Bogamus the Troll

Bogamus the Troll

By Nathan A. Jones

© 2011 Nathan A. Jones. All rights reserved.

Cover illustration by Sharon Davey

© 2017 Sharon Davey. All rights reserved.

Smashwords Edition

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Bogamus and Friends Series

Bogamus the Troll

Villainous Vic

Bogamus in Space

Contents

Bogamus and the Three Billy Goats Gruff

Bogamus and the Knight

Bogamus in the Woods

Bogamus in Pelina

Bogamus and the Enchanter

Bogamus in the Real World

Bogamus and Rose

Bogamus the Brave

Bogamus Returns

Bogamus Today

Villainous Vic

Bogamus and the Three Billy Goats Gruff

‘Waaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrra-

aaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrraa-

aaaaaaaaaaaggggggggggggg-

gghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!’

Bogamus was having a bad day. He had been sneaked, tricked and had just been buffeted off his bridge. Now he was flying through the air, arms flailing and screaming. His bridge, the river underneath it, and the valley it ran through were all getting smaller and smaller beneath him.

The valley was high up in the mountains, far within the Magical Realm and was unusual in two ways. Firstly, the valley was inhabited by both creatures of the real world, that you or I might see everyday, but also by magical creatures. You will only ever get to see magical creatures if they want you to see them or if you are magical yourself. Elegant elves, mice, deer, tiny fairies, wolves, rabbits, enormous trolls, goats, toads, mischievous gnomes, spiders, beetles and even troublesome goblins all lived side by side.

Secondly, while one side of the valley had sunshine all day long the other side was always covered in shadow. On the fair, sunny side the grass grew lush and green, the flowers bloomed and the trees grew tall. The creatures that dwelt there ate well, were strong and full of life. On the other side it was always gloomy. The grass struggled to grow and there were no flowers or trees, only barren rocks. The creatures that lived there had a hard life.

‘Oooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhh-

hhhhooooooooooooooooohh-

hhhhhhhhhhhhhooooooooooo-

ooooooooooooooo!’

Bogamus was a troll, not a bad sort as trolls go. But then again as trolls go does not say much. Most trolls are complete stinkers. Trolls are large (Bogamus was ten feet tall), green skinned, bad tempered and have large bulbous noses and long pointy ears. Their long, knobbly fingers stick out of scrawny hands, which are on the end of their long skinny, strong arms. They have hunched shoulders, a bent back and round potbellies. Their legs are thin and bony, and they have wide feet with long curly toenails. Bogamus was all these things although his temper was better than most and he did have a nice smile.

Like most trolls Bogamus lived under a bridge, a nice homely bridge that spanned the river and nestled in the middle of the valley. The bridge was made of stone, arched in a humpback. Lichens and moss covered the smooth weather worn rocks. The bridge looked as though it had been there for as long as the valley had existed or the river had flowed.

Bogamus looked down on the valley, the river that ran through it and, of course, his beloved bridge. Being so high up they had all seemed very small. But now they were getting larger. Bogamus was falling.

‘Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-

eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-

eehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-

hhhhhhhhh!’

Even in the Magical Realm trolls are misunderstood creatures. When a troll finds a bridge, they cherish it and protect it. Bogamus, being a good troll, guarded his bridge day and night and stopped anyone from crossing it. (Would you want anyone walking over your home?) Trolls have amazingly good hearing. Even when asleep they can hear the footsteps of anyone approaching their bridge. What is more, if Bogamus heard anyone approaching he would climb out from under his bridge and shout out in his best troll voice:

‘Bogamus the Troll am I.

With a fee-foe-fie.

This bridge don’t come near.

Or I’ll tear off your left ear.

I’ll gnaw your right arm.

To your belly I’ll do harm.

So keep well away.

If you want to see another day.’

All those who heard Bogamus’s fearsome chant would steer well away from the bridge. Bogamus, who was really quite a nice sort of troll, would never actually tear off anyone’s ear or do any of the other things. But as a troll it was his duty to guard the bridge and to shout out his warning. It was what trolls did.

The river was getting quite large now and heading straight for Bogamus.

Splosh-slosh-wulosh-slosh-

blosh-slosh-splush-slosh-losh-

slosh-wulosh-slosh-blosh-

slosh-splush-slosh-losh.

The river was swift flowing, so much so that none of the creatures could cross from one side to the other. (Except for the birds, insects and fairies who can all fly.) The only way to cross the river was Bogamus’s bridge. But Bogamus, who dearly loved his bridge, would not let anyone or anything cross his bridge.

Nobody knew why Bogamus lived under a bridge when a troll could quite easily build a fine house in one of the nicest places in the valley. Maybe it was to catch the fish that swam in the river? But Bogamus did not like fish. If you asked him why he lived under a bridge he would say, ‘It’s because that’s where trolls live.’ If you asked him why trolls live under bridges he would say, ‘We’ve got to live somewhere. I mean, who ever heard of a troll living in a bungalow?’

