A Gift in the Dark

Troll Bridge

You can also listen to this story via the YouTube link above, or here with a few others - narrated by the wonderful fauxpunker 

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Troll Bridge

Daniel loved his job. Despite being clad in dayglo yellow for safety reasons, and presumably so he could be spotted from low earth orbit; the fact he was wandering around rural Ireland on his own with nothing but the birds and trees for company spoke to his soul.

He smiled happily in the dappled light and walked on through the narrow green lane, the trees casting mellow filtered sunlight on the map in his hand. The dotted red line that denoted the path of the proposed new dual carriageway ran right alongside the old greenway on which he walked. The thin woods on his left would be removed for the construction. The thicker woods on the west side of the greenway would be kept to shield the road from the nearby Jamestown, and placate the local green lobbyists.

Consulting his plan once more, he noted a brook and wonderfully named 'Old Troll Bridge', and chuckled, muttering, "Shame I'm not a Billy Goat," to himself as he walked onwards.

As he meandered on, the trees became more spaced out and massive, and he walked into a scene from a fairytale. Water trickled over mossy boulders and past trees Tolkien himself would have been proud to describe over the space of four chapters. Sunlight trickled into the clearing in dust moted streams that lit patches of ground where gods should stand, or fauns should dance. In the centre of the clearing stood a stone bridge arching over the stream. It was solidly built yet elegant in a simplistic way, and was barely wide enough for anything more than horse and cart, but had obviously been built well and had stood the test of time.

Daniel closed his mouth, which had been hanging open in wonder at the sight, and walked toward the bridge. He glanced at his watch and smiled in anticipation as his stomach growled in agreement. Walking over the bridge to the opposite bank, he reached to his shoulders, lifted his rucksack, and sat on a sunlit boulder by the bridge. Opening his plastic lunchbox, he poured a steaming hot coffee from his flask and sighed contentedly, closing his eyes to feel the sun on his skin.

As he ate, he looked more closely at the bridge. In the sheltered recesses, where erosion and time hadn't managed to smooth the stones, it was evident that at one point in its history it had been finely carved with whorls in the stonework, and lines enhancing the shape of the arch. The arch of the bridge was some five feet above the stream and had obviously been built to cope with a much higher flow than currently meandered under its stones. He finished his lunch and reached into his pack for the torch he kept in a pocket.

He made his way carefully down the steep bank of the stream, the muddy slope making him proceed slowly. After a few seconds of painstaking descent, he stood by the arch, daylight and the woods clearly visible through the narrow span of the bridge. Flicking on his torch, he played the beam over the cut stones of the interior, his mouth framing a silent 'Wow' as the upper arch came into view. Whorls and patterns danced in the stone in ancient Gaelic style. Words were carved deep into the walls of the bridge above the normal water level and he stooped under the keystone to get a better look.

On one side, someone had taken great pains to carve a hideous figure in the limestone, all obtuse angles and disturbing planes. Flickering shadows danced and moved in the wan light of the torch, which chose that moment to flicker out.

Despite the sunlight flickering through the trees a few yards away, the darkness was palpable, and the shadows deepened as he withdrew his face from the carving he'd been studying.