Once upon a time, very long ago, a lot of trolls lived
on a big hilltop at the farming estate of Skjekkeland in the west valley.
Among these trolls, one was particularly distinguished from the others by his tremendous size. He was the "Trone", respected and highly honored by the other trolls as a god.
Each year, shortly before the great celebration of Christmas Eve, the people of Skjekkeland had to clear out, because the trolls took over the house to have their great party with lots of noise and hubbub.
One year a poor solitary traveler arrived at Skjekkeland to ask for shelter over the Christmas days for himself and his friend, a red dog.
Hearing the poor man's appeal, the master of Skjekkeland was sorry that he could not honor the poor man's request, since the trolls were to take over the entire premises. Finally, the master allowed the poor man to stay, if he was courageous enough to remain in the house with the trolls.
On the afternoon of Christmas Eve, all the residents headed over to the neighboring farm as usual. Only the poor man and his dog remained in the house. The poor man took an old musket down off the wall and crept behind the fireplace with his dog to sit and wait for the trolls.
As darkness fell, the trolls arrived in a great troupe with their chieftain in the front. The settled themselves around the big table and the party began. In a little while they all seemed cozy and happy, and one of the biggest trolls, with his silver mug foaming, stood up and said solemnly, "All hail our revered Trone whom I am proud to serve!" At the same time, from the fireplace, a booming shot rang out. The poor man had killed the Trone.
In a great flurry, the trolls took up the dead body of the Trone and ran horror-struck away with the poor man's red dog barking madly after them. Left behind, the poor man settled down at the table and helped himself, eating all the delicious food.
In appreciation for his actions, the poor man was allowed to remain content and happy at the house for the rest of his life.
Each year after, at Christmas Eve, you can hear the trolls
shouting from the big hill where they still live, "Is the red dog still
there?" And, later in the evening, if you listen carefully, you can hear
the mourning song of the trolls float through the air on this evening of
Thale Lovise Adolfsen
Ribaas, 22 December 1995.
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