A bearded giant clutching a VW bug. His eye is a hubcap. His other eye hidden under concrete hair.

He emerges from under highway bridge. He's kind of adorable.

When I go during the day, he's crawling with tourists, but I came back in the middle of the night

so I could stand with him in a moment of silence. I need this silence.

Something has felt off since Montana. I think someone's following me.

I know I was done talking to you, but I am brimming with story, and eventually it'll need to be told.

And if I'm going to tell a story, I guess I'd rather it be to you, Alice.

The troll was put here to help rehabilitate the area.

Run off the low-lifes and drug dealers, bring in the tourists, an old story.

But all has not been peaceful around this statue.

Less than 10 years after it was built, a man murdered the driver of a moving bus on the highway

above, sending the whole bus full of passengers flying off the bridge and crashing next to the troll.

A few years later, 12 sheep skulls were found placed in a nearby yard.

No one knows why, and maybe it was just a prank.

Maybe.

I'll start slowly with information you'll find reassuring.

Sylvia is safe. She got out in time.

Had a gut feeling. A survival instinct from her time on the road.

Before I even called, she had ditched the motel room.

Was watching it from across the street, watched the hunched, twitching figure flickering in and

out of sight in the poor lighting of the motel walkways. She had left the door locked,

but the figure turned the knob and stepped in. And maybe he had been given the key.

...