‘Blub-a-bloob-a-wub-blub-a-

bloob-a-wub-blub-a-bloob-a-

wub-a-bloob-a-wub-blub-a-

bloob-a-wub-blub-a-bloob.’

Bogamus was sinking in the river. He thrashed his arms and kicked his legs, trying to get back to the surface. If he could get to the shore he might be able to get back to his bridge. But no matter how hard he swam it was all he could do to stay afloat.

How had a powerful troll like Bogamus been sent flying through the air to land in the river? Which of the creatures in the valley had done this? Was it a trick by the gnomes? Or more trouble from the goblins? Maybe a pack of wolves had chased him off his bridge? Perhaps a powerful wizard had cast a spell on Bogamus?

Was it any of these that had sent Bogamus flying? No. It was goats, three goats to be precise.

Bogamus gave up trying to swim and instead just floated and let the river take him out of the valley. As he floated he thought to himself, How did three goats send me flying off my bridge?

At the beginning of the day three goat brothers were living on the barren side of the valley. They were called Fydor Gruff, Mydor Gruff and Bydor Gruff: the three billy goats Gruff. Fydor was the smallest, lightest and nimblest of the three brothers. Mydor was a medium sized goat, and the most intelligent of the three. Lastly Bydor was the largest and strongest goat.

It was a hard existence for the three goat brothers on the barren side of the valley. They had to spend all day searching for food among the rocks and had no time to play. They could see the fair side of the valley and longed to cross the river and feast on the green grass there. However, they knew all about Bogamus and the warning he shouted to all who approached his bridge.

The three billy goats Gruff each had a plan to get past Bogamus and cross over the bridge.

Fydor knew that Bogamus had very sensitive hearing. But, if he could get up early enough and creep in absolute silence then perhaps he could get across while Bogamus lay asleep.

That morning Fydor got out of bed even before the sun was up. He packed his things and clip-clopped over to the bridge. When he was some way off he could hear Bogamus snoring beneath the bridge. Even so he was careful to approach the bridge as quietly as he could. He reached the bridge and crept forward, stepping on the soft mosses where his hooves would make no noise. After his first step on the bridge he stood quite still to check that Bogamus was still asleep.

On the other side of the valley three birds were perched in a tree, tweeting at each other. The wind blew along the valley, rustling the grass. Two squirrels were looking around, waiting for the first glimpse of morning sunshine. Beneath the bridge Bogamus snored.

Fydor advanced a few more paces, carefully keeping his hooves on the quiet, mossy parts of the bridge. Fydor was still worried about the troll. He stopped again to check that the troll was still sleeping. The birds were now hopping from branch to branch, trying to get a better view of Fydor crossing the bridge. The wind still rustled the grass. The squirrels flicked their bushy tails as the first rays of sunshine warmed and tickled them. Beneath the bridge Bogamus kept snoring.

Fydor was relieved, he was nearly half way across the bridge. Maybe this was going to be easier than he had first thought. Relaxing a little he took another step forward. But one of his rear hooves slipped on the moss, still damp with morning dew. The hoof screeched across the bare stones and it was all Fydor could do to stop himself falling over. With his heart racing Fydor steadied himself and listened.

The birds were getting excited about the goat crossing the bridge and were tweeting all the louder. The wind was still rustling the grasses but now it was also whistling under the bridge. The squirrels, who were too busy to see Fydor, started chasing each other in the morning sunshine. Fydor wished that they would all keep quiet; they might wake the troll up. Fydor could hear Bogamus rolling around in the mud beneath the bridge and muttering to himself.

‘Whar-es-it? Whar-es-it? Is someone there?’

Fydor dared not breathe for fear that Bogamus would get up to see what the noise was. Fydor strained his ears and listened.

‘Whar-es-it? Uhhmm. Narfing. Mmmmmmnnnnnn.’

Soon Bogamus was once more snoring. Relieved, Fydor quickly and quietly finished crossing the bridge. Once he was over, he turned a somersault to celebrate and began eating breakfast by munching on the juicy grass and enjoying the morning sun.

Mydor woke up as his younger brother was crossing the bridge. He was too large and too noisy to creep over the bridge and, besides, Bogamus would soon be awake. Mydor would have to find another way.

It was around lunchtime when Mydor, hungry from a fruitless morning searching for food, approached the bridge. Bogamus had noticed Fydor somersaulting on the fair side of the valley and was not sure whether the smallest goat was on the correct side of the valley.

When he saw Mydor approach Bogamus roared his usual warning:

‘Bogamus the Troll am I.

With a fee-foe-fie.

This bridge don’t come near.

Or I’ll tear off your left ear.

I’ll gnaw your right arm.

To your belly I’ll do harm.

So keep well away.

If you want to