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One Moose2,828 words
Two Moose1,415 words
Three Moose1,096 words
Four Moose446 words
Five Moose1,136 words
Six Moose837 words
Seven Moose522 words
Eight Moose378 words
Nine Moose420 words
Ten Moose908 words
Eleven Moose1,910 words
Twelve Moose838 words
Thirteen Moose295 words

One Moose

It was a dark and stormy night

Two wagons skidded to a stop in the center of Ponyville, splashing muddy puddles onto the sidewalk around a residential lawn. No less than two dozen ponies in armored SWAT gear poured out. The unicorns among them levitated pump action shotguns. The earth ponies and pegasi... did their best.

With a series of loudly grunted HUTT!'s, the helmeted stallions formed a line, facing the front entrance to a two-story apartment complex. Thunder rolled as they all stood their ground, waiting for their superior officer's command.

He came stepping out of the front wagon in a casual manner, his trenchcoat soaked from the constant downpour. He dropped a lit cigar to the street and stuffed it out with a gnarled hoof. Then, tilting back the brim of his stetson, he glared forward in a way that action heroes dream of.

“Alright, colts,” the detective sneered. “Let's start the count.” He flung a fetlock forward for punctuation.

“On me!” shouted the first stallion, shuffling up with his gun trained. He and two others reached the front stoop of the apartment, and one of them slid forward, bravely grabbing the handle with his hoof. It opened without a hitch, and two of the stallions threw nervous glances over their shoulders.

“It's unlocked,” grunted the detective in a trenchcoat. “Of course it is.” He gave yet another signal to proceed.

The stallions cocked their shotguns and rushed in. There was another roll of thunder, and then all twenty-four of them burst into the foyer while a lucky two or three threw themselves melodramatically through glass windows, sending shards flying everywhere.

“Everypony freeze!”

“Nopony move!”

“In the name of the C.C.B! Stop where you are and put your hooves up!”

There was a gasping voice from the kitchen, followed by the clatter of utensils against a hard tile floor. The officers signaled to one another, and three stormed into the room in question. At the sound of a muffled shriek, the detective swiftly shuffled in. The commotion had upset an overhead lamp, causing it to swing pendulously. Thus, an eerie dance of light greeted the detective as he entered the room, and immediately his hard gaze fell on a shivering couple clutching each other in the corner. Beneath them, a casserole had spilled across the floor, glistening in the swirls of electric light.

During the time he stood there, eyeing the couple up and down, the rest of the stallions had finished their rounds. They all came back from their separate searches, shouting “CLEAR!” and “CLEAR” in swift succession. “Every room on the first floor has been covered! Sir!”

“Shall we ascend and check the secon—?”

The detective held up his hoof, his hard gaze locked on the couple. With agonizing listlessness, he pulled out another cigar, lit it, and blew smoke rings into the kitchen air. By now, the lamp had stopped swinging, and it cast an intimidating spotlight on the beady-eyed residents.

At last, with a gruff sigh, the detective spoke: “Look... I'm not very good at formalities, so let's get this over with.” He cleared his throat, leaning back so that his hat dripped moisture onto the tile floor. “I'm Detective Large Numbers of the Canterlot Census Bureau.” He opened his trenchoat, flashing a rusted badge for the full extent of two and a half seconds and folded it back up. “We're here on... official Equestrian business.”

“Uhhh... s-sure thing, officer!” the husband stammered.

“Anything we c-can do to help Her Majesty's Service!” added the wife through a plastic grin.

“Hmmmm...” The detective paced sluggishly towards them. “Let's get this over with, shall we?” When he was within spitting distance, he reached deep into his trenchoat.

The mare and stallion flinched.

The detective pulled out a photograph. “Now...” He held it out so that only the two ponies could see. “...do you know this pony?”

The two stared, blinking.

“Have you ever seen her in your life?” he added in a grizzled tone.

The husband and wife exchanged glances.

“Uh... n-no, officer!” the husband said, smiling nervously.

The wife gulped and added, “We've never seen her around these parts!”

“She's not... related to you?” Large Numbers asked, brow furrowed. “You wouldn't happened to have ever... offered her room and board?”

“What... a f-foal like that?” the husband stammered.

“I should say not!” the wife said, then giggled like a braying donkey.

“Besides... it's not like a single one of us has that color in our genes! So how could our daughter possib—” Before the husband could finish, the wife stomped on his tail. He gasped, but it was too late.

Before the detective could respond, there was an unmistakable thump heard through the ceiling.

Ten uniformed ponies instantly flashed their guns toward the roof. They shivered slightly in their helmets.

“What was that?!”

“Sound heard! Do you copy?”

“Right above us—”

“It's just rats, honest!” the stallion of the house said, chuckling. “Or the thunder, y'know? Rats and thunder!”

“Hmmm...” Large Numbers smirked, taking another drag of his cigar. “I think I'll be the judge of that.” And he turned and shuffled up the nearby stairs. “Officers—”

The wife recoiled, inhaled, then lunged forward with a shriek: “NOOOOOO!” It took three stallions in armor to hold her back.

“Look out, sweetie!” the huband yelped, only to be struck in the muzzle with the butt of a shotgun. As he fell to the casserole and tile, he shouted: “Darling, run! They're coming to get—” SMACK! “Ooof!”

“Nuuuu! Please!” The wife sobbed, wrestling in futility with the officers all around her. “Don't do this to her! She's so... so very nice! And polite! Just the nicest thing in the worldddd-ddd-dddd!” She sobbed uncontrollably.

