“There’s a troll under the golden bridge looking for a bone. His polarizing flaccid thoughts bend and fold to the aging mold.”

The kids on their block had mentioned the troll under the bridge for the fourth time this week. But twelve-year-old Annabelle and ten-year-old Jacob had never seen it. To be honest, since moving to Boston from San Francisco, they thought all these Massachusetts kids were silly. They were superstitious and wore funny clothes and talked with funny accents.

But the two were slow to show their skepticism. Being new to the city, they were both trying pretty hard to fit in with the other kids. Especially Jacob. He had been bullied before and hoped this move would be a chance to start anew.

But there came a moment, a few months after school started, when they couldn’t hide their doubt anymore. It was October, and the nightly game of Ghost in the Graveyard had commenced. The neighborhood kids stood chatting in a circle. They mentioned the troll.

“Come on, you guys.” Annabelle said. “There’s no such thing as the Troll.”

A silence hung in the newly crisp, autumn air. The neighborhood kids looked around at each other. Jacob shifted his weight, looking back and forth between Annabelle and the rest of the kids, torn on where to show his support.

Finally, one of the kids, the one they called Big Bob, spoke up. “Fine. Don’t believe us. But you’ll be sahrry if ya head to the bridge aftah dahk. Don’t say we didn’t wahn ya.”

Annabelle shook her head. But when she looked over at Jacob, he was looking off into the distance. Suddenly, they heard their dad shout from the doorstep for them to come home. Off they ran.

That night, Annabelle awoke to the creaking of her bedroom door. As she blinked open, her eyes began to focus. And there stood Jacob. His bulky comforter was pulled around his shoulders, his legs were narrow, making him look top-heavy and unstable.

“Annie...” He whispered. “Annabelle...”

“What, Jake?” She said with a layer of annoyance.

“I can’t sleep. I keep thinking about the troll.” He said soberly.

Annabelle was twelve. She was too old for this shit. But her big-sisterly instincts took the reigns.

“There is no such thing as trolls. Those kids are just trying to scare you. Go back to sleep.”

“But Marty said he saw it last week and described it with so much detail. What if it is real?”

Annabelle, without thinking, said, “I’ll prove it to you. This weekend, we’ll sneak over there after dark and you’ll see there is no troll, okay? Now go back to sleep.”

And he did. The next morning, Annabelle didn’t even remember making such a bold promise, but Jacob certainly did. He approached her during lunch.

“So how are we going to sneak out this weekend?”

At first, Annabelle raised an eyebrow. But then the memory of last night’s conversation rushed back to her.

“We’re not going to. I just said that to make you leave me alone.”

Jacob’s face started tensing up, his shoulders rose. His voice tightened to a higher pitch when he said, “But what if the troll is real?!”

A doubt, no not a doubt, a curiosity was beginning to bloom in Annabelle’s mind. There was a little bit of a rebellious piece of her, and the thought of sneaking out seemed sort of fun and badass.

“Okay okay… we’ll sneak out. After mom and dad go to bed, we’ll go out the fire escape.”

Saturday arrived, and the day seemed to go on forever. But finally, when they spotted the light extinguish from under their parents bedroom door, they tiptoed through the kitchen, and out the window, careful to avoid clanging on the fire escape rungs. Annabelle carried a flashlight and Jacob followed behind her.

They started walking down the narrow and dimly lit streets of their neighborhood. Jacob pulled his jacket tightly around his body to protect himself from the night’s chill. A handful of drunken college students stumbled out of nearby bars.

They passed the Old North Church. It looked ominous under the moonlight, it’s accents casting shadows across the stone. As they got closer to the river and the bridge, the howling wind suddenly ceased. The abrupt quiet made Jacob stop in his tracks.

“I don’t know, sis. Maybe we should turn back. It’s fine. I don’t need proof.”

“We can’t go back now! We’re almost there. Suck it up!”

Finally, they reached the bridge. Annabelle turned off the flashlight. They both instinctively became silent, nearly holding their breath to detect any sounds. At first there was nothing. But after a few seconds they heard it: the sound of footsteps scraping against the concrete underside by the wingwall of the bridge.

Jacob gasped and tried to run, but Annabelle, desperate to know who or what was down there, grabbed him by the shoulders, holding him still.

“Shhhhhhhhh…” Annabelle whispered into his ear. He held his breath again. But they heard nothing.

“Come on…” Annabelle stepped ahead of Jacob and started descending carefully down the steep edge of the riverbank. Jacob followed, muscles tensed.

They found themselves about 15 feet away from the underside of the bridge. Crouched in tall grass, they both stared strongly. Annabelle thought she saw something, but couldn’t be sure. Suddenly, a small flash of light… another crouched body in the distance with the face of a man.

This made Jacob jump which rustled the leaves of the grass which commanded a, “Hey! Who’s there?!” from the now invisible body. The body stomped toward them with heavy feet. Because of the incline of the riverbank, they had no momentum to run back up the hill to the street.


He reached them and Annabelle shined her flashlight up into his face. He squinted, blinded by the relative brightness of the light. But rather than a troll, Annabelle saw a familiar face. Scotty, the neighbor boy with pimples and braces and a newly deepened voice seemed as surprised as she was. He wreaked of skunk, hugging a colorful glass pipe up by his chest.

“Hey! You’re Scotty! You’re not a troll!.” Jacob exclaimed.

“Shhhhhhhh” Scotty and Annabelle said in unison.

“What are you two doing here?” Scotty whispered.

“We thought you were a troll. All the neighborhood kids think there is a troll under this bridge.” Scotty laughed and laughed.

He laughed for an uncomfortably long time until finally he was able to mutter, “That makes a lot of sense. Well, listen, kid. You tell them you saw the gnarliest troll you’ve ever seen. Tell them to never come over here again. Tell them the troll said he’d eat them! Because I’m trying to have some alone time, ya know? Some privacy.”

They agreed and crawled their way back up the steep riverbank, back up into the darkened October streets.