the bait, taking a massive hand off the young man in front of him and sniffing the air. You would have thought the most fragrant perfume had been released into the confined space, from the look of olfactory delight on the troll’s face. In fact, the smell of a rotting goat carcass was perfume to a troll. Erik was sure lady trolls must spread it behind their ears and on their wrists before a night out on the town. “I hope you doped that thing,” Bill observed. “Vicodin and Benadryl,” Erik replied, “he should be quite easy to deal with when he finishes his snack.” The colossal creature made quick work of the goat remains, completely forgetting his demands of payment from the passengers for a few moments. After eating, he stood up with a bit of a swagger and headed back to the group of young men. “We are going to have to keep him busy for a few minutes while the medicine takes effect,” Erik instructed Bill. “Busy? How am I supposed to keep a big ol’ troll busy? All they like to do is beg for money, eat disgusting animals and stink. I think he can do all of those things without any help from me,” Bill replied wiping non-existent dirt from the front of his shirt. The troll repeated his demands and Erik was sure he heard a slight slur. Erik knew the slur was probably more wishful thinking than actual chemical effect. Erik was afraid things were close to getting out of hand when one of the young men shoved the troll to make it go away. There was only one creature worse to deal with than an angry troll on a train and that was a drunken Old Dan after his favorite football team, the Minnesota Vikings, had lost on TV. The troll absorbed the shove and then reached for the teenager. Before the young man could yelp, he was in the air and being drug across seats down the length of the train. Erik and Bill were forced to duck as the boy was pulled over their seat as the troll proceeded down the aisle. “He’ll kill that kid, ya’ know,” Bill said. “Nah, he is just playing with him,” Erik answered with a smile as he stepped into the aisle. “Still it would be best if he took on someone more his size.” Erik followed the troll down the aisle and grabbed him by the shoulder. “I paid, let him ride,” Erik offered. “You paid…he didn’t,” the troll offered as way of explanation. “Frigg’s cooking just is not worth what it used to be,” Erik’s charm was lost on the troll. In truth, Erik just wanted to get close so he could retake control of the situation. “Can’t we get out the morning star or brandish a sword about?” Bill suggested in no way helping the situation. “Not this time, Bill,” Erik said. Erik tapped the troll first on the right shoulder and then on the left. Each tap was harder and harder until he was shoving against the troll on one side and then the other. “I don’t think he wants to dance,” Bill observed. The hulking creature swayed back and forth and tried to reach around his body to get at Erik. Erik couldn’t possibly take on a troll in hand-to-hand combat but he was the king of tease and dodge.Tease and dodge was how Erik survived being the youngest in his family. It was a way for him to play fight with Bill and not clobber him. Tonight it would irritate a troll just long enough for some powerful chemicals to move through one massive body. Erik was dodging and poking the creature with great success until one move when he should have dodged instead of teased. The troll spun and was facing Erik before either of them knew what had happened. “Another sandwich?” Erik asked pulling another wad wrapped in foil from his jacket pocket. The giant stretched out his back and came to his full height. Later Bill would swear the brute stood seven feet tall. A massive hand reached out for the foil and the troll seemed unable to stop reaching. He extended his arm then his shoulder followed and then his whole body came toward Erik. Erik leaped back out of the way just as the creature landed with a heavy thud on the metal floor. “One troll down with little fuss,” Erik said, smiling with satisfaction. His job was always to try and remove the threat and keep as low a profile as possible. Trolls eating passengers on the Metrolink tended to attract folks from the evening news. Just as likely to attract attention would be a young man swinging a battle-ax on a commuter train in an attempt to subdue the self-same troll. A troll eating rotten meat might gross out a train passenger or two, but it wouldn’t attract cameras and reporters. The troll was just curling up in a ball for a long nap when the train came to a stop. They were about halfway across the bridge at the time. Though the train did occasionally make stops as part of its usual routine, Erik was sure this stop was anything but on the schedule. “I think you made the others angry,” Bill said, with more than a little fear in his voice. “Or at least curious,” Erik replied, removing a large pry bar from his pack and heading toward the doors. “Let’s go out and see what they want.” “Is this really the best idea?” Bill asked, knowing Erik had made up his mind long before he reached the doors and started prying them open. “We have their attention. They are more likely to be out in the open and I would prefer a face to face confrontation to having to crawl around and smoke them out.” Erik explained as the doors swung open and he stepped out onto the tracks. “I’ll