Nick put on the brakes, and his twelve-speed bike slid to a stop beside Arthur's, which was already parked, kick-stand down, on the black tar of the turnoff. White lines, faded and broken, framed four parking spaces, though no one ever stopped out here in the winter. Nick took his time climbing off his bike, kicking down the stand, and adjusting the strap on his gray pack. He stood facing the sea while the wind whipped at his hair. It was the warmest winter anyone could recall, at least according to every parent, teacher, and weatherman the boy had heard over the past month. But out here, so close to the water, it was plenty cold enough. Nick straightened his glasses and started towards his friend, towards Arthur, who he'd known since they were four.
   Arthur was sitting on the curb, a wooden bat by his side, a pack, identical to Nick's, lying behind him. His coat was open, despite the cold—or perhaps because of it.
   Nick gave a look back at the bikes. "Maybe we should, I don't know, move 'em down. In case somebody comes by," he said.
   Arthur shrugged. "I've been coming down here for a week to feed this thing. No one's bothered me yet."
  "But, you know. In case," Nick said. "What if my mom came by?"
  "What if?" Arthur muttered. "What's she going to do? Besides, no one comes by out here. Not in the middle of winter. There's maybe two cars an hour." He stood up, dusted himself off, then picked up his bat and his pack. "If you want to dump your bike on the beach, then dump it. But mine's gonna be fine up here."
   Nick nodded. "Let's just go."
   "It's a walk," Arthur said. "You sure you're up for this? I mean, I don't want to take you if you're not really up for it."
   "I'm fine," Nick said quickly. "And I brought what we talked about. I got it," he added, patting his pack like a drum.
   Arthur smiled, turning to face the bay. He looked out across the water, at distant ships and circling birds, at white-tipped waves and the gleam of the afternoon sun. The corner of his mouth twisted into a smile. "Then let's get to it," he said. "Let's. Get it on."
   They hurried down the stone steps leading to the beach. In six months, you wouldn't be able to take three steps without walking on sunbathers or kicking over some kid's sand castle. But in February, there was no one.
   Thin veins of ice ran through the sand, cracking under the boys' sneakers. An empty plastic bag, caught under a piece of driftwood, flapped in the wind, as though it had somewhere to go or something to do. Nick kicked at the log to free it, and away it went, bouncing along the damp sand.
  "Hey, Nick," Arthur said, pointing to a clamshell with his bat.
  "Huh?" Nick said, turning away from the grocery bag he'd just freed. He pushed on the bridge of his glasses with his thumb than rubbed his nose. "Oh, oh sure." He picked up the shell then wound up and pitched it overhand while Arthur swung away. "Strike one," Nick yelled out, laughing, before looking for a second shell.
   Arthur gripped the bat tight, then traced a base in front of him with the tip of his shoe. "All right. I'm ready this time. I'm ready."
   The next shell sailed through the air, and Arthur swung the bat. There was a crack, like lightning, and the clamshell shattered like glass on concrete. "Home run!" Arthur cackled, running on ahead, while Nick chased behind.
   The two boys reached the rocks in less than ten minutes. The sand disappeared beneath the rising island of smooth stone. They climbed up, lending each other a hand when needed, and ran along the surface. They leapt over cracks, darting as quietly as they could: they were nearing their prey. To their left, yellow beach grass billowed like patches of molting hair; to their right, the sea continued its slow ebb, though neither boy knew or cared whether it was coming in or drifting out.
   One instant they were running over the stone. The next, Arthur had stopped abruptly, his hand at his side, blocking Nick's path. Both boys crept together, slowly approaching a drop-off where the rocks fell away in a small cliff, no more than ten feet, ending at the sandy floor.
   Nick and Arthur ducked low, crawling to keep out of view, until they were close enough to peer over. Even before his eyes saw it, Nick could hear the thing, lunging back and forth and tearing at something. Arthur waved him on, and he peeked over the edge for a look.
   At the troll.
   It was smaller than Nick had expected, shorter than either boy. Nick found himself conflicted. Part of him was relieved it wasn't monstrous, and part was disappointed in its modest stature. Hunched over, it held the wing of a gull, at least three days gone, gnawing at the bones like a starving dog. It's skin was a pale gray, almost matching the sand in color. It wasn't moving much, though when it did, it lurched around, as though deformed and confused. Nick wondered if all trolls moved like this or if there was something wrong with this one. It didn't really matter, but he wondered nonetheless.
   Arthur pulled Nick back, and both boys sat on the ground and opened their packs. Arthur drew out the contents of his; a plastic freezer bag, sealed tight. Inside was a raw fish, viscid and shining. Arthur wrinkled his nose while he peeled open the seal and squeezed out the fish, which he tossed over the edge, before wiping his hands against his pants.
   The boys heard the fish land, followed by a shuffling sound and a noise like a hog sniffing. Nick pulled off his eyeglasses, folded them, and placed them in their black case. He them in the front pocket of his pack. From the open top, he removed a hatchet, ten inches long, which he had taken from his father's shed. He turned it, trying to reflect the sunlight, but stopped after a few seconds. Arthur was holding his baseball bat and looking him in the eye.
