Reindeer Nightmares

Snow leapt up in flurries from the ground and ran circles around shy trees, rattling the branches together like a chorus of cracked bottles. Ancient woodsmen used to say that, deep in the wilderness, distant voices are the sound of nature whispering to itself while everything sleeps.

         “That was not a reindeer!” Someone wailed.

         “Of course it was!”  A brash voice replied from amidst the violent shears of white.

         If nature was whispering to itself, it couldn’t be heard under the roar of the snow. Or it was having a nightmare. Hugo Trull was pacing through the blizzard with a rifle strapped to his back, raising a flask of whisky to his lips and gulping it down like a man released from hell. His dishevelled companion, Finneus Trench, a man who believed that few places were worthy of taking conversation, and those that lacked this quality should never be visited at all, was trudging stoically behind.

         “It was definitely not a reindeer!” He piped up again, “It was a mammal, and it passed us so quickly we have no real proof it was a reindeer. So let’s turn back and stop trying to illegally shoot things to satisfy some misplaced sense of pride.”

         “Finn,” Hugo cheered after slugging more whisky, “You are right. It certainly was a mammal- which still leaves us the opportunity that it was a reindeer!”

         “Whales are mammals too!”

         “I highly doubt that we were visited by a whale caught out by a blizzard at the centre of Lapland.” Hugo paused, mulling on either his fine whisky or the actual likelihood of finding a whale, before reasserting himself. “I do highly doubt that, Finn.”

         “It was probably a wolf. It’s probably gone to find all its wolfish friends and impart its hairy wisdom to them all.”

         “Oh, don’t be a bore, Finn,” Hugo brayed, “Even if wolves come to end our days, I have the rifle.”

         Finn eyed the static flurry of snowflakes about him. The world was moving so quickly it looked as if nothing existed at all. He highly doubted Hugo would spot and shoot a wolf in this blindness before he was forced to share his jugular, or at least donate a limb to its efforts.

         “Finn!” Hugo squealed like rubber caught in a funnel. “I see trees! And movement! We’ve stumbled into a staggering forest!”

         Finn took a few more steps, before finding bark. The snow flew softly here, but the wind still chilled. At least they could see.

         “Excellent.” Hugo snarled. “The reindeer must have fled this way. It knew exactly where safety was. And now we’ve hounded it to its last sanctuary. Once I kill this blighter I’ll finally be on par with father.”

         “I’m sure he’ll be impressed,” Finn edged around another tree and wiped snow from his front, “But how are we going to get a reindeer’s head on a plaque through customs?”

         “I don’t follow you.” Hugo returned sourly.

         “Just picture this scenario,” Finn elaborated with relish, “I’m a customs officer. I see a dishevelled duo with clipped accents looking a bit too shifty. I approach them and see they are carrying a tightly bound box labelled ‘FRAGILE’. I scan the box. On the monitor I see the slightly startled head of a reindeer, a protected animal in this country, staring right at me with an expression that would make Santa’s blood curdle.”

         “Ah.” Hugo outlined. “I see. Yes. Well. That is quite a problem. Thank you Finn.” He looked at his compatriot as if his face was frozen in the awkward position. “I’ll… I’ll post it back to father express delivery. Yes. I’ll mark it confidential or something.” He poured more chilled gold into his mouth, which empowered him just as before. “Now, come on. Our prey is getting away.”

         After three hours of hiking with Hugo, the scent of this adventure had turned stagnant to Finneus. He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and watched the rifle jump around on Hugo’s back as he scrambled through thickets and over icy boulders.

         “Do we get to eat the bits of the reindeer you don’t want to mount on this wall?” Finn called.

         “Don’t be ridiculous, that would be barbaric.” Hugo exploded. Then, halfway over a boulder, he stopped. He turned, like a possessed statue and faced Finneus. Finn shuffled around the crunching snow. As Hugo whispered, he was so excited, a spray of whisky dabbled his coat.

         “It’s there!”

         “What is?”

         “The reindeer! Right in a clearing! It’s too dark to see all but I can just make it out!”

         Finneus smiled genuinely. Now he could take respite in watching Hugo try to shoot a shadow in the dark. Quietly, they tiptoed around the dark clearing, making small piercing indents in the snow with their feet. Hugo lay across a flat rock and slung the rifle from his back and clicked a bullet into the chamber. With the painstaking slowness of a marksman, he took aim, his breath coming from his nose in twin jets of portentous fog.

         Then something went horribly wrong.

         “Excuse me, but it’d be rude to shoot without properly introducing yourselves.” The voice, frank and dry stopped both the men so harshly they choked on their own breath.

         “It’s a wonder you cads made it this far, with respiratory systems as poor as that. Now come on. Step into the clearing. You’d be fools not to, really.”

         Hugo looked at Finneus. Then they both stared into the darkness. Then Hugo dropped his rifle because his hands were shaking, the reason being that a fully fledged reindeer had nimbly taken up position behind them, but it was wearing a tweed hat and smoking an enormous pipe, and it’s eyes were fathomless and wide.

         “Yes, into the clearing, we’re about to have dinner,” It demanded.

         Hugo whimpered as he stood up, and Finneus couldn’t stop staring at this new abomination of nature. He’d never felt so numb before. Like robotic zombies caught in a silent storm, they dragged themselves into the clearing. The reindeer stalked behind them, puffing like a well-read train.

         “Finn…” Hugo trailed like a tearful camel.

         “Yes. I know. I see it too.”

         “It’s….”

         “If you don’t say it, it’s not completely true.” Finn warned.

         Hugo said it anyway.

         “It’s a whale.”

         “Brilliant.” Finn snarled. “Thanks, Hugo. Now it’s real. You’re the best, you know?”

