Troll Stories for Kids

Grum was the biggest troll in the whole valley. His hands were as big as boulders, and his feet left prints as wide as a table. The other animals thought he was rough and loud, and they stepped out of his way when he walked by. "Big troll coming through," they whispered. "Out of the way." Grum pretended not to hear them, but inside, it made him sad. "Nobody wants to be near me," he thought. "They only see how big I am." One spring morning, Grum was walking through the meadow when he saw a tiny flower growing right in the path. It was small and purple, and its little stem wobbled in the wind. A big cart was rolling down the hill, and its wheels were heading straight for the flower. The flower would be squished flat in a second. Grum did not think. He threw himself down, cupped his big hands around the tiny flower, and stayed very still. The cart rumbled right past him, missing the flower by a hair. When Grum sat up and opened his hands, the little flower was safe. He looked around, and every animal in the meadow was staring at him. "You saved the flower," a little rabbit said softly. "With your own hands." "It was so small," Grum said. "I could not let it get squished." The rabbit hopped closer. "You are not rough at all," she said. "You are gentle." Grum smiled, and it was the biggest, softest smile in the valley. "I am big," he said. "But I would rather be gentle." From that day on, the animals stopped whispering when Grum walked by. Instead, they ran to walk beside him. And the little purple flower bloomed all spring long, right in the middle of the path, where Grum had kept it safe.

Bor the troll loved summer. He loved the warm sun and the green grass and the smell of flowers. But every year, winter came, and winter felt very, very long. "When will it be warm again?" Bor grumbled, stomping through the snow. "I want spring now." A little rabbit named Pip hopped beside him. "Spring will come," Pip said. "It always does." "But I cannot wait," Bor said. "The snow is too cold and the days are too short. I want it to change right now." Pip wiggled her nose. "If you spend all winter wishing for spring, you will miss the good parts of winter." "What good parts?" Bor asked, frowning. "Come and see," Pip said. Pip took Bor sledding down the big hill. Bor laughed so hard his belly shook. She taught him to catch snowflakes on his tongue and to make snow trolls with carrot noses. She showed him how the trees looked like they were wearing white coats. "This is fun," Bor said, surprised. "Winter is not so bad." "It is not," Pip said. "And before you know it, the snow will melt and the flowers will grow." Bor smiled. "I spent so much time wishing winter away that I forgot to enjoy it." The weeks passed, and Bor and Pip filled them with sledding and snow trolls and warm drinks by the fire. Then one morning, Bor woke up to a warm breeze. The snow was melting, and a tiny green shoot was pushing up through the ground. "Spring!" Bor shouted. "It came!" "It always does," Pip said. "But waiting is better when you wait with a friend." Bor nodded. "And I enjoyed the winter while it lasted. Every single day.

Under a little wooden bridge lived a troll named Rug. Rug was not scary, not one bit. He had soft fur and a gentle voice and a small collection of smooth, pretty stones. But nobody knew that, because nobody ever came to visit. "Everyone is too scared of trolls to be my friend," Rug said to himself. He sat under the bridge and arranged his stones, over and over. One evening, a little goat came trotting down the road. She was lost, and her hooves were tired. "Excuse me," the goat said, peeking under the bridge. "I cannot find my way home. Can you help?" Rug was so surprised he nearly dropped his stones. "You are not scared of me?" he asked. "Why would I be scared?" the goat said. "You have kind eyes." Rug's heart felt warm. "I have kind eyes? Nobody ever said that before." "Nobody ever looked," the goat said with a smile. Rug smiled back. "Let me help you find your home. I know every path in this valley." Rug walked with the goat, and they talked the whole way. The goat told him about her family and her favorite grass. Rug showed her his favorite smooth stones. By the time they reached the goat's farm, they were laughing like old friends. "Will you come back and visit?" Rug asked, a little shy. "Of course," the goat said. "And you must come to the farm. My family will love you." Rug could hardly believe it. "I waited under that bridge for so long," he said, "hoping a friend would find me." "Sometimes," the goat said, "a friend finds you first." From that day on, Rug visited the farm every week, and the goat came to the bridge every evening. Rug was never lonely again, and his stone collection grew, because now he had a friend to find stones with.

