Friday Fictioneers – Huldufólk

Ah, Wednesday. It can mean only one thing.

Well, in the summer it means two things as it also means there will be rain and the cricket I watch and tweet commentate on will be cancelled. But predominantly, it means Rochelle‘s email will arrive in the morning. This week didn’t disappoint. It rained heavily all day, and this picture, courtesy of FF regular CE Ayr duly inned into the pingbox:

I’m sure you all know the routine by now. Click here to pay a visit to the frog who guards everyone’s stories. Then, if you have time, read mine below.
Thanks for reading, tip your waitress, leave via the giftshop.

 

 

For months, those hired to build the bypass waited, claiming overtime while security cleared the woods of human obstacles.

When the last protester’s chain was cut, the last concrete boulder broken, work could begin.

An elderly woman approached the foreman.

“You can’t build here,” she said in an unplaceable Scandinavian accent, “huldufólk live inside the great Rock. They won’t allow it.”
The workmen laughed, shooed her away.

The first day, one truck wouldn’t start. Day two, a reversing accident broke a worker’s leg. Day three, workers downed tools when a computer glitch halted their wages.

The woman watched, and smiled.

 

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• Author’s note: I’ve never seen the Huldufólk, but I’ve seen where they live. And I’ve seen the bends in the roads, put there specifically to avoid disturbing them. Real? Imaginary? I couldn’t say. But Iceland, a country more in touch with and respectful of its nature, certainly takes them seriously.