Troll Bridge Part 1

How do you move a mythical creature?

This is the sixth tale in my short story collection, You Want It Darker. Each tale is designed to be read alone, but recurring characters will pop up throughout the collection. Rita’s tale can be found in The Banshee, whilst Jen and Ben appear in A Rest Stop At The Red Post. Due to the length of the story, I’m posting this part now and the remainder of the tale later this week.

“Yer lookin’ a bit peelie!” I called out to Callum as we slipped and skidded down the embankment. I look out for him. God knows, his mam barely knows he’s alive, whilst his girlfriend would be the first to know if he died. In-between; he’s got me.

Callum grunted, his broad back rippling under the thin windcheater. The day’s a sullen one with a hint of sun behind the clouds, and thanks to the wind, we’ve both got hats and gloves on. It mebbe spring, but no one’s told the weather that.

We reach the bottom of the slope, and ma wellies sink into the mud just before it crumbles into the stream. The water’s turgid from the recent rain, and we gingerly tread forward.

“Wha’ now?” I ask. I’m here as a favour really; the driver and back-up. It’s Callum’s shout.

“Just wait,” he cautions me. There’s a small bridge up ahead that looks like it’s been incorporated into the A-road above us, as though someone had stuck the massive modern girders on top of older piles. No one would be that daft, right? Callum crept closer, like he were approaching a bull in a field. Ask me how I know.

The problem is that the underside of the bridge is empty. There’s a bereft ledge on one side and nothing else but the water. Not even a smudge of graffiti, which makes sense when you realise we had to hike two fields just to get here.

If it were anyone else, I would’ve high-tailed it home. But it’s Callum, who tracks down the uncanny for a living, and I owe him ma life.

I wait. Callum pulls out the brandy and tobacco, sprinkling them in the water. He talks, sings, and shouts.

Nowt.

Finally, he walks up to ancient pilings, puts a hand on the stones and vomits—full-on projectile vomiting.

I run over, every footstep a squelch, and drag him back from the bridge. My coat brushes the structure as I turn, and I feel its backwash of emotion: decay, foulness, and suffocation. I dry-heave as I pull Callum backwards.

“Yer got that?” he asked, his accent twanging under stress.

“Yeah.”

“We’ve found it.”

“Now what?”

“Gimme a minute.”

Callum spent more than a few minutes muttering various things with the stones, measuring the distance between us and them (the ‘heaving yard,” he called it) and finally bringing out a compass and a small crystal pendulum that he pushed back and forth over our path.

I tucked my hands under my armpits and waited, shivering.

“Right,” he said finally. “Let’s get warm.”

“Thank God we parked at the pub,” I agreed.

*

An hour later, with a hot drink in ma mitts, I was ready to talk again. The pub was one of those 14-century affairs with white walls, black beams and massive fireplaces. The espresso machine was new, and the barman knew how to work it. I sipped in appreciation as Callum sat down and pulled off his hat, sparking another shock.

“You’ve got tattoos!”

The side of his head had always been shaven, but now the blue curls of an old Celtic design swept through the stubble.

“Eh, yeah.” He swept a shy hand over it, blushing faintly. “Celeste wanted it.”

I stared at him, open-mouthed. “That’s a bit bloody permanent, mate. Yer sure about her?”

Callum glanced around and leaned forward. “I’m sure,” he said. “She wanted me to share her world, an’ this helps. It shows I’m not her pet to the others. Cannae be mind-fuddled with this on.”

“Most people slip on a ring an’ go shoppin’ for curtains,” I pointed out.

Callum shrugged. “She’s naw most people,” he said

I sipped ma coffee. “Yer a brave lad, hooking up with a death fae,” I said softly.

“Aye, well,” he cleared his throat. “Humans an’ fae can’t wed. Two worlds an’ all that.”

“OK,” I said and left it well alone. “So, what’re we here for? Yer were right mysterious on the phone.”

Callum brightened up and pulled out a small, poorly printed local history book and a survey map. The first looked like an amateur effort, run up on a home printer. The second was something you could buy at the local hiking shop. “Highways England called me,” he explained. “I’ve gotta contact there from when they last had to clear a patch of fen marsh, and the workers kept going off sick.”

“Oh?”

