Sometimes before I go to sleep I recite every word of The Three Billy Goats Gruff. The best bit is always "UP JUMPS THE TROLL!" That can really scare the cat if I yell it too loud. Except in truth I don't believe that a troll - whether real, imaginary, or just living in your building - would be capable of raising themselves up off the ground. The troll from my childhood book is blue. Finnish the Troll is not, although certainly his pallor has a blueish tinge to it. The non-blueness is something that bothers me but I try not to dwell on it too much. After all, in someone else's copy, perhaps the trolls are not the colour of the sky.

I think that Finnish works in computers somewhere, but I don't for sure know what that means. He comes in and out of the building at strange hours. I imagine him eating the shroom that would shrink him from troll to elf, climbing inside the computers, his skin blending in with the greige plastic.

He sneaks up on me while I am checking my mailbox. "Hullo" resonates loud and harsh and far too close to my ear, making me jump and scatter my letters all over the hallway. He picks them up and gives them to me and as his hand touches mine the hairs raise up on the back of my neck and images of dismembered bodies float up from somewhere, some cheap black and red Sunday spread. His fingers are rollmop herrings. Then I think I can smell fish and I have to hold the letters over my face.

"You are ok?"
"Yes, yes, of course, thank you." I back away towards the lift, one eye searching for the doorman.

Inside my flat I lean against the door. I am sure that this man who lives in my building is perfectly nice really. From upstairs comes the sound of melancholy Japanese music.