No Trolls In Wisconsin

It washed up on shore after the last rain. We found it the next morning. Its massive gray form pushed onto the riverbank, its stone skin still being pounded by the mid-morning waves. 

It was the statue of the troll.

As a city official, I was called out to investigate. I couldn’t fathom how it happens. In a lot of ways, I still can’t, even after all this time.

The troll statue measured twenty feet tall and fifteen feet wide. It had a big gray nose, pearly teeth perfect for gnashing. The eyes were the worst part. They weren’t simply carved into the statue. Instead, they were made of a translucent glass material that shined in the sunlight. All of the officials, myself included, couldn’t help but marvel at the stonework.

At least, that’s what we thought at the time.

There were two questions that morning. Okay, really three, by my count. The first question was where we were going to put it. The second was how we were going to move. And the third, honestly, was who was actually going to move.

Even in a small town, bureaucracy will never fail to rear its head. 

“Okay, well, call me if you need help,” I told the mayor with a shrug. The mayor gave a bitter laugh.

“Where do you think you’re going? Your city works. This is your department,” the mayor said.

“I handle snow removal, flooding, wind damage. Natural stuff,” I said. “None of this looks remotely natural to me.”

“He’s right!” a new voice said. “This is supernatural!”

All of us turned to see a frail, bespeckled man in our midst. He introduced himself as Professor Carter. He was from the local university, an expert on what we had found. ‘

“You need to move this now,” Carter said.

“Yes, we’re just discussing that now,” the mayor said, giving me an obnoxious side-eye.

“No, you don’t understand. You have to move this now,” Carter said impatiently. “Every second you waste arguing is one more step closer to doom.”

“What are you talking about?” the mayor said.

“This isn’t a statue of a troll,” he said. “This is a troll, turned to stone by the rays of the sun.”

All of us chuckled at that fanciful notion. 

“If it’s just a statue,” Carter pushed his glasses up his nose. “Then ask yourself this one question: why does it have a heartbeat?”

“It doesn’t-” the mayor started, but I moved closer and pushed my ears closer to its stone skin, and then I heard the ominous truth.

A steady thumping sound beat just beneath the stone. All of us took turns confirming it. We didn’t want to believe it. We tried to rationalize it as some elaborate prank, but all of us understood the truth, sooner or later.

“You don’t want to be here when it wakes up,” the professor said.

“Then what exactly do you recommend?” I asked. “Call Animal Control?”

“There isn’t a tranquilizer large enough for a troll,” the professor said. “Fortunately, there is a solution - Wisconsin.”

All of us gave him a questioning look. 

“Wisconsin?” we asked in unison.

“No trolls are allowed in Wisconsin,” the man said.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve met some Wisconsin trolls on the internet,” I shot back. Carter glared.

“There’s a spell in place. Any troll on the borders of Wisconsin stays a statue. But anywhere else…” Carter turned to the statue and shivered.

“Just one problem, professor,” I raised my hand. “Wisconsin is six hours away.”

“Then you better get a move on,” he said.

All of us quickly understood his reasoning. Wisconsin was six hours away, but night was five hours.

We needed to move.

There was no arguing after that. 

We loaded the troll onto the biggest flatbed we kind. The final result just barely made it down the road, even with several police escorts and “oversized load” planted squarely on the front and side of the beast. We also threw a tarp over the creature - we figured the less people knew the better. We also thought it was in our best interest not to draw attention to ourselves anyway. 

At a quarter past two, we started our trek through Wisconsin. I was driving shotgun on this excursion to Wisconsin. I had a local police officer behind me and another in front of me. Their presence comforted me somewhat. Still, I didn’t actually tell them what we were hauling to Wisconsin so expeditiously. I suspected the two officers were just as glad to be clocking some overtime, even if they lacked any jurisdiction beyond our town’s borders. I also suspected they would be far less comforted if they knew our cargo was going to turn into a flesh-eating monster come sundown.

And finally, I knew as well-equipped as our boys and blue were, their weapons would be little more than peashooters when put against the brute we were carrying.

The rest of the trip proved mercifully uneventful…until the very last leg.

I kept one eye on the dashboard light, and the other eye on the descending sun. I knew we were cutting it close. My eyes frequently darted back to the rear-view mirror, looking to make sure whatever was bound to the flatbed was staying that way. The moment the sun began to fall, I knew I was in trouble. I heard something rattling on the flatbed. I started to accelerate, but I knew there was also so fast I could go without plowing into my police escorts, which would not be a good look. Then again, the thing I was hauling wasn’t a good look.

The closer the sun got to the earth, the more severe the rattling sound came from the flatbed. I saw the tarp blowing in the wind, twisting and turning as the thing beneath the sheet began to shift and shiver. My eyes widened as I saw not stone beneath the sheet, but instead pulsating gray skin, all leading up to a massive hand.

I pushed on the gas, but I was mindful of my limitations. My salvation came one minute as I saw a sign reading “Welcome to Wisconsin”. I breezed past it before pulling off to the side of the road, probably no more than half a mile from the sign.

The two cops gave me quite a look when I unloaded the statue in the middle of nowhere, but I guess they were used to weirdness by virtue of living in a small town.

“Man, I don’t know how you hauled that thing all the way here,” one cop said when he saw the statue.

My worst fears were realized when I saw the statue. It was in a completely different position than it had been when we set out. Before, it was clutching its face, shielding itself from the sun. Now it was crawling towards something just out of reach.

I realized that would have been me. The thing was attempting to reach its massive hand up towards my truck cab had I not made it here when I did.

I turned and started to load back up, without our one-time visitor in tow.

“You have no idea,” I said as I headed back to the truck.

“So we’re just gonna leave it here?” the cop asked.

“That is the plan,” I said.

We made it home a few hours later, the two cops none the wiser on what had just transpired. We haven’t seen the troll since, but after every flood, we launch a pretty extensive search of the river system.

Just to be sure.