         “It’s a dead whale and a reindeer is sat on its upturned belly at a dinner table.” Hugo moaned. He looked back at the rifle left in the snow as if it was his beloved father.

         “Greetings!” The reindeer perched on the whale shouted down, “My name is Jasper Greenfinch esquire, and my delightful companion escorting you…”

         “Sir Fitz Winchester,” The reindeer behind them finished. Jasper opened his mouth again.

         “Now, as you take a turn around the whale, you will find a ladder, enabling you to ascend to the upper whale levels. Make haste."

         Finneus climbed the ladder jerkily. Above him, Hugo was almost sobbing, but certainly shivering and praying to his father. Moments later, the two reindeers and two hunters were sat around a small dinner table partitioned into rigid cutlery, curved placements, and steaming plates of whale meat.

         “Well, gentlemen,” The one with the pipe began, “To reiterate that which may have astounded you, with the purpose of remoulding the current situation to be crystalline in attribute, I am Sir Fitz Winchester, and this,” he motioned with trim hoof, “Is my delightful accomplice, Jasper Greenfinch esquire.”

         The men didn’t move. Hugo took deep, desperate breaths.

         “What’s going on?” He gabbled, turning his head from Jasper Greenfinch to the enormous dead whale, to scowling Finneus, then to Fitz Winchester, to the neat checkered tablecloth, then ultimately to the whalemeat.

         “Ah,” Jasper Greenfinch mused. “A pertinent question, one that has persevered through the ancient devices we always seem to indulge. What is going on? Well, we are all quite aware we are seated on a whale enjoying dinner, and in Fitz’s case, smoking.” Fitz puffed away amiably. “But,” Japser Greenfinch continued, “I am quite sure you don’t mean that. I think your inquiry actually rests on your sudden realisation of the perverseness of the current situation, leading to the seeming lack of natural law.”

         “Well,” Hugo chuckled, sweating, “That… yes… No natural law? None at all?”

         “Indeed. Fitz, if you would be so gracious as to grasp that fork.” Japser Greenfinch nodded. Fitz’s hoof merged around the silver handle.

         “There we are. No natural laws.” Jasper Greenfinch assured Hugo.

         “Both Jasper and I,” Fitz Winchester said eloquently, “spied you from afar in the midst of the erstwhile storm, and upon coming to the conclusion that you seemed to be hunters were quite concerned. How does that make you feel, Hugo?”

         Hugo sunk his head so low it may have made peace with the whale steak.

         “Oh, gracious,” Jasper Greenfinch complained, “Such a crude way to graze. Please use the cutlery provided.”

         “I think he’s a little overwhelmed,” Finneus explained.

         “Indeed.” Jasper Greenfinch agreed. “Well, Finneus, I am glad one of you is command of gritty resolve. We,” the two reindeers leaned in, “are a little concerned. You see, reindeer are protected in Lapland. Did you know this, Finneus?”

         “Yes.” Finneus grumbled.

         “This means, we should not be shot. Do you understand, Finneus?”

         “Yes.” He mumbled.

         “Oh dear.” Fitz Winchester gasped.

         “Oh, how rambunctious this situation has become!” Jasper Greenfinch wailed.

         “So turbulent!”

         “Nay, reprehensible!”

         “We have two Faustus’ at our table!”

         “One who will not eat with the cutlery provided!”

         Fitz Winchester sank into a smoking reverie, whilst Jasper Greenfinch shook his head slowly.

         “We did contemplate informing the wolves of their existence, brother,” Jasper Greenfinch snuffled.

         “Aye, brother, but we took pity on these miscreants! Yet they have mounted our whale, before conferring upon our wise counsel that they left morality elsewhere!” Fitz Winchester lowered the lids of his eyes and a tear sluiced around the furry pits of his cheeks.

         “This situation grieves me, it is true.” Jasper Greenfinch struggled over his words. He too began to cry. “Grieves me to the point in which I am not even sure whether this delectable loin of whale will cajole my spirit.”

         “I would just like to say,” Finneus croaked slowly, “That we are both very sorry, and we won’t go hunting ever again.”

         “Oh, pray, stop hounding us with these words!” Both the reindeer shouted in perfect unison. “Do you not realise what lament you have brought upon us! You have befouled our whale! Now we must wash it! Begone! Woe!”

         Finneus grabbed mindless Hugo and corpsed to his feet. No more words could fall from his mouth. He slipped along the length of the whale to the ramshackle ladder, and coaxed Hugo down it. As he stared back up to the dinner table, where Jasper Greenfinch and Fitz Winchester were lamenting, his mind clicked to a position he had never experienced before. A position so catastrophically original, that, as the two tramped back through the snowy wastes to their rented hut, he was so awestruck he could only articulate it after being well-rested and warmed.

         “Hugo?” He probed anxiously.

         “What? What do you want? What now?” Hugo whimpered.

         “I’ve just realised something.”

         “No!” Hugo gasped, wan and ghostly. “Don’t tell me! Don’t say it! If you don’t say it, it’s not completely true! They’re outside, aren’t they? They’re waiting. But now they have rifles. Now they have rifles and they’ll send me to father on a plaque, and that won’t be right, no, they’ll pervert nature again, oh my god, they can use cutlery, academic reindeer can use cutlery.”

         “No, Hugo,” Finneus said understandingly, still stunned from his revelation atop the whale. “No, they’re not outside. It’s just struck me. You were right: we did see a reindeer.”

         “Oh.” Hugo muttered, a little more cheerfully. He rescued a decanter of whisky from a cupboard, then settled himself in front of the fireplace and laughed. “Oh. Indeed we did.”