Join us for a weekly blog party in Six Sentence Stories, hosted by Denise and attended by some mighty fine, fun folk. Prompt word=SURGE. Read, write and come back for more SIX SENTENCE STORIES. (Link goes active Wed night).

Jack, Sylvia, and Dame Lorelai jump at the sound of a heavy fist beating on the door, and Maigret and the mouselings stop their chewing for just a moment.

“Strange,” whispers the Dame as she steps cautiously toward the door and pulls it partially open, further musing “the surge of trolls aren’t usually this polite, especially when they’re hungry.”; outside the door, the full moon is occluded by the figure of a tall man in a long, hooded cloak and single eyepatch, a mid-sized polar bear just behind him.

“Hello fair Cousin,” he chuckles, his voice deep and melodic like a bow across a bass cello, as he steps out of the moonlight and swirling snow and into the cottage, “I heard you had a problem with the local trolls.”

Sylvia (btw a Norwegian Forest Cat large enough to draw the chariot of a goddess), eyed the polar bear with great interest, her tail twitching to cool the sudden rush of heat threatening to overwhelm her hunting instincts, thinking to herself “Good thing he’s a mid-sized polar bear, instead a full-grown Papa bear.”

“I didn’t think you’d make it this year,” purred Dame Lorelai, “but please come in because it looks like there will be plenty for all,” and turning toward the mousehole, she calls “Jack, Maigret and mouselings, come join us at the table for a proper feast as no trolls will dare enter tonight!”

“I see our reputation precedes us, eh” the man laughs softly as he steps into the other cottage in Dovrefjell, chucking his “cat” under the chin and slipping off his cloak.

© Liz Husebye Hartmann (2026)

[And to get an idea of what happens next, please refer to Asbjornsen & Moe’s tale “The Cat on the Dovrefjell]

Snip Snap Snu, My tale is through!