The Terrible Olli

The Terrible Olli

On the shore of a broad Finnish bay stood a little farm, where a father lived with his three sons. They had little land, but worked from morning until night and took care of everything they owned.

Across the bay, beneath a high mountain, an old troll had made his home. His house was enormous, his storerooms were full of treasures, and his stable was so vast that an ordinary horse could easily have got lost in it.

His wealth brought little joy to anyone. For years, the troll had taken what belonged to others. He kept things he borrowed, demanded money from people using the road, and frightened travellers into leaving their goods behind. People on that shore had long avoided his lands.

One evening the eldest son said:

“Someday someone must remind the troll that not everything in the world belongs to him.”

The middle brother agreed. And the youngest, Olli, only smiled:

“Then all three of us will go.”

Olli was the youngest, and his brothers often thought he was too merry for serious business. But their father knew that when the boy watched and listened quietly, he noticed more than anyone else.

The next day the brothers swam across the bay and reached the troll's house.

The old troll greeted them with unexpected friendliness.

“Ah, guests!” he boomed. “Stay the night. There is room enough, and supper enough for everyone.”

The troll's three daughters also lived in the house. Before going to bed, the owner gave the guests red caps, and the daughters white ones.

"That's more fun!" he said.

Olli immediately became wary. Why in a dark room would anyone distinguish sleeping people by the color of their caps?

When all was quiet, Olli crept out of bed, swapped the guests’ caps with the daughters’ caps, and woke his brothers.

In the night, the troll slipped into the room. He could not make out faces, but he could see the colours clearly. He led the three sleepers in red caps into the corridor and locked them in a distant storeroom, certain he had captured his guests.

As soon as the troll fell asleep, Olli whispered:

“Now let's go.”

The brothers escaped and reached their own shore before dawn. In the morning, the troll’s daughters were let out of the storeroom, unharmed but very angry at their father’s foolishness.

The older brothers then declared:

“We’ve had enough of trolls to last a lifetime!”

But Olli remembered the people whose belongings the old troll had taken.

A few days later he heard about a wonderful horse in the troll's stable. Its mane shone with golden and silver strands. People said that this horse had once belonged to a good owner, but the troll had taken it for himself.

“I’ll take the horse back to this side of the bay,” Olli decided.

“Don’t push your luck,” his father pleaded.

“I don’t rely on luck,” the boy replied. “I’ll watch, listen, and take my time.”

The troll was away from home. When his wife saw Olli, she decided to keep him there until her husband returned.

“Help me water the horse by the lake,” she asked.

“With pleasure,” Olli replied.

He led the horse out, got into the saddle, and instead of the lake, he galloped toward the bay. When the troll returned, the horse was already trotting along the grass near the farm.

The troll came out onto the shore and shouted across the water:

“Olli! Do you have my horse?”

“The horse is where he will be well cared for now!” Olli called back.

A few days later the boy thought again.

“The troll has a heavy sack of silver. Many of those coins were taken unfairly. I must return them to their owners.”

This time the troll’s wife asked Olli to look after the bread in the oven while she rested. Soon she dozed off. Olli noticed a heavy bag under the bench, picked it up and quietly left.

At home, his father did not allow anyone to share the silver among themselves.

“First, we will find the people it belonged to,” he said.

And so they did.

The troll was furious, but Olli still did not stop.

In the house under the mountain there remained a golden coverlet, which the troll boasted about to everyone. Olli waited until the dark night, climbed onto the roof, and dripped a little water onto the coverlet through a small crack.

“The roof is leaking!” muttered the sleepy troll.

The coverlet was hung high on a crossbeam to dry. Once the house was quiet again, Olli carefully fetched it down and went home.

“Will you ever stop?” asked the brothers.

“When the troll stops treating other people’s belongings as his own,” Olli replied.

One thing remained: a golden bell. The troll had taken it from a little village belfry, and since then no morning chime had sounded across the bay.

Olli came at night and stretched out his hand to the bell.

Ding!

The troll woke up instantly.

“Got you!”

He seized the boy and locked him in a storeroom.

“You won’t escape now. In the morning, I’ll take you far beyond the mountain, and you’ll never find your way home.”

The troll went to call his relatives to brag about catching Olli. His wife remained to guard the door.

“Sit quietly,” she ordered.

Olli looked around the storeroom. There were old baskets, sacks, ropes, and a narrow window.

“I still can’t get through,” he sighed loudly. “Even you wouldn’t get through.”

“Me?” the troll’s wife exclaimed indignantly. “I’m twice as nimble as you!”

“I don’t believe it.”

She opened the door, went to the window and began to show how to turn around sideways.

That was just what Olli had been waiting for. He slipped into the corridor, closed the storeroom door, and slid the latch into place.

“Don’t worry,” he said through the door. “Your husband can easily open the latch when he returns.”

Then he took the golden bell and rushed home.

At dawn the troll was already standing by the water.

“Olli! Are you there again?”

“I am!”

“And have you got the bell?”

Olli picked it up, and a clear golden sound rang out over the bay.

Ding, ding-a-ling!

The troll stamped his feet in fury.

“I will cross the bay and take everything back!”

But the sun was just rising. The first rays touched the mountainside, then the roof of the troll's house, then the troll himself.

The old troll shielded his eyes. His power thrived on darkness, fear, and other people’s silence. He disliked the clear light that showed things as they really were.

The bell rang from one shore. On the other, people came out of their houses. Those whom the troll had frightened one by one for years now saw each other and realised how many of them there were.

“Give back what you have taken!” came a cry from the shore.

And again:

“Give back what you have taken!”

The troll looked back, muttered something under his breath and retreated to the mountain. That same day he gathered the rest of his chests and went far into the stone gorges. He was never seen again on the shores of the bay.

The horse returned to the people, the silver was distributed to those whom the troll had once wronged, the golden coverlet was taken to the family to which it belonged, and the bell was hung up again in its old place.

From then on, its voice rang across the water every morning.

Ding, ding-a-ling!

The older brothers no longer called Olli frivolous. But the boy himself only laughed:

“I didn’t do anything special. The troll was used to everyone being afraid of him. Once you stop being afraid and start thinking carefully, even a very big troll suddenly seems much smaller.”

That was how Olli earned the name Terrible Olli. He was neither cruel nor frightening. But to injustice, nothing is more fearsome than someone who is brave, pays attention, and remembers the truth.

May this story leave a little light in your heart ✨