Cut over to the gazebo.

You don’t see anything down at the playground, but you decide to cut over to the gazebo instead. Maybe it’s an odd feeling about an abandoned playground, the enclosed space, or just your better familiarity with the gazebo. You round the corner and can see the gazebo that you’ve spent many nights at. Your initials carved into the wood, in more than one spot for sure.

When you fully step onto the bridge that crosses the creek, the ground under you starts to shake. You grab the railing of the bridge for support as a huge hand grabs the other side. You feel like running but the rumbling has you locked in place. A monstrous form climbs over the side of the bridge. His pale green skin riddled with bulbous warts. The monster stands over you, he’s hunched over but you think he’d easily be 10 to 12ft tall if he stood up right.

“Who cross my bridge?” he roars as he lumbers closer to you still clutching the railing. Each step shaking the bridge. What is this monster? You mentally run through all the tales of monsters you can think of. Is he a troll?

With shaky legs you stand back up leaving the comfort of your railing. “I’m Holly and I’m just cutting through,” you take a step trying to get past the troll. He puts his hand in your way, his long fingers barring your path. The closer the troll gets to you the stronger the smell of standing water becomes.

“No cross my bridge free,” the troll says. “You pay my toll,” you gulp as his tattered pants twitch at the word, “Or you guess riddles.” Riddles? The troll didn’t strike you as the riddle type.

You grip your bat in hand. Could you physically take on the monster that is over twice your height? Maybe just paying the troll toll would be the best path, you’re just nervous about what he could want. The riddles are intriguing and you could make it through without paying anything, but who knows what he could ask. The troll also seems a bit slow, so maybe you could trick the towering monster into letting you by.