My first every troll-based encounter is described in my post “Tina and the Troll“, in which my dear friend Tina is brave enough to sit down with my troll and learn what he’s up to. This was inspired by a fantastic post by Havi at Fluent Self, entitled “The Negotiator, The Monster and The Scribe“.

I highly recommend you read those posts for background info and a look at how to encounter your own trolls indirectly.

This, however, will be a much more direct conversation, but I feel I’m ready.

It’s been a long time since I had an encounter with my troll, and recently I’ve felt that needed to happen.

He’s been popping up quite a bit lately, often at awkward times.

So, I thought it might be nice to invite him to dinner.

Having never had dinner with my troll, or any troll for that matter, I’m a little concerned. We’ll have to see how it goes.

As we begin, my troll is uncomfortably seated at the table in my tiny dining room. He’s taking up an entire side, and the utensils and plates look like toys in his hands. His hair is slightly gray and crazy, and he has big, bushy eyebrows. He is smelly and his teeth look greener than I remember.

*************

Me: Thanks for coming, Mr. Troll. What can I get you? We have some chicken, potatoes…

Troll: Cookies. Just cookies. [He hrumphs and is silent]

Me: Are you sure? Wouldn’t you like something first?

Troll: [Clearly irritated] Will you stop with the rules? Cookies.

Silence.

Me: Ok. I’ll get some cookies.

I go into the kitchen and return with a plate of cookies. He starts gobbling them, much like Cookie Monster.

More silence. Finally, he finishes the cookies.

Me: Can I ask you something?

Troll: Blah! You and all your questions. Always with the questions. What now?

Me: You said before something about “the rules.” Can we talk about that?

Troll: Rules. Yeah. You always have rules. And lately you’ve been getting more of ‘em. Can’t you see what it’s doing?

Me: Honestly, no. I’m so caught up in everything I really can’t. Can you tell me?

Troll: These rules have got you pinned into the corner, girl. Seriously. Write for this long. Take a break for this long. Write about these things. Give your stuff to sites that put it up anonymously just so you can get a link. No editing while writing. Obsess about numbers. Rules. For God’s sake, you don’t even brush your teeth without a timer!

He’s silent for a minute, munching a last cookie crumb.

Troll: And you know what?

Me: No, I can’t see it. What?

Troll: It’s all crap. So much of what you’re doing the last six, ten, I don’t know how many months, it’s crap. It’s soul-less. I hate it. The new stuff that you do, there’s no connection in it. And…

He seems to get a little teary for a second, then smashes his fist down on the table. Everything jumps. Including me.

Troll: And if that’s the way you’re gonna be, all rules-this and rules-that, you don’t need us.

Me: What do you mean I don’t need you? You’re my troll, for heavens sake. I’m just starting to get to know what you do around here.

Troll: But you don’t pay attention to us anymore. You do what these rules say you should do. You don’t even get properly stirred up anymore. You just keep following these rules and it’s getting you nowhere.

Me: Really? Is that what you see?

Troll: Yeah. I do.

Me: So what should I… we… do?

Troll: Well, you could start with some more cookies.

He pushes the plate to me, and I silently go get more cookies. I empty the box, crumbs and all, onto the plate. I’m mad. Following the rules is what grown-ups are supposed to do, and I’m trying to do it. Damn it. I don’t like rules any more than he does.

We sit for a few minutes while he gobbles up the cookies, licking the plate. I calm myself down and think about what he said.

Me: Earlier, you said “us”. “You don’t need us”. Who is “us”?

Silence.

Me: Can you tell me? Are there more of… you?

[My head is spinning. Do I have trolls I haven't even considered before?]

Troll: Yeah, there’s another. Not a troll, mind you. I’m not even sure I can talk about her with you.

Me: Her? She’s a her? How long has this been?

Troll: Always. Since the days of the dream.

[The dream, rather nightmare, is something I had regularly as a kid. Not pleasant. Always the same. It's deeply unsettling to even think about to this day.]

Me: Do you think she would, um, talk with me?

Troll: Dunno. I could ask. Maybe if you could get some more cookies.

Me: Sure. That’s fine. Cookies aren’t a problem. When do you think you could bring her?

Troll: Tomorrow. And have cookies. Lots of ‘em. Now listen, I’ve gotta go. You, rules girl, have to do the dishes and clean up this mess. And if I leave now I can catch “Iron Chef” before they reveal the secret ingredient… I’ll see you tomorrow.

He gets up and abruptly leaves, smashing a couple of extra cookies in his pocket and nearly taking the door off its hinges.

I sit, silently, for a long time, wondering what tomorrow night will bring.

And instead of doing the dishes and brushing my teeth for exactly two minutes, I go to bed.

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