In the middle of a deep, dark wood - deeper than either you or I would be likely to go in our lifetimes - there was an ancient moss covered house that few people ever went near. It was rumoured in the surrounding villages that in this house lived a troll - a dark, gnarled, and moody creature who liked dead things and wealth and little else.

All rumours, it is said, have a grain of truth in them. The troll was retired. He had made his vast fortune many years before, attacking travellers, robbing them, and devouring them, miles away under a bridge in a narrow mountain pass. He did not live alone (though he oft-times wished he did), but with a housekeeper, a kindly old woman whose name he could never remember. He paid her to look after him and his meagre household, which she did, although he treated her terribly. But she stayed, though nobody could fathom why (least of all the troll), except possibly that the money was good.

She was out one morning sweeping the front walk, when she heard a cheerful whistling coming through the woods. She looked up to see a young man in rough work clothes approaching the garden gate.

"Hallo!" he cried.

"Good morning, Horst," she replied, smiling. "How are you and Eva?"

"Tip-top, my good woman. Never better," said the young man, rocking back on his heels. He had a bundle under one arm, and although it looked heavy, he showed no difficulty bearing the weight. "The old devil in?"

"Aye, that he is, and in foul fettle." Her words were grave, but her manner bright. "It's his birthday today."

"So Eva told me. Fancy that, eh? Can't imagine him being born. It'd seem to imply he had a mother." He shook his head in mock puzzlement. "Get him anything?"

"You know he wouldn't want anything I'd give him," she said.

"You might bring him one of those virgins he's always demanding for breakfast."

"Horst! Really..."

"Ah well, I suppose you're right. He'd probably throw her back as too small and shout for his porridge."

The housekeeper shook her head and changed the subject. "He received a present from his sister. A dead owl. At least we think it was from her, it was just lying on the doorstep this morning with a few odd runes scratched in its back."

Horst whistled his appreciation. "Dead owl, you say? Good stuff. Bet he got a kick out of that."

"He hasn't let go of it all morning. I don't know what to do about it, it will start to smell before too long."

"Maybe you can take it away on the quiet if I provide a distraction." He patted the bundle under his arm. "Brought him a little something myself. I'll just pop in, if it's all right?"

She unlatched the gate and let him in. She shook her head again and smiled.

"Aye, but you know what you're in for."

Horst grinned back and walked past her. He paused on the doorstep to knock with a jaunty rhythm, then pushed the door open.

"Hallo!" he called again, and stepped into the front hall. His ears picked up a scuffling from somewhere inside, then with practised reflexes he ducked the heavy knick-knack hurled in his direction.

"GAR! GET OUT, YOU MANGY CUR!" cried something in the front parlour.

Horst grinned and turned into the room. There was the troll, perched on the back of the heavy wood sofa. He looked like a short little man with a long twisted nose and over-sized hands and feet. His warty skin had a greenish pallor. Tufts of wispy grey hair sprouted all over his gnarled body, slightly thicker behind his ears and in the hollows of his crotch and shoulders. He was, Horst was slightly disconcerted to note, entirely naked. In one hand he clutched the pathetic corpse of an owl, while with the other he scrabbled around for something else to throw.

"Happy birthday, Tommy old man," said Horst warmly.

The troll spit at him. Fortunately he was out of range.

"Don't call me that, damn you to hell! Get out of my house before I come up and gouge your eyeballs out!"

Ah, thought Horst, he's in a good mood.

Horst and his young wife, Eva, had moved into the house down the forest path about six months before. Not long prior, Horst had bought a set of tools off a friend of his and gone into the stone-cutter's business.

"It's a sure bet," he told his wife, then-fiancée. "Look, there's rocks everywhere, and people are always building things. It may not be glamorous, but believe me, we'll be turning away customers with fistfuls of cash in a few months."