“Will-o-wisps. Nasty things. The Highway lot were lucky the ground had been drained, so it was only sickness. Anyhow, when their workers came down this time with the vomiting bug for this bridge, they thought of me. Remember those cracks in the road? The whole thing’s sinkin’. If they don’t do sommat soon, the whole road’ll be closed.”

“A problem, then.”

“More ‘n a little. They want to broaden it for the motorway bypass. Could be looking at millions of pounds out of pocket.”

I pulled the paper book towards me. “An’ it’s in here?” I said cautiously. Since I’ve known Callum, we’ve hunted down fairies, ghosts, curses and rumours. Most of it turns out to be exaggerated.

“Kinda.”

I turn the pages cautiously. It’s the usual assembly of local folklore – witches, ghosts, sprites and devils. I pause when I reach the title: “Knockturn Bridge.” The illustration shows a small humpback crossing over a stream. I half-expected a shepherdess with a crook to be driving sheep over it.

“This it?” I asked, raising my eyebrows at Callum.

“Mmmupf. Read it out.”

I humoured him, putting on my sing-song story voice.

“Travellers never cross this bridge without misgivings. Some say it’s an angry water sprite; others say it was a troll left behind when the Vikings raided. To this day, people leave offerings when they cross the bridge to placate the inhabitant underneath and keep their dinner down.”

I frowned at the sketched map below. It was nowhere near our site.

“Fairytale marketing,” Callum said. “No-one’s gonna trek out to our spot, so the author stuck the tale on a bridge that co-incidentally features in the local pub walk.”

I chuckled and sipped my coffee. “Nothing’s sacred.”

“Not when it’s folklore” he agreed. “But that’s their nature. What’s true is the kernel of the tale: summat’s there and it’s likely to be a water troll.”

“Why not a curse? It feels closer to those haunted ruins we tackled last year.”

Callum tapped the title. “Cause of the name. They’ve got a creature called the Nokken over in Norway that lures people to death in the water. I reckon ‘Knockturn’ is a corruption of that name, and’ we’re seeing the same here.”

“We weren’t lured, though. We were puking our guts up. It’s hard to drown people standing a metre away from the river.”

Callum shrugged. “That’s the troll bit. They repel people, an’ they’re deeply territorial.”

“Right.” It seemed a bit thin, but Callum’s good at guesswork, based on half-forgotten rumours. “What do we do about it?”

“Drive it out. Preferably to a new bridge. Trolls don’t like humans any more than we like them. They also hate sunlight, church bells and iron or steel weapons.”

I thought about this. “Would torches work?”

“Maybe,” Callum replied, his tone laced with trepidation. “They’d have to be strong ones, though. Trolls get nasty when they think they’re in danger. An’ if we’re herding it, we need more help. I can act as a backstop, but we’d want someone on either side of the creature to stop it circling back.”

I looked down at my empty coffee cup. A remnant of the grains stuck to the rim, reminding me of bullets. “Can we shoot it?”

He made a face. “I’d rather not. Besides the murder aspect, I don’t want to face down a furious spirit if we miss. Not to mention ‘splaining it to the police! Noise and light are more reliable.”

I checked my phone. There was no reception. “I think I know someone who can help. Get me another coffee whilst I go outside to call her.”

*

Jenny turned up just after lunch. She erupted from a small red Ford Focus, squealed, and hugged me.

“Glad you could make it,” I said, smiling. Jen had that effect on people. She had a dimpled face framed by flame-coloured hair and brown eyes, wrapped in perpetual shyness. Behind her, a scowling, lanky man unfolded himself from the driver’s seat. He was darker than Jen, with militant eyebrows and designer stubble. They were both dressed in hikers’ green and grey clothing. I raised my eyebrows at Jen. “Cabbie?”

“Brother,” she said. “He wants to meet Callum, too.”

“Oh, OK,” I said, slightly surprised. “Does he think we’re scammers or sommat?” I glanced at Ben as he loomed over Jen’s shoulder and thrust out my hand. His paw engulfed my own, and to my surprise, he smiled.
“Nah,” he said in a rich, rolling baritone. “Book clubs aren’t the choice of rich, gullible folks.”

“Ben was there when mum passed away,” Jen added. My mouth formed an O of understanding. “Got it,” I said.

