In the days when Norway was ruled by Denmark, there was once a farmer from Vågå, in Norway, who had gone to Copenhagen to settle a court case, as one did in those days, because there were no local courts.

On Yule Eve, the case was finally decided—in his favor, fortunately—but afterwards he found himself wandering the streets of the city aimlessly, downhearted at the prospect of a cheerless Yule far from home.

As he walked, a huge man hurried past, leading a horse, and well-wrapped against the cold.

“And where are you off to at such a great clip, my friend, this Midwinter's Eve?” the farmer asked the man.

“I'm off to Vågå,” said the man.

“Would that I might go with you this night, for it's there that I'm headed myself,” said the farmer.

“Ride with me if you've a mind,” said the man, “for my horse goes twelve steps to the mile; but mind you hold on tight, now.”

He mounted up onto the horse that he'd been leading, which was as much larger than a horse you or I might ride as the man himself was larger than you or I. The farmer climbed up behind him, and indeed the horse went like the wind, twelve steps to the mile. The farmer clung on for dear life, seeing neither earth nor starry heaven, so quickly did they go.

In a long while and a short while, they reached Vågå, and the farmer climbed down, somewhat shaken. For all that, he thanked the man, as well he might, and wished him best of Yule.

“And to you,” said the man, dismounting. “And if you should happen to hear a great noise or see a great light behind you, now, don't you go turning around to look.”

“Indeed I shan't,” said the farmer, and turned his face towards home.

But just as he reached his door, he heard behind him a great crash, loud as thunder, and saw a great light shine out, so bright that he could have picked up a pin from the ground. Forgetting his word, he turned back to see the source of the light and thunder.

Now, on the great cliff above Vågå, there stands a rock-face shaped for all the world like a great doorway with a pointed arch, and this is called the Jukulporten, “the Giant's Door.” What should the farmer see there, that Midwinter's Eve, but two great doors of stone standing wide open, with the troll himself in the doorway, and out of it shining a great light, as of thousands of candles, all burning at once.

The farmer had seen what no one had seen before, but that day and ever after, his head sat crooked on his neck for the seeing of it. And if you'd asked him, he would have told you that he'd as lief not have seen, and kept his head set straight on his neck.

Indeed, in their mounds and mountain halls, the trolls and elves keep Yule, they do, even as you or I.

Well, and why wouldn't they, now?

Retold from:

John Lindow (2014) Trolls: An Unnatural History. London: Reaktion Books.