Eva was rightfully doubtful. But after they were married, they managed to scrape together enough money to buy the house in the woods. It was cheap, because no one else wanted it. In addition to the troll living up the path, and who knows what else lurking deeper in the forest, it had previously been occupied by a family of goblins. But it was near to a good supply of stones. Eva insisted on having it blessed before they moved in, just in case, although Horst maintained it was a needless expense.

They'd noticed the troll creeping around not long after they moved in. Eva was terrified at first, and Horst hated to admit, he was a bit shaky himself. But the creature didn't seem to intend them any harm - for now - and appeared only interested in watching them and scowling.

Eva met the troll's housekeeper on her first shopping expedition into town. The matron chatted with her amiably, and explained that the goblins who used to live in their house had been friends of the troll. (Well, friends of a sort; they would frequently attack one another and try to tear each other limb from limb, or brain one another with rocks and clubs. Among trolls and goblins, a regular program of this sort marked a warm friendship.) She reassured Eva that the troll meant them no real harm, however much he might roar and bluster. However, she advised them to keep any animals they might keep locked away at night, and to check the garden thoroughly with a spade before sticking their hands in the dirt.

Reassured, Horst decided to pay a call on their new neighbours. He came back with a bruise on his cheek where the troll had hit him with a wooden bowl, and grinning like a mad man. The next week he tried again, this time coming back with claw marks on the back of his neck. Eva tried to forbid any more visits, but Horst would have none of it. He found the visits invigorating, he claimed, and the troll was really a very amusing host as long as you kept out of his reach and learned to dodge. Trips down the path became a weekly tradition; and in the past week, he'd been stopping by daily on his way back from the quarries.

"He's warming to me," he claimed to Eva one night, "He's not putting as much effort into aiming as he used to."

The troll snarled at him now.

"Who told you it was my birthday, anyway?"

"Your housekeeper mentioned it to my wife last week at the market."

"Gar! DAMN YOU WOMAN! I'll eat her kidneys! Eh? What's that?"

Horst thumped the bundle down on the coffee table.

"My gift to you. Many happy returns, old man."

The troll fondled his owl and eyed him suspiciously.

"What is it?"

"Open it and see."

"Is it gold?"

"Ha ha! Good heavens, no. You think a poor stone-cutter has gold bricks lying around that he can hand out for birthdays? Open it up, it's a surprise."

The troll's eyes darted from Horst to the bundle on the table. Slowly he crawled off the couch and approached the table cautiously. He looked at Horst again sharply, carefully set down his owl, and then attacked the package viciously. The wrapping was made of brightly coloured strips of cloth, salvaged from a couple of Eva's frocks that were beyond hope of repair. The troll flung these in every direction until the present was laid bare before him. He glared at what was underneath.

"What is this, some kind of joke?"

"Happy birthday, old man," Horst repeated, "Use it in good health."

"It's a stone!"

"Meticulously hand-chiselled by yours truly. You see if you turn it over, like all great artists, I've signed it. See, those lines there are an 'H', and then an 'O', and -- "

"What am I supposed to do with the damned thing? Gar!"

Horst appeared hurt. "Well, you could put up there on the mantle. It'd make a fine ornament, don't you think? I figured with the way you chuck them about the place, you must go through them as fast as porridge."

"Stupid fool! If I wanted a rock, I'd go out and dig one out of the garden!"

"See here," said Horst, folding his arms, "that took some work. I could've spent that time cutting stones for a paying customer, you know. And I signed it. I had to ask the butcher in town how to write my name out like that, you know."

"A pox on your name! And get this thing off my table! I don't want any rocks!"

"It's a gift from the heart!"

"I'll rip your heart out with my bare hands, you idiot son of a whore!"

Horst looked wounded. In a moment he brightened again. "Oh well, if you don't like that, there's always the party."

"What party?"

"Eva's decided to throw you a birthday party. She's baking you a cake and decorating it with pink icing --"

"I hate cakes!!"

"Then we're all going to come down here and have a jolly good time. You'll be the centre of attention."