“Got what?” Callum asked behind me, sounding slightly bewildered. He had a vape in hand and his hat in the other. I saw Jenny boggle at his appearance whilst Ben did a once-over as guys did in that ‘I-can-take-you’ way.

Ben didn’t have a clue.

“I met Jen online at The Cryptid’s Club,” I said, holding up a hand to stop his objection. Callum wrinkled his nose and let me continue. “Yeah, I know it has a lot of stoners and fantasists, but there’s also people like Jenny. She’s had a proper encounter, like one of ours.”

Fair play to the lad; he didn’t dismiss them outright. Instead, he puffed his vape stick and asked, “What d’you know about trolls?”

*

Preparation didn’t take long. Callum ransacked the local campaign shop and returned with three heavy-duty LED torches, a brick of batteries, and three Bluetooth speakers.

“You can hold the torch and clip the speakers to your belt,” he explained. “We don’t wanna get too close – the whole point is to spook it. If you think it’s coming towards you or you feel sick, run away.”

“What if we fall over?” Ben asked. We all stare down at his designer white trainers. Jen had sensible boots on.

Callum shrugged. “I’m carrying a back-up, but I can only use it once,” he said. “Don’t fall over.”

Ben didn’t sneer, but I saw his hand twitch into his pocket. “Right. Sure thing, mate.”

Callum stared at him a little longer. “I mean it, you clootie. If you mess around with this, you’re looking at hospital. Trolls don’t hold back.”

The guy shrugged. “I’ve been up against ghosts and banshees,” he said. “Bring it on.”

I looked at Jen, who rolled her eyes. “Let’s go before the light does,” she said.

*

I led the way, with Callum and Jenny in the middle and Ben bringing up the rear. As we walked, Callum gently drew the ghost tale out of Jen. How they needed a rest stop for their ill mother. The horror that was the haunted pub and the price they paid. And who helped – a banshee and the enchanted human called Ben.

“He writes to me,” she said with a wistful smile. “Folded notes under the door mat each week. It’s been almost a year since we met.”

Callum nodded, biting his lip.

“Hey, mate,” Ben called from behind, aggressively. “You’ve been to that place, haven’t you?”

Callum half-turned, grinding the mud under his boot. “What place, man? Be specific.”

Ben snorted, throwing out his arms like a strutting stage actor. “Avalon, Elfhome, Dreamland, That Place Over There. Yeah! Fairy-flipping-land.”

I stopped then, not quite angry but irritated. “What’s your problem, Ben? Callum’s been nowt but friendly, and we’ve naught to do with your past troubles. If you’re frit or can’t be arsed to help, go back to the pub. We don’t have time to coddle a man who wants to be a boy.”

Ben’s face reddened as he worked up his reply.

Jen jumped in before I decided to punch him. “Last time we lost Mum, and we weren’t even looking for trouble,” she said, sounding apologetic. “We want to help, as long as we’re not in over our heads. No offence, Callum.”

“None taken,” Callum said evenly. “It’s not the sort of thing you study for. I’m not gonna pretend I’m an expert, but I’ve got more experience this side of the line than anyone else alive and human.” He turned back to Ben. “Yes, I’ve been to Faery, and no, I’m not taking you.”

“Fine by me,” Ben said, half-subsiding. “But you can spot them, right?”

I glanced at Callum. This was getting weird.

“Aye,” Callum said, dragging out the last vowel. “Watch your step, Rita. Nearly there.”

Up ahead, under the clouds, the bridge squatted.
Now I knew what it could do; I didn’t want to get any closer.

Callum took the lead, stepping back and forth across the invisible line where the belly-rumbling started. He spread us out like a sergeant with his squad, checking torches, phones and batteries.

“If you think you’re gonna hurl, put your hand in the air, and I’ll jump in,” he said. “The troll’s gonna push against us, but hopefully, the music will keep him from getting too close.”

“What’re we playing?” asked Jen, fiddling with her phone. “Punk, Rock, Rap – what don’t they like?”

“Something really loud and noisy,” Callum answered, sounding less confident.

“We Will Rock You?” I offered.

“Nah, if we’re going classic, you want screaming. How ‘bout ‘Back in Black’ by AC/DC?” Ben offered, sounding more animated.

Callum snapped his fingers. “Black Sabbath. Iron Man.”

