Stan was busy collecting wild berries and flowers for his grandmother. He hummed along, till he rammed into something hard, covered with moss. The rock shook and a gruff voice asked him. “Who is this? I will roast you alive.” Stan trembled. It was a troll. The bushy brown creature opened its bead-like eyes and clasped him in his hairy coarse hands. “Don’t kill me,” cried Stan. “Why not?” asked the foul-smelling troll. Stan looked at his berries for a minute and then said. “My grandmother tastes just like berries. You can eat her, instead,” he said. “All right,” said the troll. Stan led the troll to a deserted hut. “I will go in first. My grandmother will run away if she hears you,” he said. He left the troll outside. Stan entered the hut and exited from the back door. Then he ran back to his village as fast as he could, leaving the troll waiting.
The Troll
