Trolled

Ned Thump

  Thursday, Sept. 8

  I like big words, words such as “felicific,” “pusillanimous,” and “deviated septum.” (All right, that last is two words. But you have to admit they tumble sweetly off the tongue.)

  This love of multisyllables is one more thing that made me an outcast among my fellow trolls, whose idea of witty mockery might be a conversation like this:

  Troll 1: “You smell too nice. Stupid troll!”

  Troll 2: “You talk too pretty. Stupid troll!”

  Troll 1: “Stinky face!”

  Troll 2: “Funny butt!”

  Troll 1: “Nose drooler!”

  Troll 2: “Tiny farter!!!”

  “Tiny farter” is, of course, the worst thing you can call a troll.

  It would all be downhill after that.

  So though I accept that I am terrible at being a troll, I am not entirely unhappy at being stranded here in the human world.

  At least the insults are more interesting.

  Sept. 9

  Dear Parents and Guardians,

  I wanted to let you know early on about one of the most important aspects of this year’s curriculum. I have been granted permission by the school board to proceed with a new program called “The Biography Project.”

  This exciting approach unites some of the most important aspects of learning—reading, writing, history, and research—in a connected series of ongoing tasks.

  The basic idea is that the best way to learn about the world is to learn about people. With that in mind, the students will write numerous biographies throughout the year. Some will be of historical figures. Others will be of current leaders or celebrities. Still others will be of people within the student’s own circle—family members, friends, perhaps work acquaintances suggested by either Mom or Dad.

  Most important, the project will begin and end with the students writing their autobiographies.

  Awareness begins from within and expands outward from there. It is my hope and expectation that the second autobiography will display considerable growth, both personal and academic, on the part of your children.

  Please be assured that this approach is fully compliant with state standards.

  Normal curriculum for math and science will prevail…though I will try to integrate those areas as much as possible with our biography work.

  To be clear: the biography project will involve more writing than usual. It will also require the students to interact more fully with the world outside of school. I hope you will support your student in these endeavors.

  Adventure and discovery await us!

  If you have any questions, please do not hesitate to contact me. I am almost always available for conferences and consults in the hour after the school day ends.

  Yours in education,

  Herb Liebe

  Saturday, Sept. 10

  Years ago I had to have a photograph taken in order to get my security badge for work.

  Unlike some of my relatives, I can handle light well enough, at least for a short time. But the blinding flash when the picture was snapped nearly made me pass out!

  I sincerely hope I never have to do that again.

  I am pasting a copy of the photo in here, as a reminder of a particularly awful day.

  From The Complete Guide

  to Trolls and Their Ways

  It is widely believed in the human world that sunlight is fatal to trolls. As with many things humans believe, this idea contains a kernel of truth wrapped in a fantasia of nuttery.

  It is true that sunlight could be lethal for earlier generations of trolls. Hundreds of years ago, a troll foolish enough to be out and about after the sun rose might be turned into stone (which is to say, returned to its essence). The important thing to note is that this was not true of all trolls.

  Professor Elmgarden (dwarf), in a decades-long study, proved a definite connection between lack of intelligence and the likelihood of being petrified by sunlight. The reason for this is not clear, but the result was that the trolls most likely to turn to stone were also the ones most likely to be caught outside at daybreak. And the trolls least likely to turn to stone were the ones who most avoided sunlight to begin with.

  Naturally, the population of trolls subject to petrification dwindled. After a number of centuries they nearly disappeared altogether.

  Even so, it took a long period of careful (and sometimes fatal) exploration for the remaining trolls to realize that sunlight was no longer deadly for most of them.

  Which is not to say that it is pleasant. Bright light of any kind is uncomfortable for all trolls. Extended exposure can result in a painful “lightburn”—something that makes a human sunburn seem pale by comparison!

  To summarize: while trolls are generally happier and more comfortable in the darkness, they can be out in the world if necessary…though doing so may come at a painful cost.

  Markus Karlsen, Dwarf

  Professor of Interspecies Studies

  University Enchantica

  Monday, Sept. 12

  One of the best things about my job is that it gives me a legitimate reason to terrorize humans! Only bad humans, of course…but there are more than enough of them to satisfy my taste for this.

  Truly, few things are as delightful as spotting a crook or an intruder somewhere in Grand Central Terminal and then using my troll-stealth to sneak up behind him. I love the way they scream in surprise! Even better is the way mere fright changes to bone-freezing terror when they turn and see my face!

  I do not think I will ever get tired of this.

  It almost makes up for having had to leave home.

  Writing Prompt

  “MY MOST

  EMBARRASSING MOMENT”

  What I want you to think about today is the most embarrassing thing that ever happened to you…and how it has affected you. Are you changed because of it? Are there things you no longer try? Are there things you do differently?

  This is an unusual assignment because I do NOT want you to turn it in! The reason is simple—I don’t want you to be shy about writing this, which you probably would be if you thought I was going to see it. So you are on your honor on this one. I will never know whether you do it or not.

