Paranormal Investigations: No Situation Too Strange Read Online Free Page B
Author: EH Walter
the path by the pavilion, where the parkrunners assembled on a Saturday morning for their 5k run. If that bridge failed I could always try the next one a little further on. Then I was out of bridges and potential bodyguards.
As I walked, I considered the fact that I had been to this park many times over the last few years and had never seen a troll. Until the early hours of this morning I had never met a goat man or a troll. Now I had seen both - or, I had to acknowledge there was the another possibility, I had finally lost my sanity and the men in white coats would soon be after me with a strait jacket and some heavy sedatives. I was not sure which option was the more logical. Which would Sherlock Holmes believe? Madness or weird shit?
The second bridge was not so secluded as Graham's, this meant at least I could see people coming but it also meant whatever I did on that bridge was visible from a distance. I leant on the rail as I had at the previous bridge and waited until the coast was as clear as it could be in a busy park.
"Trevor!" I called, "Trevor the troll - are you there?"
"Who's asking?" came another deep, raspy voice.
"Leo Fey."
"What you sellin’?"
"Nothing, I'm hiring."
I waited. Curiosity got the better of him and he crept out from under the bridge. The troll was olive green and stood all of two foot high. His features were very similar to Graham's, but in miniature and green in place of violet.
"Hey," I said, "I thought all you trolls were meant to be big, bad assed dudes?"
A deep, throaty rasp erupted from him as he pummelled a child sized cricket bat into his palm with a thud. "You wanna piece of me?" His choice of words and accent made me think he'd watched far too many gangster movies, although I doubted any cable company served under-the-bridge residences. I could be wrong.
"Graham sent me. He said you might do a job for me."
"Huh," he said with distaste, screwing up his face, "why would I do anything that schmuck says?"
I noticed a certain animosity and decided to play on it. "Well, he said you probably weren't interested. I think his actual words were 'Trevor's not up to the job'."
"He said that, eh?"
"Well, he said a real troll should do the job but they were all busy."
"I'm a real troll - I'll show you I'm a real troll - you wan' someone bashing? I can bash 'em. Tell me who, tell me who." he swung his cricket bat through the air as if hitting an imaginary foe. An imaginary foe who happened to be about two foot tall, either that or he was aiming for the knees.
"My client needs protection from the fairies."
"Those hoodlums, eh? I'd like ta bash a few fairy heads in, I would." he tilted his head and looked up at me, "You got a bridge I can stay under?"
I nodded. "I also have some nice food for you - if you take the job. Here, call this a sweetener."
I took a mango out of the plastic bag and tossed it at him. He caught it mid-air and looked at it strangely.
"What's this?"
"Food."
He took a bite, through the skin. His teeth were long and yellow. Mango juice ran down his chin and suddenly he mellowed. His bulbous eyes almost glowed with delight. "What is this nectar?"
"Mango. I've got plenty of mangoes for the troll who helps my client."
"Where's this bridge?"
I pointed down the stream. "Head that way until you go under the road. Wait for me in the stream by the gun shop."
He paddled off down the stream, splashing like a child wearing wellington boots, chomping on his mango as he went. Success - I had found my troll!
*
Trevor was waiting for me where the stream went under the road, leaning on his cricket bat as he stood in the middle of the watercourse.
"Where's this bridge then? I hope you're not classing this - this is an underpass . A troll does not live in an underpass, it's not traditional."
"Other end," I said and gestured to where the Pymmes Brook travelled from under my flat building.
He grunted,
As I walked, I considered the fact that I had been to this park many times over the last few years and had never seen a troll. Until the early hours of this morning I had never met a goat man or a troll. Now I had seen both - or, I had to acknowledge there was the another possibility, I had finally lost my sanity and the men in white coats would soon be after me with a strait jacket and some heavy sedatives. I was not sure which option was the more logical. Which would Sherlock Holmes believe? Madness or weird shit?
The second bridge was not so secluded as Graham's, this meant at least I could see people coming but it also meant whatever I did on that bridge was visible from a distance. I leant on the rail as I had at the previous bridge and waited until the coast was as clear as it could be in a busy park.
"Trevor!" I called, "Trevor the troll - are you there?"
"Who's asking?" came another deep, raspy voice.
"Leo Fey."
"What you sellin’?"
"Nothing, I'm hiring."
I waited. Curiosity got the better of him and he crept out from under the bridge. The troll was olive green and stood all of two foot high. His features were very similar to Graham's, but in miniature and green in place of violet.
"Hey," I said, "I thought all you trolls were meant to be big, bad assed dudes?"
A deep, throaty rasp erupted from him as he pummelled a child sized cricket bat into his palm with a thud. "You wanna piece of me?" His choice of words and accent made me think he'd watched far too many gangster movies, although I doubted any cable company served under-the-bridge residences. I could be wrong.
"Graham sent me. He said you might do a job for me."
"Huh," he said with distaste, screwing up his face, "why would I do anything that schmuck says?"
I noticed a certain animosity and decided to play on it. "Well, he said you probably weren't interested. I think his actual words were 'Trevor's not up to the job'."
"He said that, eh?"
"Well, he said a real troll should do the job but they were all busy."
"I'm a real troll - I'll show you I'm a real troll - you wan' someone bashing? I can bash 'em. Tell me who, tell me who." he swung his cricket bat through the air as if hitting an imaginary foe. An imaginary foe who happened to be about two foot tall, either that or he was aiming for the knees.
"My client needs protection from the fairies."
"Those hoodlums, eh? I'd like ta bash a few fairy heads in, I would." he tilted his head and looked up at me, "You got a bridge I can stay under?"
I nodded. "I also have some nice food for you - if you take the job. Here, call this a sweetener."
I took a mango out of the plastic bag and tossed it at him. He caught it mid-air and looked at it strangely.
"What's this?"
"Food."
He took a bite, through the skin. His teeth were long and yellow. Mango juice ran down his chin and suddenly he mellowed. His bulbous eyes almost glowed with delight. "What is this nectar?"
"Mango. I've got plenty of mangoes for the troll who helps my client."
"Where's this bridge?"
I pointed down the stream. "Head that way until you go under the road. Wait for me in the stream by the gun shop."
He paddled off down the stream, splashing like a child wearing wellington boots, chomping on his mango as he went. Success - I had found my troll!
*
Trevor was waiting for me where the stream went under the road, leaning on his cricket bat as he stood in the middle of the watercourse.
"Where's this bridge then? I hope you're not classing this - this is an underpass . A troll does not live in an underpass, it's not traditional."
"Other end," I said and gestured to where the Pymmes Brook travelled from under my flat building.
He grunted,
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