THE NORWEGIAN TROLL -Short Fiction

  

THE NORWEGIAN TROLL

 

I thought a rat had destroyed my treehouse. I was wrong.

"When is dad returning?" I asked mom for the tenth billion time that day.

Mom passed the towel in circles over the dirty window. Sigh. She pulled the loose hair from her eyes then went back to cleaning. "Trevor, please stop asking. Dad will be home tomorrow."

"I don't understand why he had to go to Norway." I searched through the Legos until I found the last tire for my Lego car. I snapped it into place. -The best car I had ever built.

"Look at my car!"

Mom didn't look my way. "Trevor, please go play outside."

Huge dust clouds puffed into the air as I sat on my beanbag, smelling like dirt and mildew. I picked up a comic as I glanced around the treehouse. I missed Dad even more. He had spent the last year helping me build my castle in the sky. I never had a better year than that one. Dad's layoff from work meant he had oodles of time to spend with me. It took him over a year to find another job. Although Mom and Dad carried tons of stress during that time, I loved it.

After Dad got his new job, I never saw him. The new job took him away for weeks and months at a time. To make things worse, most of his travel took him out of the country. I would spend hours looking at the globe in the treehouse, feeling almost if Dad had died. Such long distances.

Would tomorrow ever come?

Wet lips and onion breath woke me. I jumped out of bed and wrapped my arms around Dad's neck.

"You are home!"

"Hey, Champ. I missed you."

I squeezed Dad's neck so tight that I could feel the steady beating of his heart. I would never let him go.

"I got you a gift."

I let go.

"What did you get me?"

"Chocolates and a sweater."

Dad slipped a heavy sweater over my chest. The itchy wool scratched my arms—what a dumb gift.

"Where are the chocolates?"

Dad let out a hefty laugh as he reached into his bag and placed two chocolate bars in my hand. I had them almost eaten before he could present Mom with her gift.

Mom wrinkled her forehead as she watched me consume my chocolate. "Great, now Trevor will have to brush his teeth again."

Dad ignored Mom's criticism. "Close your eyes and hold out your hands."

Mom's face softened as she shut her eyes. A smile took over the frown.

Dad dropped a pile of rocks in her hand. Mom opened her eyes, and the frown returned.

"Rocks?"

I stuffed the last piece of chocolate into my mouth. Rich cocoa smoothly moved across my tongue. The chocolate tasted better than any I had ever eaten before.

"Please tell me you got me more than rocks."

Dad looked away.

"Darold, really? I would have liked chocolates and a Norwegian Sweater." Mom let the rocks slip onto my bedspread.

An angry rash appeared on my arms from the sweater's cruel irritation. I couldn't stop scratching at my skin. Funny. I would rather have the rocks. I enviously looked at them.

I reached for the rocks, but Dad scooped them up.

He displayed them in the palms of his hands like they were diamonds.

"These aren't just rocks. These are trolls."

Now I know I want those rocks.

"Seriously, Darold. I don't feel like you care about me at all. Like, you forgot to buy me a gift, so you pulled over on your way home and took these out of the gutter."

I couldn't see why Mom seemed so disappointed. Hers was the best of the presents.

"Helen, really. Now, look at the moss on each rock. That is genuine moss from Norway. I didn't just scoop these out of the gutter. I had gone on an expedition to Trollstigen with Bjame. He pointed…"

"Bjame?"

"The President of intel at the company in Norway."

Mom poked at the rocks as if they were slugs.

"Anyway, everywhere we went, we saw piles of rocks. Actually, they called them stone piles. Bjame said they were trolls. We went to this wall called Trollveggen, which means The Trolls Wall. Oh Helen, the Fjords there were so beautiful." Dad placed the rocks in Mom's hands again.

"Were you supposed to remove these rocks?"

Dad's face turned salmon color. The coloring on his face constantly changed to reflect his mood. Mom always said he wouldn't be good at poker, whatever that meant. "No. But I wanted to bring you something nice back. Anyways, that road we went on is nothing to take lightly."

Mom dropped the rocks on my bed and popped up as if her bottom had flames under it.

"Trevor, go brush your teeth again and go back to sleep. You can catch up with your dad in the morning." She turned to Dad. "While you were out on grand adventures, I was holding down the home. Just because you returned doesn't mean I will let you upset the rhythm in the home. Trevor needs his sleep." Mom stomped out of the room.

What is her problem?

