On the estate of Norrhult, in the parish of Rumskulla, the people in
olden times were very much troubled by Trolls and ghosts. The
disturbances finally became so unbearable that they were compelled to
desert house and home, and seek an asylum with their neighbors. One old
man was left behind, and he, because he was so feeble that he could not
move with the rest.
Some time thereafter, there came one evening a man having with him a
bear, and asked for lodgings for himself and companion. The old man
consented, but expressed doubts about his guest being able to endure
the disturbances that were likely to occur during the night.
The stranger replied that he was not afraid of noises, and laid himself
down, with his bear, near the old man’s bed.
Only a few hours had passed, when a multitude of Trolls came into the
hut and began their usual clatter. Some of them built the fire in the
fireplace, others set the kettle upon the fire, and others again put
into the kettle a mess of filth, such as lizards, frogs, worms, etc.
When the mess was cooked, the table was laid and the Trolls sat down to
the repast. One of them threw a worm to the bear, and said:
“Will you have a fish, Kitty?”
Another went to the bear keeper and asked him if he would not have some
of their food. At this the latter let loose the bear, which struck
about him so lustily that soon the whole swarm was flying through the
door.
Some time after, the door was again opened, and a Troll with mouth so
large that it filled the whole opening peeked in. “Sic him!” said the
bear keeper, and the bear soon hunted him away also.
In the morning the stranger gathered the people of the village around
him and directed them to raise a cross upon the estate, and to engrave
a prayer on Cross Mountain, where the Trolls dwelt, and they would be
freed from their troublesome visitors.
Seven years later a resident of Norrhult went to Norrköping. On his way
home he met a man who asked him where he came from, and, upon being
informed, claimed to be a neighbor, and invited the peasant to ride
with him on his black horse. Away they went at a lively trot along the
road, the peasant supposed, but in fact high up in the air. When it
became quite dark the horse stumbled so that the peasant came near
falling off.
“It is well you were able to hold on,” said the horseman. “That was the
point of the steeple of Linköping’s cathedral that the horse stumbled
against. Listen!” continued he. “Seven years ago I visited Norrhult.
You then had a vicious cat there; is it still alive?”
“Yes, truly, and many more,” said the peasant.
After a time the rider checked his horse and bade the peasant dismount.
When the latter looked around him he found himself at Cross Mountain,
near his home.
Some time later another Troll came to the peasant’s cottage and asked
if that great savage cat still lived.
“Look out!” said the peasant, “she is lying there on the oven, and has
seven young ones, all worse than she.”
“Oh!” cried the Troll, and rushed for the door. From that time no
Trolls have ever visited Norrhult.