"WHAT?!" The trolls eyes widened. He looked even wilder than normal. "Who's coming here? People?!"

"Certainly. My brothers are coming in from town, and some of the children. And their wives, of course. We can have tea and roast something."

"I hate people! No people! Gar!" The troll leaped onto the table and began hopping up and down, gnashing his teeth and pulling at his ears. "They'll try to steal my gold, the thieves! NO PEOPLE!"

"Oh, I think it's a fine idea, sir." The housekeeper stepped through the door and closed it behind her. She leaned the broom in the corner. "A party's just the thing. If you were more social, maybe people wouldn't be so afraid of you."

The troll rolled his eyes and stuck his foot in his mouth. He sat there making sucking noises and moaning for a few seconds, then pulled his foot out again.

"I want people afraid of me, woman! It keeps them away from me and my gold!"

"Oh, come on, it'll be great fun," said Horst, "You can get all dressed up right and proper --"

"I'll dress up your corpse, stone-cutter!"

"-- and Eva's made you the finest looking cap, too --"

"AAARRRRGGHGGH!!" The troll screamed in rage. He picked up the stone and hurled it at Horst. The stone-cutter jumped nimbly out of the way, and the heavy stone smashed into wooden floor behind him. It left a considerable dent.

"Sir!" said the housekeeper, looking cross. She had just swept.

"GET OUT!" roared the troll, "Get out and to the devil with you, you half-wit! I want none of your pox-ridden parties or your thieving, simpering people! I'll tear out your throat if you try any of this birthday rot on me again!"

Horst drew himself up and glared at the troll. "Well! That's fine, isn't it? Here I go to all this effort to celebrate your birthday, and --"

"OUT! OUT!"

"If that's how you want it! That's the last time I try and do anything for you, you foul little toad! I've offered you our friendship, but if you're not civil enough to accept it, I'll have nothing further to do with you, then! Don't expect me back."

"GAR! It's about damned time!"

"Good day!"

"Damn you!"

Horst nodded curtly, turned, and stomped out the door. He continued to stomp across the yard, and pausing only to slam the garden gate behind him, stomped away down the garden path.

The next day, Horst was re-thatching his cottage roof when he heard someone call his name. He looked down and saw the troll's housekeeper. He stepped carefully to the edge of the roof, and then sat down with his feet dangling over the wall.

"What ho! Lovely morning, what?"

"Aye, very fine. I was just coming round to say my thanks, on His Nibs behalf. He's been so chipper since you stormed out yesterday, he's almost civil."

"Terrific!" said Horst, beaming. "Really bucked him up, did it?"

"Aye, that it did," said the housekeeper. She smiled warmly at him. "He can't stop talking about how glad he is he'll never see you again."

"I figured as much. I have to admit, I found seeing the beggar every day for a week a bit much myself. But, all the merrier for him now that I'm gone, what?"

"Very clever of you it was, too."

"Oh, thanks."

"Oh, and I just thought it worth mentioning, he's enjoying the stone very much, too. He's been beating his owl into a mushy pulp with it, so there's that trouble solved. He'd left off that and was hammering it against his head when I left."

"Really? I'm glad to hear it," Horst continued to beam, "Don't let him go too far, of course."

"No, no. I've decided he can only have it for an hour in the morning and then again in the afternoon."

"Good plan. That's the stuff to give'im - discipline, as my granny used to say."

He squinted up into the sun, and looked at the forest laid out before him. You know, he thought, it really wasn't that deep, or dark, once you got used to it...

"Give it a couple weeks, do you think?" he asked.

"Oh, that'll do," said the housekeeper, "He'll be asking for you by then, I know. He's like that, he is. Well, I best be on my way. Y'be careful on that roof, understand?"

"Will do." He beamed and waved at her as she made her way back down the path. He clambered back up and got back to work.

Trolls, he thought. Nothing like'em.