Ben bobbed his head. “Can’t argue with that for loud.”

“What?” I said blankly.

Callum was moving now, his fingers moving across his phone. “You’re in for a treat, Rita. Here, you two” – to Ben and Jen- “we’ll sync the speakers to our phones and hook them on our jackets.”

The sound started up. Were they playing or trying to break the guitars? I winced.

“Good – that’s the expression we need,” Callum said, giving me the thumbs up. “OK, let’s do this as a triangle. One either side, one behind, an’ I’ll run as your backup.”

The band started singing.

Has he lost his mind?

Can he see or is he blind?

“Lights!” Callum yelled. “Noise! Forward!”

Can he walk at all

Or if he moves, will he fall?

I stepped all, my stomach churning. Was it nerves or the troll effect? I didn’t know, I just walked in time to the music. Despite the assault on my ears, the beat was simple to follow.

Is he alive or dead?

Has he thoughts within his head?

Nearly at the bridge now. I could see something stirring in the water.

We’ll just pass him there.

Why should we even care?

It was a hunched figure. Just an outline, despite the late afternoon light. There was a gleam of silver where our torches picked out its eyes.

We were so close now.

“Watch it!” Callum shouted. “Stay firm!”

He was turned to steel,

In the great magnetic field.

The troll erupted.

One minute, I was walking next to the water’s edge; the next, I was flat on ma back on the path, with ma ears ringing. I only registered I’d been hit when I tried to sit up and felt a sudden pain in ma chest. I patted at ma bruised sternum, registering the tattered fabric. The troll had ripped the speaker from ma clothes. Out of the corner of ma eye, I saw Ben splattered in the mud, his speaker flying through the air to land in the water. In the distance, Jen screamed.

“I’ve got you, J-”

Callum’s voice choked off, followed by a clang.

Oh, fuck.

Huffing, each movement a little burst of agony, I got to my knees. Callum was motionless on the riverbank. I couldn’t see Jen. Ben was a pair of upright knees.

Fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Jen?!” I screamed, crawling over to Callum’s body. Pale face, pulse, breathing, thank God. There was an odd smell of bacon in the air.

“Jen, can you hear me?!”

Callum was clutching a horseshoe. It was a dainty affair, just big enough to loop over his fingers. I pulled it away and tried not to vomit again when bits of skin came with the hot iron. The horseshoe had branded him.

“I’m over here, Rita!”

I rolled Callum into the recovery position and trudged over to Jen. She had been tossed into the water on the other side of the bridge, but aside from the shock, she was in better shape than any of us. I helped her scale the bank, and we collapsed for a moment on the side.

“Nowt broken?” I asked, massaging my chest. It felt like I’d been kicked in the chest by a cow. I hoped my ribs were OK.

Jen nodded, shivering. “Just wet. Callum drove it off. Is he OK?”

“No. Might need an ambulance.”

“God, Rita. That was so fast…”

“Yeah.”

I paused another beat, then returned to Callum, who was stirring. Shouldn’t have left him, really, but I had visions of Jen being dragged under in the water. His eyes fluttered open, and he gulped.

“You OK?” I asked, dropping down beside him. “Anything broken or bleeding?”

“Naw,” he said faintly. “Just my hand.”

“Good,” I said, trying to joke about it as I pulled out my phone. “Would hate ta tell Celeste you were trampled to death by a troll.”

“Celeste?” We’d forgotten about Ben. He squelched over, looking more like a scarecrow than a man from the mud. “You know Celeste?”

His voice ended in a half-shriek that didn’t bode well for our health.

I sat back on my heels and gripped my torch. It was warm and heavy in my hand ,and I’d whack him across the head if I had to.

“Girlfriend,” I said calmly. “From university.”

Ben subsided. “Huh. Thought it was…someone else.”

Jen joined us. Ben unzipped his coat and laid it over her shoulders.

I dialled 999. All I got was static.

“Oh.” I frowned down at the phone and tried again. Still no response.

“Problem?” Ben asked, his back to its soothing boom.

“Cannae get through.” I glanced down at Callum. “Can you walk?”

He blinked, wiping away the tears. “Yes, in a bit. Rita?”

“Aye lad?”

“We can’t go yet. It’s not a just a troll.”