A short story inspired by The Three Billy Goats Gruff, and Neil Gaiman’s Masterclass on Storytelling

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Once upon a time there was a cascading forest full of grand, old trees. Next to the forest was a beautiful sweeping meadow filled with sunlight, flowers, and berries just waiting to be picked. Dividing the forest and the meadow was a gully. In that gully was a house. And in that house there lived a Troll. The Troll had lived there for a very long time, as had her parents, and her parent’s parents. The quaint, little house was the only home she had ever known, and she was happy there.

A unique feature about the troll’s house was that the roof formed a perfect path from one side of the gully to the other. Taller animals, like deer, had no problem finding a way through the gully and climbing up to the meadow, but smaller animals like rabbits, turtles, and hedgehogs had a much more difficult time. The troll, being kindly, allowed the small animals to use her roof as a way to safely travel to and from the meadow, so that they could enjoy the green grass, the flowers, and the sunshine to be found there. When even the tiniest animal would pad across her roof, the Troll would hear the footsteps and look up knowingly: another little friend was on their way to the meadow.

One fine day, the Troll was happily tidying up in her living room, when she was startled to hear an unfamiliar rumbling coming from above her. She could see that her family photos were now slightly askew on their hooks, and dust was churning throughout the room.

“Who is up there trip-trapping on my roof?” She exclaimed, as she dashed out her door and up the stairs to the top of her home.

The Troll had expected to see a large animal on her roof, and was surprised to discover a very small goat. The goat looked equally surprised to see her and he had obviously heard her question.

“Excuse me, ma’am. I didn’t mean to disturb you. My name is Billy. I’ve heard such wonderful things about the meadow across the bridge that I wanted to see it for myself.” He looked nervous.

The Troll furrowed her brow, but replied with patient restraint, “It’s actually not a bridge. It’s the roof of my house.”

Although the Troll was a little upset, she had spent many years cultivating a good reputation to refute the stigma surrounding trolls and chose to be polite. She was about to explain that she only allowed small animals to use the roof to cross into the meadow, but thought better of it when she cast her gaze upon the stubby, little legs of the tiny goat in front of her.
 

“Do you think you could walk softly when you’re up here?” She asked timidly, gesturing to the roof.

Billy, looking incredibly relieved, said, “Of course! I apologize if I startled you. It wasn’t my intention.”

The Troll smiled, “Thank you for understanding.” She shrugged and humbly gestured. “This is my home!”

“And a lovely home it is.” Billy replied. “You know what they say: Location, Location, Location!”

The Troll looked at the tiny goat quizzically. When he saw her expression he produced a business card and handed it to her. It read:

Billy G. Gruff
Realtor
Gruff, Gruff & Gruff, LLC

The small goat smiled at the Troll and said, “Let me know if you ever want to sell! I’d be happy to help.”

Flattered, the Troll shook her head. “That’s very kind. Thank you, but I like it here.”

“I don’t blame you!” said the tiny goat. “Well, I’ll be on my way. Thank you, Ms…”

“Troll!” The Troll said.

“Thank you, Ms. Troll!”

The Troll smiled and waved as the tiny goat carefully tip-toed respectfully across the remainder of her roof. The Troll sighed and returned to her dusting.
A few hours later, after the cleaning was done, the Troll had put her feet up and was paging through one of her favorite books. Suddenly, the rumbling began again. And then, the doorbell rang.

The Troll put her book down and went to the front door only to discover Billy Gruff standing on her front step with a bouquet of flowers cradled in his cloven hooves.

“Hello again! What’s this?” The Troll asked, surprised.

“Ms. Troll, while I was in the meadow I found these flowers and thought you might enjoy them. Consider it a thank you for your patience and understanding earlier.” The tiny goat extended the flowers toward the Troll and she took them into her arms.

“Why, thank you!” The Troll was extremely touched. “You are so sweet I could just…gobble you up!” She flashed a full, toothy smile at the little goat.

“It’s the least I could do.” The small goat replied, just a bit nervously seeing the large yellow teeth in the Troll’s mouth. He recovered quickly and smiled back. “The meadow is everything they say and more.”

“Feel free to come back anytime!” The Troll found herself saying.

“I will,” said Billy. “And actually, I think my big brother would love it here. I’m going to send him over.”

“Please, do.” The Troll’s politeness preceded her practicality, but the little goat had been so kind, she actually found herself eager to meet his brother.

The small goat excused himself, waved good-bye to the Troll, and trip-trapped his way back into the forest.

“What a nice, young goat.” The Troll mused to herself. She placed the flowers in a vase on her kitchen table, and returned to her book. It was covered with dust.

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