I went to grab the rocks, but Dad had already collected them. Although I enjoyed the chocolate, I had eaten it and now had nothing but a stupid sweater. Mom had gotten the real prize. Why was she acting like a three-year-old?

"Trevor!" Mom's shrill voice woke me.

What have I done now? I hid under my blankets. My arms burned from the wooly sweater. I had forgotten to take it off before I fell asleep. Mom ripped the covers from my face.

"You go clean that mess this instant!"

Had I left a mess?

I gasped when I saw the kitchen. All the doors on the cupboards were open, even the fridge door. Half of the food boxes had small slashes on them. Food and powders covered everything.

My heart raced. "I didn't do this!"

"Don't lie to me."

"Maybe it was Dad."

Mom shoved the broom and dustpan into my hands.

"Don't lie to me."

"Why would I do this?"

"I have that same question."

I picked up scattered boxes from the floor. "Mom, it looks like something torn into these, like a rat. See the small tares."

"You want me to believe a giant rat came into the kitchen while we were sleeping, opened all the cupboard doors, and did this?"

I shrugged.

"And I guess it would have opened the fridge as well."

Milk and orange juice dripped down the fridge's shelves and puddled onto the floor.

"You will miss school today to clean this. And, I will have a list of jobs for you to pay off all the food you wasted."

"Mom, it's the fourth-grade field trip today."

"Tough."

As I cleaned, I noticed what appeared to be four separate trails leading out the dog door. Rover, our dog, had died two years ago, but we still had the door. I followed the trails of food into the backyard forest. They all seemed to lead to a giant mound and then disappeared. I hadn't noticed that mound before. Maybe the rat lived there, or perhaps it had buried the food beneath the dirt. I ripped apart the mound. A gloom ballooned inside when I didn't find the rat. I would never be able to prove my innocence.

The following day, I awoke to a cup of ice water splashing my face.

"What has gotten into you, Trevor?"

"What did you do that for?" The shock of the water jiggled my brain—such a cruel way to be woken up.

"I know you are angry for missing your fourth-grade field trip, but what you did was unpardonable."

"I didn't mess up your kitchen. I know it was a rat. I followed its trail to a mound where the rat lived."

"I am not talking about the kitchen." Mom paused then Hell's furry took over her face. She held up a porcelain figurine of a ballet dancer, except its head was broken off, and its arms were gone.

Mom's voice mixed with tears and hysteria. "Why Trevor? Why did you destroy my curio cabinet? What has gotten into you? Just because you are angry with your dad for going on business trips doesn't give you the right to destroy my home. This is my home!"

I shivered as I sat soaking wet in my bed. "I don't like Dad being gone, but I didn't break anything."

"I can't let you clean up the mess because I hope to salvage some of my figurines, plus I don't want you to get cut by the glass. But you owe me big for this. BIG!"

Tears ran down my face when I saw Mom's curio cabinet. Everything on it lay shattered on the floor.

"Why would I do this? I loved those figurines." I often stood in front of the curio and played make-believe in my mind about all her cool figurines. I never dared touch them in my life. "I wouldn't do this."

"We are taking you to a therapist," Mom said through her tears. "You obviously have some real anger issues that you are not dealing with."

As Mom cleaned the glass, I noticed a shards of glass trail. It went through the front room, down the hall, and out the dog door. I followed it to another mound. I took a stick and dug up the mound, not finding the rat. I wish I had because I had my stick ready. That vermin was ruining my life.

Thankfully, I did not wake to Mom freaking out the following day. I timidly entered the kitchen and then the front room to see if there was any more havoc from the rat. My tension eased as everything appeared in order.

When I got home from school, I went to my treehouse. 

Rage burned inside.

MY TREEHOUSE!

Something had torn the steps off the trunk. My globe lay smashed at the tree’s base. I had to grab a ladder to get to the top. I almost toppled off the ladder when I looked into my beloved treehouse. Everything inside had been destroyed. My bean bag was scattered in shreds as little balls of Styrofoam clung to the floor and walls. My comic books looked like an angry bear had chewed them up then spit them out, and panels of wood had been torn off. This treehouse was my world. That rat was going to die!

"Trevor," Mom called from the house.

I ran to her. "Mom, that rat destroyed my…"

"Oh Trevor, you look a mess. Go clean up. We have that guy Bjame coming for dinner. Hurry, you are a mess."

"But Mom, that rat…"

Mom put her hands on her hips. "Now!"

After I cleaned up, I headed to the kitchen, where Dad said, "Put that Norwegian sweater on."

"I wish I had a sweater to put on," Mom said.

