This origin, Blinky said, is considered a fairy tale by modern trolls. Some even bristle at the very word troll, derived from an ancient Norse word meaning “one who walks clumsily.” Regardless of what you call them, there is little doubt that human civilization after the Ice Age was frequently interrupted by the six varieties of troll: mountain, forest, sea, water, farm, and hulder-folk—all of whom held great hatred in their hearts for the humans who ruined the forests, fields, and rocks that had long been the trolls’ domains. Thankfully, humans also built plenty of bridges, structures so laden with symbolism (the crossing from one place to another) that trolls were able to use them as shortcuts into the underworld.

(“All bridges?” I asked Blinky. “Yes,” he said. “Even foot bridges?” I asked. “Yes,” he said. “What if I just laid a plank over a hole, would that work?” I asked. “You need to let me finish this story,” he replied rather sternly.)

Trolls also had the ability to come and go from beneath the beds of innocents. For all means and purposes this meant children, though these gateways were less practical than bridges for numerous reasons. If the child was deep in sleep, for example, trolls could become infected with their dreams, resulting in something like the flu, the severity of which would depend on what kind of dream it was. Though rare, human children, too, could use these doorways.

Despite these cunning entryways into our world, trolls had limited ways to fight. Sunlight turned them into stone, so their retaliation against humans was relegated to evening hours. Stories from the ninth century feature trolls protecting their habitats by any means necessary, often focusing their aggression on churches, which were, quite simply, convenient gathering spots for humans. One activity that brought trolls endless amusement was tossing boulders at these churches. This undying wrath, more than any inherent flavor, made human meat the most prized of all troll dishes.

But for as long as there have been human-eating trolls, there have been humans to fight them. The Sturgeon/Sturges family were the subjects of many a ballad, hymn, and shanty. Armed with sword and bow and shields painted with their crest (Esse quam videre: “Be—do not seem”), they defended their camps from troll attacks before adopting the more proactive stance of flushing trolls from their hiding spots. From this lineage rose several celebrated warriors. In 1533, Ragnar Sturgeon used his teeth to bite the head off a troll to save Wales from an invasion of Mugglewumps. In 1666, Rosalind Sturgeon was partly responsible for the Great Fire of London while fending off a horde of large Irish Batmuggs. Possibly the most controversial was Theobald Sturges, who rescued a battalion of English soldiers during the Battle of Mons from a pack of Gizcullders who attempted to burrow upward through the trenches.

(“Damn,” Tub said after translation. “Ragnar is a cool-ass name.”)