  But I hope you will. I think you may discover things that will be very useful as you work on your autobiography…which is, I remind you, due next Wednesday!

  —Mr. L

  F. L. Atul

  UNITED PHYSICIANS (U.P.)

  PHYSICIANS PLAZA (P.P.)

  Water Street

  New York, NY 10004

  September 15

  Dear Mr. and Mrs. Takala:

  After my appointment with Cody last week, I did quite a bit of research on his unusual condition. Unfortunately, I could find nothing in the medical literature that touches on this.

  I do understand that Cody finds the condition embarrassing. However, as he is otherwise extremely healthy, I do not think you should worry about it.

  Sincerely,

  Pediatrician

  Thursday, Sept. 15

  Another good thing about my job is that I actually like my boss, Mr. Peter Takala.

  It seems an amazing piece of luck that I am able to work for someone who also has family roots in Finland. Though, of course, Mr. T (as all of us night watchmen call him) comes from the human world in Finland, not the Enchanted Realm.

  The downside of having Mr. T as my boss is that he has a son who makes me nervous. The boy—his name is Cody—is nice enough. But he seems to be extremely curious about me.

  The last thing I need is some boy snooping around trying to discover my true story!

  9/16

  My Most Embarrassing Moment

  Boy, Mr. Liebe really came up with a tough one this time. Thank goodness we don’t have to hand it in!

  Mr. L is smart that way. He knows if he asked us to give him a paper called “My Most Embarrassing Moment,” hardly anyone would write something honest. It would be too…well, embarras
sing!

  So he wants us to write this just for ourselves. I’m sure he knows some of us won’t bother. But I love that he leaves it up to us.

  As for me, I didn’t have to think very long to know what I had to write about. And it’s not my farts. They’re embarrassing, but also kind of funny.

  This is way more serious, and something I definitely wouldn’t hand in.

  Good grief. This is even harder to put down than I thought it would be. I wonder if that’s because writing it down makes it more real somehow.

  Okay, it was fourth grade. Springtime.

  I was planning to walk home with Bud Parker, who is kind of cool in some ways, but also a total geekling. (Sometimes the two things go together.) We had gone only a block past the school when we were surrounded by a pack of sixth graders out for blood.

  Not mine. Bud’s.

  Why they were after him I have no idea. I don’t know if they did, either. One weird thing was that I knew some of the kids in the group, and they were basically good kids. At least, that was what I thought. But somehow the pack thing had changed that.

  “Hey, nerdbutt,” said Derek Curtis. “Going off to a nerdfest?”

  Which he seemed to think was brilliant.

  I don’t want to go into all of this. The only thing I have to write down is my own complete embarrassment, which I still feel two years later.

  Because I did nothing.

  I said nothing.

  I let those creeps pick on, tease, and humiliate Bud.

  And I did…nothing.

  When I think about it, it makes me sick. Who was I on that day? Whoever it was, I don’t want to be that kid, that Cody, ever again, on any day.

  It’s not who I am!

  No, that’s not really true. It is who I was.

  But I don’t want to be that kid again.

  Ever.

  That’s not how a hero acts.

  Thanks a lot, Mr. Liebe. Now I’m kind of sick to my stomach.

  Even so, I guess I needed to think about that day, which I’ve mostly been trying not to. It’s important that I never forget it.

  God, I’m glad I don’t have to hand this in.

  Saturday, Sept. 17

  Saturday nights are hard.

  That is because for the humans, Saturday is “Date Night”…a cause for fun and frolic.

  The thought that I could ever have a date is sadly hilarious, for more than one reason. So, accepting that I will be alone, it is a good night to write.

  What I want to write about tonight is my home.

  To start with, I live underground.

  This is good, as it feels more natural than would living “up above.”

  On the other hand, most of the tunnels down here are not natural. They are part of the train and subway system, so definitely man-made. (Well, man-made and troll-made. I personally helped excavate many of them!)

  I am not the only one who dwells beneath the city. Many humans live down here, too. They have a number of loose communities.

  These “undergrounders” accept me more easily than do the humans who walk the streets above us. I guess we outcasts recognize each other.

  That doesn’t mean we interact a lot. Even underground, I am, as would be expected, on the outer edge of things.

  Which is the way it needs to be.

  Though most of the tunnel people are friendly enough, the rule seems to be that you don’t ask questions about why anyone is here. Which is fine with me! Generally, we leave each other alone. The exception is when someone finds a nice batch of discarded restaurant food that can be shared around.

  I find I have developed a fondness for pasta.

  Mostly, however, I eat rats. They are plentiful, easy to catch, and quite tasty if properly prepared.

  The undergrounders call them track rabbits.

  I could buy my own food, of course, since I have a job. But why pay for food when rats are so available? They are good raw, but I have also developed many tasty recipes to give myself some variety in my diet. My favorite is a rat-and-vegetable stew I call ratatouille. (I got the name from some human dish, but I don’t think that one actually uses rats, which seems kind of silly.)