Moss the troll loved to eat. He loved berries and bread and honey and nuts, and he loved them in very big amounts. One day, he packed himself the biggest lunch in the valley and carried it up the hill to eat in peace. "Mine, all mine," Moss said, settling down with his feast. Just then, he heard a tiny squeak. A little family of field mice was watching from the grass. Their tummies were rumbling, and they looked very hungry. "That smells so good," the smallest mouse whispered. "Do you think he would share?" Moss heard them, and he hugged his basket close. "It is my lunch," he said to himself. "I packed it for me." But as he lifted a berry to his mouth, he looked at the little mice, and the berry did not taste quite so sweet. "This is too much food for one troll anyway," Moss sighed. He set the basket down and called out, "Come over, little mice. There is plenty for everyone." The mice scampered over, wide-eyed. "Really?" asked the smallest mouse. "Really," Moss said. "A big lunch is best when it is shared." So Moss shared his berries and bread and honey and nuts. The mice told stories about the meadow, and Moss told stories about the mountains. They all laughed together, and the lunch lasted much longer than any lunch Moss had eaten alone. "That was the best lunch I ever had," Moss said, patting his full belly. "And I did not eat as much as I planned." "You shared it," the smallest mouse said. "That is why it was so good." Moss nodded. "I have so much. Sharing it makes everything taste better." From that day on, Moss always packed a little extra in his basket, just in case a hungry friend came by.

Bram the troll loved to sing. He hummed in the morning and whistled at night. But he only ever sang in a very small voice, so small that nobody could hear him. "A troll my size should have a big, loud voice," Bram said. "If I sing out, everyone will laugh at how my voice sounds." So Bram kept his songs small. He sang to the trees and the rocks, and he always stopped if anyone came near. One day, a frog named Ferg heard a tiny little song floating from behind a big stone. "That is lovely," Ferg said, hopping over. "Who is singing?" Bram jumped. "Oh! I was only humming to myself," he said, his cheeks turning pink. "Hum it louder," Ferg said. "I want to hear the whole song." "I cannot," Bram said. "My voice is too small for a big troll like me." Ferg laughed, a friendly, ribbiting laugh. "A voice is not small or big," he said. "A voice is just yours. And yours is lovely." Bram looked at Ferg. "You really think so?" "I know so," Ferg said. "Close your eyes and sing it for me." Bram closed his eyes. He took a deep breath. And he sang, louder than he ever had before. The song filled the air and danced over the stones. When he opened his eyes, Ferg was smiling, and so were a few birds who had stopped to listen. "That was wonderful," Ferg said. "You have a beautiful voice." Bram's heart soared. "I was so scared to sing out loud," he said. "But I am so glad I did." "Never hide your song," Ferg said. "The world is brighter when you sing it." From that day on, Bram sang out loud every single day, and everyone who heard him stopped to smile.

Borg was a big troll. He lived under a wooden bridge. He loved his bridge. It was quiet and all his own. One day a goat came to the bridge. "May I cross?" asked the goat. "The grass is sweet on the other side." "No!" said Borg. "This is my bridge. Go away." The goat looked sad and walked off. Borg felt proud. The bridge was all his. Then a duck came along. "May I cross?" asked the duck. "The pond is on the other side." "No!" said Borg. "This is my bridge. Only for me." The duck waddled away. Borg sat alone under his bridge. It was very quiet. Too quiet. Then a small child came to the bridge. "Please, may I cross?" asked the child. "My grandma's house is on the other side." Borg was about to say no. But he stopped. He looked at the empty bridge. It was not fun being all alone. "Okay," said Borg. "You may cross. Just go gently." The child smiled and crossed. "Thank you," the child said. "Your bridge is lovely." Borg felt warm inside. It felt good to share. So he called to the goat and the duck. "Come back!" said Borg. "You may all cross my bridge." The goat and the duck came running. They all crossed the bridge, one by one. Borg watched them and smiled. "A bridge is better when you share it," said Borg. "Now it is full of friends, not just me." The bridge creaked a happy creak. "Come again soon," called Borg. "The bridge is open for all my friends."

