Yesterday, as she posed for an art class, Jenny heard one of the participants relate the following story about a female friend. It is true.
The friend lived in a nearby suburb with her retarded eighteen year old boy, who, though very simple, was functional enough to be left to his own devices most of the time. He was fully grown, tall and strong.
When his mother arrived home one evening she found him in great distress. He looked like he had been in a fight with a bear. He was bleeding, covered in scratches. His clothes were torn, covered with leaves and dirt, and he was scared out of his wits.
Obviously, the mother was very concerned. She was desperate to know what had happened, but her son's stammered answers made no sense. He said that he had fought with a troll.
As she was cleaning him up, he revealed that he had managed to capture the troll, that it was locked in the garage, and that she could see it if she wanted.
The mother, despite the absurdity of the situation, was overcome by trepidation as they approached the garage door. The boy was genuinely frightened and taking shelter behind her. She did not think he was lying. And there was his dishevelled state to consider ...
And there were the sounds of banging from within.
The twilight surrounds of the very ordinary suburban backyard - with its lawn, its barbeque and its trellises - took on an unfamiliar, even nightmarish quality. But the mother shook these feelings from her head, mustered her courage and opened the door.
Inside, there was a tiny little man, a dwarf, in a similar state of discomposure to her son. And he was entirely pissed off.
He had been riding by on the footpath, happily, when her son - perceiving a grotesque creature from the pages of the Brothers Grimm - had tackled him, restrained him and locked him up, evidently thinking he was doing a service to the community in capturing a wild, dangerous ... troll.