Swedish Folktales: Småland

The Trolls of Skurugata

As everybody knows, the trolls have retreated as humankind advanced, and when Eksjö was built, all the trolls that lived in the area fled to Skurugata.

Here it seemed they would be able to enjoy the peace and quiet, for the place was lonely and bleak. Two great mountains rose straight up so close to each other that the little sunlight that does manage to make it down to the bottom of the “street,” as the narrow lane is called, is but a twilight. But the bold grenadiers of Småland have not left the trolls in peace even there, for I have heard that when the army met on Ränneslätt the entire battalion would march through the street with drums and trumpets several times, indeed, they would even fire their rifles down there, which shook the very hearts of the trolls living in the mountains. Thus, I doubt the trolls enjoyed well-being, even in Skurugata.

In the vicinity of that cracked mountain there was a spring that was considered holy, and in the days of old people who lived in the area would make offerings there to the spirits of that place. I don’t know whether or not people still do. Enlightenment is on the rise, they say, and all those peculiar old traditions will soon belong only to the past. A few decades ago this wasn’t the case: then you could, at least according to old folks, still have the pleasure of both seeing and talking with the trolls, not to mention the kyrkogrimmen, gloson, and many other respectable greats of the spirit world.

Once upon a time there was a hunter named Pelle Katt, who one day went to Skurugata to hunt grouse, because it was mating season for the birds. The hunt was an utter failure. The magnificent male and all his hens escaped Pelle Katt’s murderous shots. Pelle was angry and strongly suspected that the trolls had bewitched his shotgun. He swore and cursed all the trolls of the world and especially those that lived in Skurugata. Just as he passed by the mouth of the crevice, a woman walked out, small and with a curious appearance, and she was carrying a little poodle in her arms.

“I’m to bring greetings from the Lady; she wants you to shoot this here dog.”

“Tie the cur to a tree so it doesn’t run off before the deed is done,” answered Pelle.

So the dog was bound to a tree, and the little woman vanished into Skurugata between the two walls of stone. Pelle then took his shotgun and sent a cloud of pellets into the dog’s head. But what was it he saw, when the smoke cleared? It was his own little child lying there, wrapped in the skin of a dog.

Now, Pelle Katt did not have the best reputation. He was quarrelsome and hard-hearted; a sullen, gloomy man of few words. But he was also a boozer, and when drunk he would loudly boast that he was afraid of neither God nor the devil himself.

But now, for the first time in his life, he was in shock, distraught and helpless.

“My God! What have I done!”

He shook so violently his knees knocked together, while sweat ran from every pore.

The troll woman came back out from the mountain and said, “Here you are Pelle Katt, take your payment!” She threw a heavy coin at Pelle, and it fell right into his open hand stuck there, as if glued. Then she picked up the slain child and carried it back into the mountain.

Pelle hurled the coin at the departing figure and cried out, “no! I won’t take your dirty money for such an act. Take it back, you vile troll!”

A hoarse laughter from out the mountain was his only answer.

Pelle went home. His child was gone. His wife wept, but Pelle said nothing, and left for the tavern. He had no money with which to buy the liquor he needed to drown his sorrow, but out of long habit he stuck his fingers down into his vest-pocket in hope of finding some forgotten copper-piece. And behold! there it was, the same coin that he had just thrown back at the troll woman. Now, he let it fall onto the bartop, and bought enough liquor to forget: he forgot his child, his wife, himself, heaven and hell, everything.

When he sobered up, he found that same coin back in his pocket. Certainly he tried to throw it away a few times, but since it always showed back up in his pocket again he used it time and time again to buy himself forgetfulness, until finally one time he slept and never woke up again.

So goes the story of Pelle Katt and the trolls of Skurugata.