  I do have a special friend among the humans, a little girl named Martha. She is seven years old and lives down here with her mother.

  I do not know why the two of them have chosen to live underground.

  As I said, we don’t ask questions.

  Sometimes I bring fresh food for Martha and her mother. This makes the mother (I forget her name) happy. Other times I buy Martha small gifts—toys and coloring books, mostly.

  This seems to me a good way to spend some of the money I make.

  Martha thinks “Pull My Finger” is the funniest game ever invented. This is something I agree with.

  Of course, given the power of my trollish farts, playing “Pull My Finger” raises the game to a whole new level.

  Martha’s mother was afraid of me at first. But after I protected her and her daughter a couple of times when trouble was brewing, she relaxed and began to trust me.

  It is nice to have someone to take care of.

  Good grief. What an untrollish thought!

  Sometimes I fear I am getting infected with human feelings.

  Perhaps the time is coming when I should go home.

  Hah! What a ridiculous idea.

  Even so, I can’t help but wonder what would happen if I tried….

  Sunday, Sept. 18

  I hate shoes!

  I am thinking about this because tomorrow I have to go back to work.

  That mostly makes me happy, as I like my job. But there is one bad thing about this. It means that tomorrow I have to put my shoes back on.

  And I hate shoes! Not only are they uncomfortable, they hide my wonderful foot smell!

  What makes it worse is that I don’t even need the dratted things. My feet are so tough I can walk across broken glass without pain or injury. But I am forced to wear the cramping, pinching, nasty, sweat-inducing things for my job. Even if they weren’t required by my boss, I would need them to hide the talons that grow from the ends of my broad and hairy toes.

  Humans are so sensitive! If they would walk around in bare feet all the time, they would toughen up soon enough and not have to worry about wasting money on these toe-squashing leather monstrosities!

  Speaking of money, my shoes are real wallet-drainers. That’s because my feet are so big I have to have my shoes custom made. (Few humans, even ones of my height, have feet as big as mine!)

  The first thing I do each morning when I get back to my cave is tear off the wretched leather foot prisons and let my poor aching toes breathe and stretch!

  Humans are strange, and if I had had any doubt on that matter, the issue of shoes has settled it.

  From: Cody Takala’s Biography Notebook

  9/18

  Tonight was very weird.

  And upsetting.

  It started out with me trying to do something I thought was really good. Though I wouldn’t tell this to Mr. Liebe, his Biography Project has got me thinking about my own family and how much I don’t know about them.

  For example: What is Great-Granny Aino’s story? Why did she and Great-Grampa Harald (who I never met because he died before I was born) move to America to begin with? And most important, what happened between Dad and Grampa Raimo? Why aren’t we in contact with him?

  If I’m going to understand my family, these are things I should know. So tonight after supper I went over to talk to Granny Aino. (That’s what I call her. We’ve agreed to skip the “great” part. She says it depresses her.)

  I thought it was going to be fun, but what actually happened was pretty awful.

  Things started out well enough. Norman the Doorman greeted me with his usual “Hey, Codester, how’s your roadster?” Which is basically ridiculous, since (a) I’m too young to drive, (b) even if I wasn’t, I probably wouldn’t drive in NYC, and (c) who calls a car a roadster anymore, a
nyway?

  It should be annoying. But Norman is so cheerful that I don’t mind his totally goofy way of greeting me.

  Plus, I know he takes good care of Granny Aino, which counts for a lot.

  He used the house phone to tell her I was on my way up, so she was waiting at her door when I got to the penthouse.

  “Oh, look!” she cried happily. “My little tonttu has come to visit!”

  A tonttu is some sort of dwarfy creature from Finland.

  If anyone else tried to call me this, I’d be annoyed. But since it’s Granny Aino, it’s all right. And it’s a heck of a lot better than Rosie, my stupid nickname at school.

  “Come on in and have a seat,” she said.

  I went straight to my favorite chair, which is so soft that when you sit down it’s like getting hugged.

  As soon as I had settled in, Askeladden jumped into my lap and started to purr.

  His full name is actually Askeladden III, since he’s the third cat of this sort that Granny Aino has had. He’s a big guy, with a ridiculously thick silver and gray coat. His name comes from some Norwegian folktales—which is a bit odd, since we’re Finnish, not Norwegian. But Granny says magic is magic, cats are cats, and she’ll call her cat whatever she darn well pleases.

  Once Askeladden was in place, Granny offered me some cookies. She is, I swear, the world’s greatest cookiemaker! Her specialty is Finnish Spoon Cookies with Cloudberry Jam. OMG, they are sooooo good.

  (My friends say cloudberry jam is something I made up and I’m just skying when I tell them about it. But it’s a real thing in Finland.)

  Next Gran asked her usual questions about how I was doing, did I have a girlfriend yet (Blurtch! As if!), what were my grades like, and so on.

  Once we got past all that, I started to tell her about the Biography Project. As I got deeper into it, her hands started to tremble so badly that she sloshed tea out of her cup.

  I probably should have shut up right then.