Grin was a shy troll. He lived near a green hill. Every day he watched the other trolls play. But he never joined them. "I want to play too," said Grin to himself. "But I am too shy to say hello." He hid behind a big tree. He peeked out and watched. The trolls threw a ball and laughed. "What if they do not like me?" said Grin. "What if I say the wrong thing?" He stayed behind the tree all day. He felt lonely and sad. The next day, a small troll came near the tree. She was looking for a lost ball. "Hello?" she said. "Is anyone behind this tree?" Grin froze. His heart beat fast. He wanted to run. But he took a slow breath. "Hi," said Grin in a small voice. "My name is Grin." The troll smiled. "I am Pia," she said. "I saw you watching us play. Do you want to join?" "You do not think I am strange?" asked Grin. "Not at all," said Pia. "A gentle hello is all it takes." Grin smiled. He stepped out from behind the tree. He walked to the others and said a soft hello. They all smiled back. "Do you want to play ball with us?" asked a troll. "Yes, please," said Grin. And he played all afternoon. He laughed and ran and had the best day. "A gentle hello can make a friend," said Grin. "And I made a whole team of them." When it was time to go, Pia waved. "See you tomorrow, Grin?" "Yes," said Grin. "I will not hide behind the tree anymore."

Mog was a big troll with a very loud voice. When he talked, the ground shook. When he laughed, the leaves fell off the trees. "HELLO!" shouted Mog one morning. A little bird flew away in fright. A baby rabbit hid in its hole. Even the flowers seemed to shake. "I am too loud," said Mog. "Everyone runs away from me." He felt sad. He wanted to be gentle. But he did not know how. An old owl landed on his shoulder. "Try a whisper," said the owl. "A soft voice can be strong too." "What is a whisper?" asked Mog, very loudly. "Shh," said the owl. "Let your voice go soft. Like a breeze through the leaves. Watch me." The owl spoke in a tiny voice. "This is a whisper. Now you try." Mog tried. "Hello," he said. But it came out as a shout. "Try again," said the owl. "Smaller. Softer." Mog took a deep breath. "Hello," he said. It was soft and small. "I did it!" whispered Mog. "A real whisper!" The little bird flew back. The baby rabbit peeked out. The flowers stood up straight. "They are not afraid anymore," said Mog. "My soft voice helps them feel calm." "A gentle voice is a kind voice," said the owl. From that day on, Mog whispered when he was close to small things. And everyone came near, because his soft voice felt safe and warm. The owl smiled. "You found your soft voice," it said. "And now the whole woods feels calm." Mog whispered a happy thank-you.

Tug was walking in the big woods. The trees were tall and dark. Then he heard a small cry. "Baa! Baa!" came the sound. Tug followed the sound. A little goat stood by a tree. She was shaking and lost. "What is wrong?" asked Tug. "I cannot find my mother," said the goat. "I chased a butterfly and got lost. Now I do not know the way home." "Do not cry," said Tug. "I will help you find her." "Really?" said the goat. "Even though you are a big troll?" "Big or small, we all help each other," said Tug. They set off through the woods. They looked by the stream. They looked by the big rock. The goat's mother was not there. "She is gone," said the goat. "I will never see her again." "Do not give up," said Tug. "We will find her. Just keep looking." They walked on. The woods got darker. The goat held Tug's hand tight. "Mother!" called the goat. "Mother, where are you?" Then they heard a sound. "Baa!" came a loud call from up the hill. "That is her!" said the goat. "That is my mother!" They ran up the hill. There was the mother goat, calling and calling. "Mother!" cried the little goat. She ran into her mother's warm side. "Thank you, kind troll," said the mother goat. "You brought my baby home." "Helping someone lost is kind," said Tug. "I am glad she is safe." The goat waved goodbye. Tug walked home with a warm, happy heart.