sit here and keep an eye on this one,” Bill said to Erik’s back. Bill removed some rope from his own backpack and began to tie the troll’s hands and feet. Erik actually felt better with Bill tucked safely in the train. He wasn’t sure if this would be a negotiation or a fight and Bill wasn’t really good at either. Erik carried the pry bar and pulled the backpack up onto his shoulder. The bridge under-structure, where the train tracks were located, was a series of crisscrossed beams. The design was never intended to be an easy place to take a walk. Erik needed to keep looking down, and then up quickly to be sure he was staying safe from falling and safe from any surprise attackers. The car he had just left had been near the center of the train. It took several minutes for Erik to make his way along the side of the long vehicle to see what was preventing the train from moving forward. The area around the train was dark except for the powerful headlights shining forward. The interior of the train provided some illumination through its tinted windows. However, that light was more distracting than anything. Even though the lights of downtown St. Louis were visible in the distance, they provided little help in finding his way. As Erik’s eyes had begun to adjust to the dark, the bright train lights were nearly blinding. It took several minutes for his vision to clear, and even then Erik could hardly believe what he was seeing. Huddled transfixed in the illumination of the headlight were a large female troll and a litter of troll babies. She carried one child on her hip and the others were gathered around her tugging on already torn and tattered clothing. Erik approached slowly and could hear the voices of the little trolls. They each pleaded, “gimmee, gimmee,” in one form or another. The poor lady troll looked lost and at her wits end. Erik immediately surmised the situation. The small trolls explained Erik’s mistaking their movements for those of rats and pigeons. This was a displaced young family of trolls looking to set up a new home. For whatever reason, the parents and their growing brood of young ones must have been run out of their previous arrangement and had decided to settle here. This development called for assistance, not combat. The small trollings were attracted to the smell of goat on Erik’s hands and clothes. Erik wandered into the group of young trolls, eight in all. Faced with a new target for their begging, the youngsters turned on Erik. From the waist down, Erik became all arms, heads and cries of “gimmee, gimmee.” The troll mother smiled with pride, or was it joy because she could have even one moment of relative peace? Erik motioned for them to follow, then led the smelly, dirty, hyperactive family along the tracks and back to the train where he had left their dad snoozing. Erik appreciated the mother motioning her little ones to her, it would. save him a night a chasing them through the framework of the bridge. Erik encouraged the trollings to stay with him by pulling small goat morsels from his backpack. He smiled as he thought how grossed out Bill would be if he knew what part of the goat these little pieces were from. He also knew the bite sized chunks were a delicacy to trolls the world over. “Who is your daddy?” Erik said with a smile as he entered the train surrounded by troll babies With new people to pester, the children playfully spread out within the train and accosted each and every passenger, bringing no harm. The original eight had been joined by five more who had been shy and waited in the shadows for the all clear. “We have a troll daycare?” Bill asked. “What are we supposed to do with these?” “I have an idea,” Erik said. “Give me the phone and clear the doors. I think the train will be moving again shortly.” Right on cue, the train lurched into motion, its path cleared. Erik moved through his speed dial numbers so he could make his calls. “Old Dan, take off your slippers and bring the trailer. We have a whole family here.” Erik clicked the phone and dialed the next number. “Dad meet Eric and I at the East St. Louis station and hurry up.” “Bill look in your backpack for snacks. We need to keep this family entertained until the back-up arrives.” Bill fished out bits of old meat from past excursions. He quickly exhausted his scraps and began negotiating with the old lady on the train to sell him her groceries. “We are going to sit at the East St. Louis station at night with a family of trolls?” Bill asked, already knowing the answer. “Yes,” Erik answered as if Bill had asked if the sun rose every morning and the sky were blue. “Would you mug a family of trolls if you saw them?” “Well, no,” Bill admitted. “But how do we keep them together? Why did they even follow you onto the train?” “I smell of goat and their father,” Erik answered. “Trolls have little beady eyes and big bulbous noses. They live and die by their sense of smell. I smelled like home and as long as I do not shower they will follow me anywhere. Now the downside is if we do not feed them soon they will probably try to eat these passengers.” “The daddy troll never ate his second sandwich,” Bill offered. “Where is it?” “Under him,” Erik answered. “Let us roll him over and feed these kids.” The troll mother had already started to minister to her husband. She gnawed on his bindings and