Troll blood is now spread out and drying in a dove tail pattern, framing a withered ancient face from a thousand folklore tales and nightmares. Spittle from uncounted curses and hexes now motionless and dried on a gray inert skin, made even more ethereal in pale moonlight. The troll is dead in a heap like a rag doll in a parody of life. I stared at it for a couple of seconds to make sure it doesn't coil back at me. Most creatures summoned forth into this world give forth their name, but this troll did not. Nameless and dead, the troll slowly stinks up the room with the smell of rotted and burned flesh along with the putrid smell of troll which reeks of decomposing garbage and filth. I pull up myself haggard and wounded in my chair. My book of spells is tattered and torn apart almost like parchment dressing upon a dead troll feast. I could see the troll's snout peeking out from the smattering of parchment and arcane symbols like an obscene mountain of quivering flesh erupting out from a field of withered parchment. I'm weak from the enchantment or was it killing the troll? What had happened? The chalk circle on the floor faded from the heap of dead troll on the floor. I was struggling to recall what had happened. A song, a prayer burst forth from those razor teeth when it entered my study, standing ready to strike within a circle of chalk and offerings. A whisper of servitude it cried out when it was a sham, my troll I brought from the other worlds sought my weakness at the first opportunity. I had assumed my circle on the floor would protect me as it had from other dark creatures I had summoned into the waking world, but I was unprepared for what had happened. My weakness to the troll was riddles. The troll was stinking of graves and blood wars timeless to man. It turned to me with a sneer, and its yellow eyes drenched in blood stared a hole into me. “What is the fuel of life?” The troll barked out the question with a razor tooth grin. I started at this sudden turn of events. No other creature had asked me a question when I summoned them into the waking world. I was weak from my enchantment, and I was struggling with the riddle. “What is the fuel of life?” Before I could answer the troll, it swung out its large hands and struck me off of my feet. My book of enchantments was burst apart in a rainbow of paper from a sinewy arm, and the talon sliced at my head and a cut over my forehead gushed forth blood. My life was over. My work was over. My blood would lay spilled unwept on the floor. Then the answer to the riddle hit me like a thunderbolt. “Blood…blood is the fuel of life.” I stammered out, forcing my lips to move. The troll recoiled from my answer, and howled in a fit of rage. Before it could strike again at me, I flung an enchantment at the troll that burst in a soft explosion of light and sound. The troll stood motionless for a moment, and then fell down dead in a heap. I wiped the blood from my face. I still had to dispose of the troll. Dead trolls aren't easy things to get rid of in this day and age, but I could worry about that problem after I tended to my wounds. Would I try to summon another troll into my world? That would depend on how much I would catch up on riddles and enchantment, and of course the fuel of life.
- - - My name is Jerry Williams, and I run both the film company goatboyfilms (Purvos, Misadventures in Space, Saucer Sex Peep Show) and the blog Spandex and Monster.