A Moose'd Unusual Tale

The night was dragging, and Franny knew it was only a matter of time before her last chance of leaving this city would come and go. She mumbled an excuse to her distracted mother, picked up her bag, and started for the back door.

The lyft driver was already waiting in the driveway by the time the screened door slammed shut behind Fanny. Throwing her backpack into the trunk, she climbed into the back seat. "International Terminal, please, I'm in hurry."

The driver sped off, but not without offering Fanny a complimentary tiny bottle of water or a phone charger for various types of devices. Fanny waved him off and tried to relax, but that abruptly came to an end when the driver came to a screeching halt.

Fanny had never been in a car accident before and that fact was the first thing she thought the moment her limo collided with a hulking moose on a barren stretch of highway North of the city. She didn’t consider checking on her driver before bolting toward the wounded animal.

The moose was collapsed in a damp, furry pile 10 feet in front of the car. As intuitively as breath left her lungs, her veterinary training kicked in. She reached for her medical kit.

The source of bleeding was immediately clear. But what could have caused the antlers to break at the same place on both sides? Peering into the dusk-lit shoulder of the county road, she had her answer.

It couldn't be. It was impossible. She had left his body on the same stretch of road a decade earlier. He was dead, but yet, there he stood, chainsaw in one hand and perfectly sliced antlers in the other.

It was so dark Fanny could barely make out the contours of his disfigured face. He was a small man, but held the antlers and chainsaw with unnatural ease. After staring at each other for what felt like minutes the man fired up his chainsaw and screamed, “who’s the animal now?!”

Fanny had dealt with mythical dwarves before, surely, but this was unlike any she'd seen. With a shriek, she ran the other direction, but could hear the muffled chainsaw reverberations gaining on her.

Feeling the dwarf's labored breathing upon her perspiring neck, Fanny turned around, resigned to a final confrontation. But what she imagined was an implement of war, was in fact a strange musical instrument, the likes of which her wildest dreams could not have portended.

“This will take you anywhere you want to in time,” said the sweaty Dwarf. “Just blow this simple tune and say outloud, where you wish to travel.” He demonstrates the tune with a whistle, a deep solemn tone. “But, there’s something you must know...”

“If your motives are not pure, you will be sent somewhere ghastly, a place from which you may never return.” He handed Fanny the sweaty, time-worn flute. She hadn’t finished a note before a gleaming winged moose swooped in and carried her off. The dwarf’s eyes watered with pride.