   The boys nodded to each other and crawled on their stomachs back to the edge, where they watched the troll tear into the fish. After a moment, the creature stopped eating and began coughing. It sniffed the fish again, then threw it away, spitting, shaking, and retching. Arthur silently mouthed the words, "Rat poison."
   By this time, the boys were already climbing down the rock.
   The troll saw them when they reached the sand, no longer creeping or trying to stay quiet. It slouched towards its cave, wincing in pain and gripping at its stomach. Arthur charged forward, swinging his bat wildly, yelling a battle cry. Startled, the troll jumped back, avoiding the boy's swing by dropping to the ground and fleeing on all fours.
   But Nick was ready, hatchet in hand, arching it down at the troll. His hand was steady, his will didn't waver. He might have split the creature's head open then and there if it weren't so quick. The troll leapt to the side, avoiding the child's swing, and looked ready to attack.
   Arthur had caught up with it, though. With the same force that had blown apart the clamshell, he brought his bat into the creature's side. The troll howled in pain, clawing and swiping now at the bat and its wielder. It scurried forward toward Arthur, who now retreated backwards, heading for the sea. "Nicky!" he cried. "It's after me!"
   Nick was already on his way. He brought the hatchet down on the creature's back, and this time he connected. Blood splattered from the cut, landing on the rock, the sand, and Nick's coat. The troll yelped out, more afraid than angry, and tried to turn, but Nick struck it again, this time in the leg.
    "Now!" Nick yelled, as Arthur turned, slashing with the bat like it was a samurai's sword. He caught it in the jaw, not as hard as he probably intended, but hard enough to daze the creature.
    "Kill it," he said to Nick, who held his hatchet, trying to find a place to strike. He couldn't get at the creature's neck, since it was shielding itself with its arms.
    The boys circled, disoriented from the adrenaline and the cold, but excited from the battle, the adventure of it all. Then the troll leapt, claws swiping and teeth glaring. The boys screamed and jumped back. The creature's claws cut into Nick's pant leg. Specks of blood dotted the cloth.
    "Jesus!" Arthur yelled. "Are you--"
    "I'm fine," Nick said, swinging his hatchet at the troll. He hit, but at an angle, so the blade struck flat without breaking the skin. Meanwhile, the troll, trying to take advantage of the boys' confusion, started for its cave, where perhaps it would be safe.
    "No ya don't," Arthur said, dropping his bat and leaping at the creature. He latched onto its leg, pulling it back. The troll fell flat on its stomach, still clawing the ground in a frantic attempt to reach shelter.
   Nick's hatchet cut into its back again, and the creature squealed in pain. "You stupid idiot," Nick said, wheezing. "Don't you get it?" He pinned it beneath his foot to keep it from getting away. He chopped like he was cutting into wood. "You'd only suffer. I'm just. I'm going to end...."
   Arthur let go of the troll's leg and crawled back on the sand. He watched while Nick hacked at the creature over and over, until it stopped moving. Then watched his friend of eight years roll it over and bring the ax down hard onto its neck.
   The head didn't come off. The hatchet's blade wasn't large enough for that, nor was Nick strong enough. But the blow was plenty to end the fight, to claim the kill. The creature's body quivered for a few seconds then went still. Nick pulled the weapon free, then sat on the ground, exhausted. He touched his leg, where the troll had cut him, and looked at the blood. He kicked sand at the creature's body, which smelt like rotting fish. He looked at the creature's blood, as though he was angry it was the same color as his own.
  "It's like... it didn't even know it was a monster," Arthur said, zipping his jacket up. "It just, it kept trying to--"
   "It's cool," Nick said, calmly. "It's dead now. Hey. Do you think we should take the head? No one's going to believe us otherwise. No one thinks they even exist."
    "No," Arthur said quickly. "It's better if it's secret. You know, for everyone's sake. Besides, it smells like, like I don't know. Like a dead rat or something."
    "I guess," Nick said, before bringing his hatchet down into the sand. It stuck out, balancing there for a moment, before toppling over from its own weight. Nick crawled into the troll's cave.
    "What are you doing?" Arthur called out.
    "Want to see if there's anything... anything in here," Nick cried back. "You know, any skeletons from victims or something."
    "What do you see?" Arthur asked, his voice cracking a bit. He was cold now, ready to go home, though he didn't admit it.
    "Nothing," Nick said back. "Just dead fish and... birds. God it stinks in here!"
    "It wasn't that big," Arthur said quietly. "I guess it only ate fish and stuff."
    "What was that?"
    "Nothing," Arthur responded, before asking, "Hey, does it have any, like treasure? I think... I think these things collect it, you know?"
   Nick came out of the tiny cave, wiping the sand from his clothes. "Just... just this," he said, holding up a small handful of ivory shells and sea glass, which sparkled like diamonds and rubies. "Do you want anything? A souvenir?"
    "Nah," Arthur said. "I'm... I'm good." His smile was less than halfhearted.
    "I'm keeping this," Nick said holding up a piece of round, green glass. He put it in his pocket, before walking to the edge of the water. "You sure you don't want anything?"
   Arthur shook his head, while Nick stepped forward and threw the dead troll's possessions as far as he could into the sea, just to watch them hit the waves.