No-one used the bridge any more. Instead they trekked the extra mile downstream to where the river was shallow enough to cross. People got wet, but at least they didn't get eaten. Everyone knew that the Troll who lived under the bridge was angry and mean and always hungry. Everyone would rather get wet.
Sometimes, in such times as this, everything changes because of someone who didn't know what everyone else knew. Or, perhaps, because of someone who knew what everyone else knew, but refused to accept it. One such person was the carpenter's young son, Rufus.
“Has anyone ever seen the Troll?” Rufus asked the townsfolk. They would look at one another, and no-one would speak.
“So how do you know there's a Troll under the bridge?” To Rufus, it seemed like the logical question to ask.
“I've heard him! I've been to the bridge and heard him, hollering and yelling and screaming. He told me that he was a Troll and he was going to eat me!” the baker spoke up, as the latest witness to the monster that lived under the bridge.
“But did you actually see him?” asked Rufus.
“Well…no,” admitted the baker, “but if it screams that it's a Troll and that it's going to eat you, it's a Troll!”
“And it lives under a bridge,” the butcher piped up, “which is where Trolls live. Everyone knows that.”
“It's the plain facts,” offered the baker.
“Hmmmmmm…”
Rufus was sceptical. The thing is, he had no real reason to be sceptical. The townsfolk were convinced, and he had to admit that if you took the evidence at face value then it seemed that they were right. Yet Rufus remained unsure. There was only one way to find out for certain. So, Rufus resolved that the next morning he would head out to the bridge and see for himself.
The sun rose and Rufus packed. The bridge was not far, so he was confident that he would arrive by mid-morning. He packed some cake and an apple so that he could sit by the river and eat if it turned out that there was no Troll after all, and he set out with his faithful dog, Parakletos, at his heel.
The bridge was further than he'd thought, and the sun was nearly at midpoint in the sky when he finally arrived. Parakletos barked with delight as he splashed in the river by the bank, and Rufus looked for a suitable place to sit and eat. His eyes were drawn, of course, to the crumbling, ivy-covered stone arch that formed the bridge over the river. No time like the present.
Rufus wondered down to the bridge and cleared his throat. A booming voice responded:
“I am the Troll who lives under the bridge, and I will eat you!”
Rufus was certainly taken aback and more than a little frightened by this declaration. His thoughts about cakes and apples were pushed aside and the idea of running away presented itself.
Thankfully, Rufus had not come alone. Parakletos was not dissuaded by the threat of being eaten. He scampered down to the bottom of the bridge and barked loudly.
“I am the Troll who lives under the bridge, and I will eat you!”
Parakletos barked louder.
“I SAID, I am the Troll who lives under the bridge, and I will eat you!”
Rufus knew something was up. Parakletos was by far the smartest dog in the village, and he was not one to hang around if there was even the slightest chance of being eaten. More likely, his fine nose had detected the smell of something other than Troll.
“Well,” said Rufus, his courage returning, “you're going to have to eat me then.” There was a prolonged silence, punctuated only by the sound of Parakletos barking.
“Really?” came the uncertain voice from under the bridge.
“Yes. Really.”
“Oh…OK…well…ummmm…right then. I'll eat you.”
“That's fine by me,” said Rufus, though it certainly wasn't fine by him. Sometimes courage makes you call a bluff so that a greater wrong can be righted.
“Ummmm…it's just that…well, I've never eaten anyone before,” the Troll explained.
“Oh?”
“Yes. To be honest, this is the longest anyone's ever stayed around. I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to do next.”
“Why don't you come out? That would be a fine place to start,” suggested Rufus, feeling a little sorry for the bridge-dweller.
The Troll crawled out from beneath the bridge, while Parakletos jumped up and down and barked. The Troll emerged, with white fluffy wool and a black, meek face.
“You're not a Troll!” exclaimed Rufus,
“Yes, I am! I'm a Troll! A mean, people-eating Troll! Baaaaaaa!”
“No, you're not a Troll. Unless I'm very much mistaken, you are a sheep.”
“A sheep? Why would you say such a thing?”
“Because you are!” It seemed very clear to Rufus.
“Are you sure?” the 'Troll' asked.
“Very sure. I know the shepherd in our village. I play chess with him every Tuesday while he's watching the sheep. I have seen sheep at dawn and at dusk and from every conceivable angle. Well, almost every conceivable angle, and you are most certainly a sheep,” Rufus said with a firm voice.
“Huh!” the 'Troll' seemed thoughtful. “Well, that would explain a few things…”
“Such as?”
“The wool, for starters. And the fact that deep down, if pushed you understand, really pushed, I would much rather eat some lovely green grass than a person,” the 'Troll' admitted.
“So why are you telling everybody that you are a Troll?”
The 'Troll' seemed to be thinking hard.
“I remember one day coming to the river to get a drink, and I found a lovely place to drink in the shade under the bridge. Someone came along and I made a noise—”
“What kind of noise?”
“Well, now that you mention it, I suppose it was a kind of 'Baaaa'ing noise,” the 'Troll' explained.
“I see.” Rufus smirked, “Continue.”
“So then someone said, 'What made that noise?' and someone else said, 'It came from under the bridge,' and someone else said, 'It's a Troll!' and they ran away. A Troll! So I looked around in terror, and I couldn't see anything, so I realised that they must be talking about me.” The 'Troll' took a deep breath before continuing.
“Well, I was afraid to leave the bridge. If I was a Troll, then I should stay under the bridge. That's where Trolls belong. When people came to the bridge, I called out to them, and they all said the same thing, 'The Troll! There is a Troll under the bridge! Run away!' and they ran away. So, I came to the only logical conclusion, namely that I was a Troll and I should live under the bridge and behave accordingly,” the 'Troll' concluded.
“I can definitely say that you are not a Troll. You are a sheep. If you don't believe me, have a look in the river. Look at your reflection. And Parakletos, you can stop barking now,” Rufus said. Parakletos was not an obedient dog, but he was a clever one and that's nearly as good. He stopped barking.
The 'Troll' looked at his reflection in the crystal water and saw himself as Rufus saw him and as Parakletos had smelled him.
“Well I never…” the sheep said.
The villagers had said, ‘If it lives under a bridge and threatens to eat people, it must be a Troll’.
Not always. Sometimes it's just a sheep who's been made to believe that he's a Troll.