Greetings. ’Tis I. The troll who lives beneath the Narrowsburg Bridge. Yes, there’s a troll living under your bridge. Obviously. Living and working. Working from home, as you humans say. Or, as we trolls call it, working from bridge.

With great bridge comes great responsibility. Without me, the economy of our precious hamlet would completely fall apart. You may not realize it. But, ’tis I who controls the financial profitability of our summer tourist season.

How?, you might ask, well — Riddle me this! What shrinks in the winter and grows in the summer? No, not the size of my hideous warts. It’s our population, of course.

And that growth is all my doing. Using my ancient magickal powers, I lure a steady stream of visitors across our bridge, to patronize your businesses, sleep in your rental homes and become delicious food for my hungry troll children. I mean. Forget that last part.

Riddle me this! Who puts gold into your pockets, and asks nothing in return?

The answer? Not this guy! I do not work for free! In order to continue my labors on your behalf, I demand an annual sacrifice from the Chamber of Commerce. That is why you are all here tonight. Thank you for coming!

What is the nature of this mysterious sacrifice? Well. It changes year to year. Recently, I demanded my bridge be repainted. Many years ago, I demanded to marry Corabelle, the loveliest spinster in all of Sullivan County. When our kids got old enough, I demanded free tuition at the Homestead School — THAT was a smart one.

Just last summer you may have noticed local businesses selling my illustrated children’s book called WHAT STINKS? It’s a poignant tale of a young troll dealing with bullying. Reviewers called it “covered in slime for some reason.” The important thing is that all the shops were forced to carry WHAT STINKS?, because this was my demand.

Most people have no idea the control I wield here. Some nights, while you’re sleeping, I rearrange the stores on Main Street. When you awake in the morning, you go, wait a minute, wasn’t this over here? Wasn’t that over there? What is this new place you have never heard of?

I do this to frighten and confuse you. To remind you who’s really in charge. Tremble before me!

I also control your festivals. All of the festivals are my idea. I can suggest any festival, no matter how unthinkable, and your townspeople have no choice but to turn it into a beloved annual tradition. I’ve done it with Honeybees. Lumberjacks. And I’m just getting started.

I have so many more ideas for festivals. The Roadkill Festival. The bringing your trash to the transfer station Festival. That thing where you have a disagreement with someone and then you keep running into them and you have to kind of pretend to ignore each other and it’s awkward, but what are you gonna do?, you live in a small town … Festival.

This is my solemn vow. I shall not stop until Narrowsburg is ONLY festivals. I love festivals. They are highly profitable and they bring so many more victims into town. I mean, visitors. They bring so many more visitors into town. Delicious, savory visitors.
Riddle me this! What is the cost of crossing the Narrowsburg bridge? What is the toll I demand of every traveler? The answer? You must follow my business Instagram.

Surely you have heard of Dr. Troll’s Disgusting Skin Paste for Warts and Things. It’s a homemade ointment I sell at the farmer’s market. For warts. And, things.

My wife, Corabelle, told me I shouldn’t put the word DISGUSTING in the product name. But I told her, it’s not the paste that’s disgusting, it’s the skin that is disgusting, and the general public is smart enough to get the distinction.

Corabelle also said I should stop posting black-and-white photos of my protuberant bumps. She says it clearly demonstrates that Dr. Troll’s Disgusting Skin Paste for Warts and Things does not work.

Obviously Corabelle is wrong. She doesn’t understand entrepreneurship. But it hurts, that I don’t have her respect.

Riddle me this! What grows the more you give away? The answer? Love, supposedly. She doesn’t love me. The Chamber of Commerce forced her to be my bride and bear my children. I get it.

You know, marriage is hard. That’s one thing people never talk about.

But enough about me and how much I have done for you. It is time! Time to complete the sacrifice. You there. Lock the doors.

Now, the sacrifice is simple. When I give the command, you must clap as loud as you possibly can. This is important, because I desperately need Corabelle to hear how much the town adores me. And my festivals. And my children’s book. And most of all, my wart paste, AND its Instagram.

SHE says I am a bad husband. She says I spend all my time on failed business ventures. Even worse, she says I am bad at riddles!! For a troll, that cuts on a very deep level. I don’t know if humans can understand.

Riddle me this… what should happen if your applause is lackluster? The answer: Narrowsburg shall be punished. I will cast an ancient magickal curse to make New York Magazine publish a huge feature about … Livingston Manor. Or — The Hudson River Valley!

Oh, the unspeakable horror!

I must return now to my home beneath the bridge. And YOU must complete your sacrificial duties. For the good of Narrowsburg and also my marriage. Applaud. Applaud!!!