The Troll under the Eighth Street Bridge

By Kenneth Jorgensen

After being attacked by a pack of werewolves and undergoing training to be a monster hunter like his parents, Randal's life was back to something resembling normal. He was in high school, had his driver's permit, and was worried about nothing more sinister than passing Mrs. Myers' English class. At the high school choir's madrigal dinner, however, the mysterious Mr. Quatle pulled Randal's dad asid

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kenneth Jorgensen
• Release date: Sep 9, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301598120

Kenneth Jorgensen

Kenneth Jorgensen lives in Boise, Idaho, with his wife and two children. His life growing up was much likes Randal’s, except the parts about monsters.

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Randal Regulus Monster Hunter

The Troll under the Eighth Street Bridge

By

Kenneth Jorgensen

Special Smashwords Edition

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Randal Regulus, Monster Hunter - The Troll under the Eighth Street Bridge

Special Smashwords Edition

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Copyright 2012 by Kenneth Jorgensen. All rights reserved, including right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

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Books By Kenneth Jorgensen

The Randal Regulus, Monster Hunter Series:

The Werewolves of Riverside Park

The Gnomes of Tucson

The Troll Under the Eighth Street Bridge

The Kusunoki Chronicles:

Pride of the Samurai

To learn more about the books by Kenneth Jorgensen visit

http://www.kenneth-jorgensen.com/

Randal Regulus, Monster Hunter

The Troll under the Eighth Street Bridge

CHAPTER 1

Randal Regulus, hurry up and get ready.

Mom had used my first and last names, so I knew she was serious, but I decided to live dangerously. Relax, Mom. I have plenty of time.

We are leaving in half an hour. Get ready now, play your game later. With an exaggerated sigh--just to let her know I was doing it only for her--I turned off the game. Mom smiled. You're a good boy. Yeah, tell me something I don't know.

Tonight was the Madrigal Dinner at Boise High School. I had been going to the Madrigal Dinner for as long as I can remember. It was a big event for the school, and especially the choirs. All the choir members dressed up as medieval characters and sang madrigal songs (or at least songs in a madrigal style) as the guests ate dinner and participated in various fundraising. I thought it was a lot of fun.

Not that I was going to let my mom know that.

Cassia, my older sister, had been in choir and we had gone to support her when she had been in high school, but we had gone as a family even before that; I think my parents had known other people in the choir before. This year we were going to support my friends Kirby and Kate who were in sophomore choir.

For the dinner Kate was going to be a serving wench and Kirby was going to be a peasant. I could not wait to see that. I had been calling Kate a wench all week--until she hit me, anyway.

The doorbell rang. Can you get that, sweetie?

Sure, Mom.

Our front door would make most fortresses proud. It looked like a fairly regular door, but it was extra thick and with extra locks in a steel-reinforced frame. I took a quick glance through the peephole to make sure it was safe to open. This may all seem a little excessive, but when you are professional monster hunters, as parents are, such precautions are normal. The safety features of this house had come in very handy last spring when a pack of werewolves had done a home invasion trying to kill my friends and me.

One of those friends, Grant, was on the other side of the door pulling his nose up with a finger so I was looking right up his nostrils.

I opened the door. Hey, Grant.

Hey, Randal.

Nice face. What if it had been my mom?

That's why I didn't moon the door.

That and it's below freezing out, I added.

That too. Am I on time?

Sweetie, is that Grant? called my mom from the other room.

Yeah, its me Mrs. R., Grant called back.

Glad you could come with us, she said.

Wouldn't miss it. Thanks for inviting me.

You're welcome.

A peasant and a serving wench, Grant said softly, so my mom would not hear. This is like a two-fer.

Like me, Grant was also training to be a monster hunter, as were Kate and Kirby. We had spent our summer at Camelot, near Tucson, Arizona, training. But for now we were back in high school, mostly doing ordinary high school things. When I say mostly, I mean that we were continuing our monster hunting training in the evenings and on weekends. Did I mention that my family has an armory? Yeah, we do. Do not blame yourself if you are jealous. Weapons training was the most fun part of the training, but we were also learning tae-kwon-do and how to identify monsters.

There are more of those than you might expect.

For example, I suspected Mrs. Myers, my English teacher, was a harpy. Dad said that might be possible because monsters like harpies are naturally drawn to positions where they have power over other people and therefore make natural teachers and bureaucrats, but Mom told him to keep his jokes to himself and told me that Mrs. Myers was not a harpy and that I better be nice and respect her.

Fine, but I was still keeping my eyes peeled.

Dad walked into the living room. Hello, Grant.

Hey Mr. R.

Everybody ready? he asked. We all nodded. Then let's go.

CHAPTER 2

I still don't see why I don't get to drive, I complained from the back of my parents' car. Outside a lazy snowstorm had fat white flakes of snow dancing on their way to the ground. Although the snow was starting to cover the grassy areas, the roads were clear, so there was no reason for me not to drive.

Neither of us wanted to sit in the back with Grant, Dad replied. No offense, Grant.

None taken, Mr. R. Grant smiled; he got the joke.

Mom twisted to face back from the passenger-side front seat. You will have plenty of opportunities to drive, sweetie.

You always say that, I mumbled. I did not actually have my license yet, but my learner's permit allowed me to drive with a licensed adult in the car. It just seemed a waste that here we were, two licensed adults in the car, and we were not taking advantage of the opportunity for me to learn. My parents are just anti-education, no matter what they say.

What's so cool about this concert, anyway? asked Grant, changing the subject.

I sulked.

Mom stepped up. Mostly the beautiful music. Have you heard madrigal music before? Grant shook his head. Well, it is a choir without accompaniment, and in a medieval style. They harmonize a lot, lots of chords, and the sound is very unique.

Mid-evil? asked Grant.

Middle ages, answered Dad. Kings, knights, castles, that sort of thing.