Troll Bridge by Jane Yolen Page A

girl. And…”
    â€œHold on, Jim — we are being interrupted by Brian Gustafson and a news bulletin.”
    â€œThanks, Katie. Brian Gustafson here, live from Vanderby. Local police have just fished a car out of the Vanderby River, a car believed to belong to the popular singing group, The Griffson Brothers. A black sedan with vanity plates reading, ‘ LUV U. ’”
    â€œLike their hit song?”
    â€œExactly, Katie. Apparently, the car lost control on the Trollholm Bridge shortly after sundown, crashing onto the rocks you see behind me.”
    â€œThis is radio, Brian.”
    â€œRight. Well, the rocks behind me are jagged granite, a gray blue in color. ‘Troll high,’ as they say in Vanderby, and just as dangerous.”
    â€œBrian, this is Jim Johnson. Is the car still hung up on the rocks?”
    â€œNo, Jim, it apparently hit the rocks before sliding into the river. The Griffsons’ parents have confirmed that their three boys had taken the car for a drive. Police have brought back the divers and tracking dogs, but no bodies have been found so far.”
    â€œVanderby? The Trollholm Bridge? Is there any connection between this accident and the disappearance of the Dairy Princesses, Brian?”
    â€œNo one is commenting on that, Jim. Yet. But it’s the second big-name disappearance this week, and the coincidences are starting to pile up. All we know for certain is that our thoughts and prayers are with the parents of the Griffsons as well as the Dairy Princesses this morning, and we hope that they’re all found safe and sound before too long.”
    â€œAnd the Sjogren family — the photographer, don’t forget. We send our best to them, too. But it doesn’t look good, does it, Brian?”
    â€œNo, Katie, it doesn’t. The police are puzzled and there have been no ransom notes. And that’s all I have. This is Brian Gustafson, reporting live from Vanderby, Minnesota.”
    â€œThanks, Brian. [Sighs.] This is so weird, Jim.”
    â€œYou betcha.”
    â€œMy daughter loves the Griffson Brothers. She has posters of them on the wall. Especially that Galen. What a cutie.”
    â€œMy daughters, too. I’m stunned, Katie.”
    â€œOh my gosh, Jim, we’ll have to ask the Spinning Sisters to play the Griffsons’ music tonight. And we’ll all be saying prayers for their safe return.”

11
    Moira
    Moira had no idea how long she’d lain in the box, trying to match her breathing to the slow rhythm of the other girls. She’d heard Aenmarr enter the cottage, kiss his wife loudly, exclaim something about princesses, then leave again with just as much noise.
    And then she heard a scuffling and a yawning that sounded like a pride of lions rising from sleep.
    And now she could hear the troll mother, Trigvi, puttering around the cottage.
    Stupidly, Moira thought, Puttering trolls make a lot of noise. There were the footsteps like timpani, the cymbal sound of pots clanging, and …
    Oh, God, no!
    Trigvi had begun a tuneless humming as she prepared to cook. She sang in no particular key. The random notes sent shivers up and down Moira’s spine.
    This is worse than pop music, Moira moaned silently, suppressing an overwhelming need to shudder. She reminded herself that if she succumbed to her urge to leap from the box shouting, “Shut up! Shut up! For the love of all things musical, please stop that awful humming!” well, then, that would be the end of her. But, oh Lord, it’s torture. The problem was that no one without perfect pitch could understand how awful it felt.
    Then she heard something else.
    â€œHey! Get me down from here!” It was a boy’s voice.
    Sounds like he’s about my age, Moira thought. And it’s sounds like he’s shouting from … Moira couldn’t help herself. She gulped hard. The larder.
    The troll woman’s humming stopped.
    Thank you, God,