shook him to wake him. “He is ok.” Erik reassured her. “Just sleepy.” “Help us roll him over,” Erik asked as much with hand motions as with words. The lady troll seemed to understand and the three of them rolled him over. Sure enough smashed under him was the bloody aluminum foil filled with goat guts. Before the body was even fully rolled onto his back the little trolls were tearing at the foil and meat. Erik snatched it from them and pushed his fingers into the wet flesh. He wanted to get the drugs hidden inside out before he gave a group of youngsters an overdose. He hid what he was doing by tearing off bits he had inspected and handing it to the nearest outreached hand. The lady troll sat with her husband’s head in her lap and softly sang a wordless tune and stroked his hair. Erik felt sad for this little family. A family with thirteen children seems large in human terms, but a troll mother can give birth to fifteen trollings in a single litter. These troll parents were young and just getting started. A cage back at Old Dan’s wouldn’t be enough. He could have held one or two trolls for a while but a family would need a home. A home would need to be a place away from the city and safe for them to build a life. Just as the last of the goat parts were devoured and the children were growing restless, the train pulled into the station and the doors opened with an intake of night air. Old Dan stood on the platform with a trash can full of more goat and a smile on his face. Erik smiled back. It was moments like this when Erik loved his life. He had saved a new family and no one had died. He thought about the small things he took for granted. Old Dan should not have been able to get to the platform before the train. Yet, here he stood and behind him in the parking lot was an old beat up truck attached to an old beat up trailer. Old Dan waved bloody goat meat at the trolls and they practically danced out of the train and into his arms. The little ones had been starving on the Eads Bridge. A metropolitan bridge was no place to find food. Trying to feed his family on scraps of fast food and handouts would have ended badly eventually. To feed his family the troll dad would have started bringing home human meat for dinner. A brood of trolls raisedon human meat would be killers beyond redemption by the time they reached adolescence. Erik had gotten to them in time. These creatures deserved a chance to live as the gods had intended. ***** It was morning as Erik’s dad and Old Dan finished hosing out the large moving truck. “I’ll never get the smell out of here you know. Never. From now on this will have to be the troll trolley. No one will want their things moved in this stinking truck,” Old Dan complained as they did their best to return his property to the way they had found it. Erik and Bill watched the goats moving about the field looking for breakfast and occasionally looking over a shoulder at their new neighbors. Goats knew trolls as well as trolls knew goats. Whether they liked it or not, the goats were well aware that they had just moved to the top of the menu. Across the field, the little troll family was moving into their new home. It wasn’t much to look at, but to a troll it was a dream come true. Old Dan had found them an old covered bridge on an abandoned dirt road next to a goat farmer who owed some really big favors… for what, we may never know. Old Dan had given Erik a list of numbers to call while they had driven their fully loaded trailer far from the city. It had taken well into the afternoon to find them an available spot. Out here in the country, the new family would have a bridge to call homewhere they couldn’t really hurt anyone, and plenty to eat. “You should be proud of this one,” Old Dan said to Erik’s father, with a hand on his shoulder, indicating a good deal of pride himself. “It is rare for a warrior to better himself in his children.” “All-Father, you are going to turn my head with such talk,” Erik’s father replied, using Old Dan’s honorific in private. “Now don’t take all the credit, you young braggart,” Old Dan said, returning to a more characteristic speech pattern that somehow never wholly managed to hide his affection. “He has good, hearty blood in his veins, you know.” “I know All-Father. His is our achievement. It is the reason we all still watch over him,” Erik’s father said. The two watched as Bill and Erik made their way over to the bridge to make sure the troll family was settling in. The young men got into an unexpected wrestling match with a couple of the little trolls and laughed as they tumbled in the grass. “Were we ever young enough to stay up all night and still want to play with troll babies in the grass?” Erik’s father asked. “You aren’t too old to come by and visit the old folks once in awhile,” Old Dan said. “Frigg misses you something awful. She has a soft heart for you, boy.” “I know, I know. I’ll make time. I promise. Maybe now that Erik can handle most of this on his own, it’s time to retire and visit with family.” Erik’s father said wistfully. “Who said anything about retiring, in this family we just pick something else and learn a new trade so we keep on going. You don’t see me retiring do ya’? Damn lazy kids today.” Old Dan grumbled with no real malice. “I guess it’s time for a change then, this life belongs to Erik now.”