markgrago
(This bizarre tale comes to us from Sandy, who now resides in San Diego.)
“My Slovak maternal grandmother told me this story of a Troll who wandered along the Ohio River, and under the Monaca-Rochester Bridge. It was said that this creature was not an evil, or malevolent “ghost”, but more of a lost soul, unable to find peace and rest.
One night in mid-autumn in the year 1912, my newly married maternal grandmother and her husband were at the kitchen table after a late evening meal. They had only arrived in America a few years before from their homeland Slovakia and were living on Atlantic Avenue very near the Monaca-Rochester Bridge. It was very windy this night, a light rain falling, when there came this heavy knock at the door. Three strong beats, then silence. Who would be calling at this late hour? My grandmother shook her head and put a finger to her lips. Again, the three knocks resounded, heavier this time. My grandfather stood and went to the door, opening it slowly. There in the dim light, looming silently in the doorway, stood this…. Thing. A man of sorts, yet not quite human, or so it appeared. Its clothes were more rags than garments; loose, tattered, flapping things, and this man-form was soaking wet, continually dripping more water than any rain should have caused. Great puddles formed on the linoleum floor, as the creature stood there, unblinking, not speaking, slightly stooped over.
My grandfather knew just what “it” was, and just what to do. For this was a Troll, and while not evil, was not something you wanted near you. It had to be dealt with in the “old ways,” the ways of the people of the village in their native Slovakia who knew about Trolls, undead creatures, and other supernatural entities. To chase it away might anger it, to invite it inside, could lead to it never wanting to leave! In a clear authoritative voice, my grandfather spoke to it: “Come in, don’t come in”. “What do you want, what don’t you want.” “Which one are you, who are you not”. “Come and eat, do not eat with us”. This was to confuse the Troll and it would not understand if there was an invitation, or a dismissal.
It stood there for a while, then turned and walked into the night. They were never visited by this creature again. And my grandmother avowed that the floor, where the water had collected in that particular spot, never completely dried out. Sometimes, she told me, you could hear the Troll’s mournful wail from under the bridge, especially on rainy or foggy nights. Since there was very little automobile traffic in those early years, those who walked across the bridge at night would move briskly, walking in a zigzag pattern, never turning to look back, so if the Troll appeared it would not be able to catch them. My God, how that prospect frightened me when she told the story! Interestingly, the Troll always appeared soaking wet, drenched and shedding water profusely, even on clear, non-rainy nights! Some people whispered it was the soul of a man who had drowned in the Ohio; others maintained it was definitely a supernatural creature who, for reasons unknown, had chosen this place to manifest itself.
My Stara Mama, Zuzanna Fronkova, told me this when I was a child. The Troll story always seemed to give me chills, no matter how many times my sister and I asked her to tell and retell it. When my grandmother had her children, my mother and uncle affirmed that when they were kids, they would hear the Troll’s anguished cries at night, and dare each other to stand on the bridge in the fading light and taunt the creature.
In 1930 a new bridge was built, replacing that old structure that had stood since 1896. The troll was never seen or heard again after 1930; hopefully, with the old bridge replaced, it now found peace at last.“
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