Ding

"He's early," Mom moaned to Bjame’s arrival. I put my stupid sweater on and joined everyone at the table. I couldn't stop scratching at my arms.

"Trevor?" Bjame said, smiling at me. He had skin as pale as milk. His blue eyes looked like the Caribbean Ocean. "That sweater looks smart on you." I wanted a cool accent like his.

"Would you like some steak?" Dad passed the platter of steaming meat to Bjame.

"Thank you," he said, forking a piece onto his plate.

"I wish Darold would have gotten me a sweater," Mom said.

Bjame looked at Dad and winked. "I told you to get her one."

Dad slumped in his chair as Mom shot him a look of anger.

"I will pick you out one in a couple of days when I return with Bjame."

"And some chocolate?"

"Yes, and some chocolate."

"You aren't leaving again, already?" I whined.

"Sorry, Champ."

"This steak is excellent," Bjame said with a mouth full of meat. "By the way, what did Darold bring you back?"

"Oh, the stupidest thing in the world. A pile of rocks."

Bjame’s face squinted, "Rocks?"

"He called it a troll."

Dad's face went purple.

"Oh, Darold, you didn't," Bjame said.

Mom looked pleased to have Bjame on her side. "Stupid, right."

"Where did you get the troll from?"

Dad wouldn't look at Bjame as he replied, "Trollstigen."

"Oh, I pity your home. You know those rocks are more than just a legend. Those are real trolls, and they won't be happy being brought to America."

"How silly," Mom said, picking up the pitcher of lemonade. "Can I get you more lemonade?"

"Thank you." Bjame held up his cup. "Darold, you don't want to mess with trolls. Why don't you get those rocks and take them back with you?"

Mom jumped up, happy at the idea. "I will go get them for you right now." I could tell she didn't believe Bjame, but I think it pleased her to get rid of her disappointing gift.

Mom came back into the kitchen. "They are gone. Did you take them, Trevor?"

"Why does everyone keep blaming everything on me?"

Mom slapped the table. "Don't talk back to us in front of the company."

Bjame studied my face, then turned to Mom. "I doubt Trevor took them. Most likely, the troll went out into the forest. Have you noticed anything unusual around here?"

Mom shook her head.

"What do you mean, Mom? Of course, we have."

"Trevor, I am warning you," Mom's voice dripped in authority.

I ignored her. "Yes, Mr. Norway, sir. Two days ago, something ransacked our kitchen. Yesterday, Mom's curio was destroyed. Today, I found my treehouse demolished."

"Trevor!" Mom's icy voice warned.

"Oh yes, yes indeed. That one hundred percent sounds like the workings of the troll. He is angry to be here. You need to find him and return him to Trollstigen.”

"Rubbish," Mom said. "Trevor just wants to shift the blame from what he has done."

"What do you mean your treehouse is demolished?" Dad asked.

After dinner, we searched the forest but couldn't find the rocks.

"I suggest you set a trap for the troll. Trust me. You want to get him back home. He will never stop the destruction if you don't."

"I think Bjame is full of it," Mom said after he left."

"I believe him."

"Why?"

"Because I can't believe Trevor destroyed our home."

"I think Trevor is acting out in anger over you constantly being gone."

"Trevor would never destroy the treehouse we made."

"Exactly!" Having Dad on my side brought me a sense of peace.

The next morning, I took a bite of my cereal when I heard Dad yell from the garage. "My car!"

Mom and I ran into the garage and saw giant scrapes across his and Mom's car. It looked like a cat had run its claws across the paint. Inside both vehicles, the upholstery had been clawed apart.

"You must return those rocks," Mom bawled.

"We better find them soon, because I leave tomorrow."

“How about a trap,” I said.

"How will we trap the troll?"

"Bjame had said to set a trap with cheese."

"Do you still have those old traps my dad gave you?" Mom asked.

"I do."

That night, we filled the trap with four different types of cheese. I crossed my fingers when I went to bed. I awoke early the following day and ran to the trap on the back patio. I could see that something had tripped it. I looked inside, half excepting to see a rat or cat stuck inside. If lucky, I would find the troll.

The pile of Norwegian rocks was in the trap.

Dad put the rocks in a travel-safe and locked it.

"I will see you guys in two weeks," he said, climbing into the taxi.

"Can I go to Norway with you?"

"Sorry, Champ."

"Don't forget my sweater and the chocolates," Mom said. "And please, no more rocks."

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The Norwegian Troll

by Stephanie Daich