City Trolls

Super short story.

Harry lurks under the bridges and train tracks. Anywhere dark and a little hidden. He feeds, and feeds on, the pigeons. Never begs for change, as he knows it isn’t coming. He hides his horns under a thick beanie, scaly shoulders under loose jackets. Talks to the packs of river rats in the early hours and gossips about the happenings of the city. He goes home to Edwina and Georgie, who always welcome him back no matter how long he wanders.

Underneath the gardens, deep within the tunnels that still crisscross the city is the place they call their own.

One day, skipping through traffic in the tunnel he spots a tiny, furry ball. Then and there he decides that it must come home with him. The ball mews softly as he picks it up, popping its little body into his pocket as he disappears up the stairs. Edwina welcomes him home with a hug and a hot drink.

 

Their chambers are dark yet open, tall ceilings turning inwards as the roof bends. The china cabinet rattles ominously each time the train passes nearby, yet nothing ever falls. In the kitchen the walls are covered in multitudes of hanging racks. Herbs and bottles of indeterminate contents all mixed together in  wonderful mishmash of culinary curiosity. Edwina spends her time here, the tiny window looking out onto the river. She can hear the conversations of the people passing above and it keeps her mind curious and busy as she works. Her salves and tinctures have always been popular, and she has carved out a pleasant niche for herself.

An old iron oven in the corner keeps the room warm and dry, safe from the clinging dampness of the river outside. The three of them sit around it some nights, sipping hot tea and relaxing.

The little cat now purrs and twists around their ankles, begging for pats and treats before it goes off again to roam the streets with the pack of water rats it has befriended.

This place is a home.