Rook was a troll who was afraid of water. The big river ran fast and deep near his home. He had never crossed it. "I want to see the other side," said Rook. "But the river is too big. What if I fall in?" His friend Una came over. "The river only looks scary," she said. "There are flat stones all the way across. You can hop from one to the next." Rook looked at the river. It rushed and swirled. His knees felt weak. "I cannot do it," said Rook. "I am too scared." "Then I will hold your hand," said Una. "We will go together." Rook took her hand. He looked at the first stone. It was right by the shore. "Take one small step," said Una. Rook took a slow breath. He stepped onto the first stone. It held him. It did not wobble. "I did it!" said Rook. "One stone!" "Now the next one," said Una. Step by step, stone by stone, Rook crossed. The river rushed below, but he looked only at the next stone. "Almost there," said Una. At last Rook stepped onto the far shore. He looked back at the big river. It did not seem so scary now. "I was so scared," said Rook. "But I did it anyway." "You can be brave even when you are scared," said Una. "That is what brave means." Rook smiled. He had crossed the big river. And he felt stronger than ever before. Una clapped her hands. "You did it, Rook!" she said. "The river was big, but your brave heart was bigger."

Bram was playing in the cave. He swung his big arm and knocked a cup off the shelf. It fell and broke into pieces. "Oh no!" said Bram. He looked around. No one had seen him. He swept the pieces under a rug. Then his friend Kael came in. "What was that crash?" she asked. "Nothing," said Bram. "I did not hear a thing." "Where is my blue cup?" asked Kael. "It was on the shelf." "I do not know," said Bram. "Maybe it fell a long time ago." But Bram's face felt hot. A heavy lump grew in his chest. "Are you okay?" asked Kael. "You look worried." "I am fine," said Bram. But he was not fine. The lie felt like a big stone inside him. Kael looked down and saw the pieces sticking out from under the rug. "Bram, the cup is broken," she said. "Did you break it?" Bram looked at his feet. "Yes," he said. "I broke it. And I told a lie. I am so sorry." Kael was quiet for a moment. Then she smiled. "Thank you for telling me the truth," she said. "You are not mad?" asked Bram. "I am sad about the cup," said Kael. "But I am glad you were honest. The truth is always best." Bram felt the heavy stone lift. His chest felt light again. "I will help you fix it," said Bram. "And I will never hide the truth again." They picked up the pieces together. And Bram felt better than he had all day.

Sena was a gentle troll. She lived by a tall tree. A little bird lived in the tree too. The bird sang every morning. One windy night, the bird's nest blew down. The wind was strong and loud. In the morning, the nest lay on the ground in pieces. "My home is gone," said the little bird. "I am so cold and tired. I have no place to rest." Sena heard the sad bird. "Do not worry," she said. "I will build you a new nest." "But troll hands are so big," said the bird. "Can you build something so small?" "I can be gentle," said Sena. "Watch me." Sena gathered soft moss and dry grass. She gathered little feathers and warm fluff. She worked slowly and carefully with her big hands. "I will make it soft and cozy," said Sena. She carried the soft things up the tree. She tucked the moss into a fork in the branches. She made a little round cup. She pressed the grass down gently. "There," said Sena. "A soft new nest, just for you." The bird flew up and hopped in. It snuggled into the moss. It fluffed its feathers and closed its eyes. "It is so soft and warm," said the bird. "It is even better than my old nest." "A soft place helps a friend rest," said Sena. The bird sang a happy song. And every morning after that, the bird sang for Sena, the troll with the gentle hands. "Thank you, gentle troll," sang the bird. "A soft nest and a soft heart are the best gifts of all."