Underbridge

As if it needed introduction, this week’s story prompt image is of Glenfinnan Viaduct. Yes, I appreciate that it’s not one of those exciting shots of it with a bright red, magical steam-train chuffing along. All I can provide here is a boring old 2 carriage Scotrail service. In my defence it was February when I took this shot. There were blizzards later in the day. Despite the cold we had a lovely hike through the woods around the viaduct that struck a pleasing balance between managed land and wilderness.

Once we got past the obvious jokes about watching out for low flying cars (no, I’m not sorry) we managed to see the viaduct for what it actually is. Which is a grand feat of engineering. I hadn’t appreciated before that the entire thing is made of poured concrete. If you look closely (at the real thing, not my photo) you can see the woodgrain from the mould structure. Perhaps that’s only surprising if you’re me.

Anyway, on to the story. Trolls have been on my mind recently — I’ve had to step up my Library Trolling efforts over the past couple of weeks as we’ve had some events and deadlines to hit.

---

Gnarl scowled along the line of arches. The train chuntered slowly along the rails that ran along the top of the bridge. Only it wasn’t just a bridge. Not from Gnarl’s point of view anyway. It was his home.

Gnarl was a troll. He hadn’t asked to be born that way. Just like he hadn’t asked to live under a bridge. That was what it was really. Not a home. Not to normal people anyway. But that wasn’t Gnarl’s fate. He didn’t have a choice in the matter.

He hated the way the trains rumbled over his home. He’d heard that the clackety-clack of steel wheels on steel rails was a delight for some. A romantic sound that hinted at a simpler world. All Gnarl knew was that it shook his walls and ceilings in a most irksome way. At least this one was a diesel. Those awful steamers on the other hand. They lurched and chugged across his roof in a way that rattled his bones if he was home. He tried not to be, but the timetable seemed to keep changing.

Rain dripped onto his head in a steady drizzle. Clearly it was going to be that kind of day. The racket of passing trains inside, or the steady clinging chill outside. He turned to go back under his bridge. At least there he could get on with his project.

It was all Jack’s fault, of course. Gnarl had lived for many years under his bridge. While he couldn’t say he’d been happy, he hadn’t exactly been miserable either. Then Jack had come into his life. The boy seemed made of boundless energy and enthusiasm. He hadn’t been scared of Gnarl, which had made a pleasant change. Most people ran away screaming when they saw a troll. Not Jack, though. He’d walked right up and shaken Gnarls hand. Shaken his hand like he was a proper person! They’d been friends ever since.

It had been lovely at first. Gnarl had never had a friend before. Now he had one. Which was a good thing. Even now, though he blamed Jack for his current misery, he couldn’t wait to see his friend. But there was the other side of it too. A few months they’d met, Jack had started bringing stories. That too was glorious. The boy spent hours reading tales to Gnarl and showing him the pictures. They even spent some time making up their own ones.

It had been bliss. Until that book had appeared. The Library Troll. It told of a place where trolls didn’t live under bridges. Instead, they lived inside proper buildings and looked after thousands of books. Gnarl had hung on every word. He’d loved it. And hated it. It was the worst thing Jack could have done to him. He’d brought hope.

Once Gnarl had thought hope was a good thing. It sounded good and in all the stories it was what everyone had wanted. In fairness, it probably was a good thing. Gnarl had to acknowledge that. It showed that things could be better. That change was possible. The downside was that it also meant change hadn’t happened yet. That was where Gnarl was stuck. That awful pre-change state. All he had to cling to was the hope that his project would bring change.

Gnarl crawled into the cosy space he’d made under a pile of junk. It wasn’t really all that warm, but at least it kept the rain off. At least it offered the books some protection. He returned to his project. He was going to learn to read. Then he’d be able to be a library troll. Everything would be better once he was a library troll.

“Gnarl?” came a voice from outside. It was Jack. “Are you home?”

“I’m here,” replied Gnarl.

He waited while Jack wriggled through the assorted objects that separated the inside from the outside. The boy grinned as he straightened up from crawling through the final tunnel. He crossed the ‘room’ and gave Gnarl a hug.

“I brought some more books,” said Jack.

He unslung his backpack and produced a small pile of the treasured objects.

Gnarl grinned. “Thank you,” he said.

He started sorting through Jack’s latest finds. His mouth moved silently as he puzzled out the titles. He frowned at a Beast Quest. Trolls were never the good guys in those and came to a bad ending. From the troll’s point of view at least. They were practice at least. They made him figure out weird words just from the letters. Further down the pile there were a couple of books about puppies and one about a hamster called Humphrey. He liked those. They made him smile.

The last book was a puzzle.

“An Introduction to Joinery,” he read, slowly. An odd sounding story. In fact, it didn’t sound like a story at all. He turned to Jack. “Do you think my reading will be good enough soon?” he asked.

Jack’s face fell. “Yeah,” he said. “Soon, I guess.”

Gnarl’s brow furrowed as he opened Introduction to Joinery. There were lots of good words in it. No story that he could see, though. Perhaps it was just his reading wasn’t good enough, but all the book seemed to do was tell you how to build walls and doors and simple furniture. At least there was plenty of reading practice for him. With any luck he’d be out of his dump of a home soon. He could pack up his books, the only possessions he really valued, and find a library to live in.

“Maybe I’ll be out of here in a month or two,” said Gnarl.

“I guess,” said Jack. He was even quieter than before. “I’ll miss you, you know.”

That stopped Gnarl in his tracks. He had never thought about it in those terms. Missing someone was something he’d read about, but he’d never imagined it would be relevant to him. He considered the idea for a few minutes.

“I’ll miss you too,” he said. “But I need to get away from here. I want to live in a library and be a library troll.”

“I know,” whispered Jack. “I want that for you too. It’s just… I’ll miss you.”

Gnarl looked down at the Joinery book in his hands. All around him vast piles of books leaned precariously against the makeshift walls of stacked wooden sheets and blocks of stone. It wasn’t much of a library, but it was a start. Gnarl turned a few pages.

“Jack,” he said slowly. “I’ve had an idea.” He held up the book.

Jack smiled and it was like sunshine returned to the world. “I hoped you would,” he said.