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Troll Brother

  By P. Edward “Eddie” Auman

  Copyright 2013 P. Edward Auman

  Cover Art Image: Jordon C. Brun

  ISBN: 9781301738045

  Discover other titles by P. Edward Auman at www.TrollBrother.com

  Dedicated to Mr. Stachurski, without whom Eddie would never have begun writing back in 1985, nor obtained his English Teaching degree. Educators and role models everywhere: never underestimate the effect you have on a child.

  Also dedicated to Cody Towse, Pfc., medic, KIA 5/14/2013 Afghanistan. Member 3rd Batt., 41st Infantry Reg., 1st Brig. Combat Team, 1st Armored Division. May Richard Johansson, Jr. in this book be another way for those of us who appreciate your sacrifice to remember you.

  Chapter 1

  Why nine-year-olds are such Doofuses

  If you were to ask nearly-twelve-year-old Robert (‘Robbie’ to his family and other people who most definitely were not his friends) why it is kids under ten seem like such doofuses he’d probably just point out his younger brother and say, “See?”

  Little Ricky was a bit of a handful and very unpredictable, that was for sure. And perhaps that’s why, in the summer of this past year, his substitute while he was away, (a youngish troll from under Loafer Mountain), was hardly even noticed as anything but Little Ricky himself. The mountain troll, who played the part of Ricky for two months, beginning with the last couple weeks of school in the spring and ending in mid-July, loved making messes. And he loved making trouble. And he loved making people uncomfortable. In a word, that was Ricky, too.

  ~~~

  On a Saturday in May, Robert decided to go explore a little more of the sharply inclining foothills above his home in Maple Springs. The little town sat at the foot of a mountain which rose to nearly 10,000 feet. It certainly wasn’t the largest mountain in the Rockies, but it was quite grand, especially if it was one of your first mountains you’d ever seen, let alone lived next to. And there were canyons, sloughs, and slopes covered in scrub oaks, maples, aspens and alpine evergreens to explore. Compared to the life he’d just left behind in Iowa it was excitement every direction he turned. To the northwest, a lake glistened below and in the distance he could see a valley full of larger towns where he went to school, shopped with his mother and did normal kid stuff. But all around him to the east, south and with a little hook of a mountain point heading west he was surrounded by the grandeur of cloud-scraping mountains and he wanted to be part of it.

  All of his plans for that warm May day came crashing down when his mother put a stipulation on the adventure. She wanted his little brother Ricky to go with him.

  “Please, Robbie! I need your help with this!” Mom was begging.

  She held out the sandwiches she made for him. They were meant as a bribe because they were three of his favorites: peanut butter and jelly, but with cocoa hazelnut spread instead of peanut butter; a cheese and mayonnaise sandwich on white bread; a seafood salad sandwich on a small roll.

  “Mom! I can’t take Ricky with me! He’s going to slow me down, and…Er…what am I supposed to do if he gets hurt?”

  “You’ll take one of the cell phones. It has GPS. You just call me and I’ll come running. If you go past where you have reception then you’re going to be in big trouble anyway.” Robert thought her pleading expression was pathetic.

  He wanted to say something about how the puppy-dog eyes look doesn’t work when he uses them on her, so why should they work in reverse. But he thought better of it. Mom was a feisty redhead, and that’s one thing his father had warned him about often: Never make a redhead mad, unless you want to spend days and days more than sad! Dad wasn’t much of a poet, but that little slogan stuck in his head whenever he felt like arguing with Mom.

  “You know…I’m technically too young to babysit, I think…” Robert said, reaching deep into the pockets of his mind for the last few excuses he could possibly find.

  Mom stood akimbo and prepared for a more drawn out fight. But she kept her cool for a bit longer.

  “Look at him, Robbie! Seriously, I can’t get everything done for the party tomorrow if I’m dealing with that!”

  Robert did look. All his remaining effort to argue fell flat and he resigned himself to taking little Ricky for a little walkie. Ricky had just finished building a fine scouter’s fire by crumpling little bits of paper, throwing in some sawdust he got from Dad’s workbench in the garage and leaned several of Dad’s old toy cabin logs inwards together to form the fire ‘teepee’. He had just tipped a little nail polish remover from Mom’s bathroom into the pile to ensure a good start and was flicking a lighter he’d found in the kitchen drawer of emergency items. The display was setup and ready to go on the tile in the kitchen just a few feet from the table.

  With Mom’s desperation showing brilliantly in her eyes, Robert did the grown-up thing and stopped Ricky just pre-explosion and asked him if he wanted to hike up the slope and look for some snipe. Secretly, he wondered why Mom and Dad never thought of just putting Ricky on a chain in the front yard. If it worked for dogs, maybe it would work for crazy kids that failed obedience school too.

  Dropping the lighter, Ricky dashed to his bedroom saying, “Let me get my pack and some exploring stuff!”

  The lighter skittered across the floor and hit one of Mom’s shoes, bouncing off. She looked at the other scorch marks on the tile here and there. They could come out with some cleaners and some elbow grease, for the most part. But the grout in some areas and one of the cabinets that stood a little too closely to where Ricky tried his last practice bonfire would never look quite right. As she stared she held out the sandwiches to Robert. He took them eagerly and went to find Ricky to see if he could hurry him a long a little, or at least prevent him from getting distracted with his latest home-built potato cannon. The family had all generally agreed it was best to have Ricky destroy the house and be in view, instead of allowing him to roam the neighborhood unchecked, destroying anything that caught his attention. But a potato canon in his room was bound to break a window or punch a hole through the wall into Robert’s room.

  Maybe military school would be able to train him? thought Robert. But then he thought more wisely. Nah. That probably wouldn’t even be a challenge for Ricky.