“Mrmmfff...” Large Numbers merely flicked his cigar as he icily climbed the stairs. “I bet she is.”

A train of special ops ponies marched up to the second floor. Here, it was dark, safe for the rain-refracted trails of moonlight bathing the ink-black walls. Lightning strobed, showing each floating gun in an epileptic flash, and then all was dark again. Thunder rolled through the building's foundation, causing the wooden floorboards to groan underneath everyone's horseshoes. At last, the group approached a single room at the end of the hall. Its frame was adorned with homecrafted peppermints made out of paper, cardboard, and glitter. The twinkling melody of an infant's music box wafted through the air-conditioned hallway by the time Large Numbers reached the final stretch. He swiveled the cigar to the far side of his mouth and nodded his head.

“Breach it.”

The first four stallions formed a wall and—stompstompstomp—galloped forward. In a heavy crash they burst through the door, entering a fluffy little filly's room suspended in haze and darkness. The stallions swung their guns left and right, hearing nothing but the wheezing hisses of their breaths from inside their riot helmets. Then, from the far corner, a flouncing figure emerged, one bouncing trot at a time.

“Why, thalutathionth, offitherth! What theemth to be the problem?”

The ponies all cocked their shotguns at once. Their telekinetic spells tickled the triggers—

“HOLD YOUR FIRE!” It was Large Numbers. He strode in, undaunted, his body anchored by a frown. He looked towards the corner—the source of the music box tune, which had trickled down to a stutter. A cute shape stood in the center of the room. After a veritable eternity, Large Numbers saluted one of the many stallions holding up the rear, and the officer flicked the nearest light-switch.

Overhead, a ceiling bulb flickered to life. In the dull golden glow, a peach-pale filly came into focus, her blood-red mane floofed out in all directions. She wore a wide... wide pair of blue spectacles that refracted two innocently blinking pink eyes.

“Wow, I'm not uthed to retheiving vithitorth thith late at night!” She giggled, her even-fluffier tail wagging.

“From the way your parents reacted, I imagine that's just the case.” Large Numbers took a bold step or two forward. “What's your name, 'lil missy?”

“Why, ponieth all over town call me Twitht!” She squirmed, rubbing her pigeon-toed hooves with a proud smile. “Aren't I jutht cute ath the dickenth?!”

“Mmmm... sure you are.” Turning around, Large Numbers signaled towards one of the officers.

The stallion gulped, his helmet rattling. Nevertheless, he dashed out the door.

“Would you like to help me count my thweethtth collecthion?” Twist bounced in place. “I'm about to get thtarted on the thinnamon thwirlth!”

“Thanks for the offer...” Large Numbers took a drag of his cigar and exhaled again. “...but I'm here for a different kind of count.”

“Oh? Really?” Twist grinned wide, her head slowly rotating until it locked into place at a forty-five degree smile. “What could be potthibly more exthiting than counting thinnamon?”

“Is that what you do on a rainy night?” Large Numbers pointed out the water-slick window. Lightning flashed in the distance as he blew more smoke against the pastel air. “Sit on your flank, counting sugar treats?”

“Why, no, offither!” Twist giggled. “Thometimeth I like to go out for a rip with my betht budth!”

A shudder ran through the group of trained gunponies. Large Numbers leaned forward.

“What was that?”

“I thaid I like to go hang out with my friendth!”

The detective glared. “That's not what I heard the first time.”

Twist's left eye twitched. “And jutht what did you hear, detective?” Her large lenses glinted in the last strobe of lightning. “Pleathe, do thhare it with uth.”

Before Large Numbers could reply, the one stallion came back with a large metal crate. Following the detective's gestures, he dropped it down in the middle of the bedroom floor. Large Numbers ushered him away, then knelt before the crate. As thunder rolled, he carefully unclasped it, one lid at a time. Right as he opened it, he paused, then looked across the room.

Twist looked back, smiling innocently.

The detective took a deep breath. He reached deep... deep inside, then pulled out a plate of cheesy macaroni. Placing it on the ground he pressed his hoof against it... and slid it across the carpet so that it came to a slow stop right before the filly.

Twist looked at it, eyes downcast. One ear twitched, and then the other, but she remained still.

“Just what do you eat when you go 'out for a rip,' Twist?”

“I... I'm afraid I don't underthtand.”

“Oh... but I think you do...” Large Numbers paced between her and the bowl. “In fact, I think you know well enough to realize that there's a very important Census to be done this year, and it doesn't bode well for the likes of... certain qualifying individuals who have done their best to elude Equestrian Immigration laws these last few decades.” He scuffled to a stop, chewing on his cigar as he glared with greater intensity. “There are consequences, both monetary... and otherwise.”

“Heehee... I... uh...” Twist struggled not to look at the deliciously crafted bowl of cheese and pasta. “...I don't think I get all of your adult wordth, detective...”

“Then let's stop appealing to the mind...” Large Numbers reached back into the crate. This time, he pulled out a tall red bottle. “...and aim for the stomach.”

“The... the thtomach?” Twist was trembling by this point.

“Mmmmmm...” Large Numbers uncapped the bottle and poured liberal amounts of ketchup all over the macaroni. He criss-crossed the tomato juice like a quilt, fully saturating the cheesy curds. “Not my stomach, mind you. Doesn't mix well with tobacco.”

“But... but...” Twist's pink eyes sparkled. “...with catthup...?”

“Now, about who you are...” Large Numbers tossed the bottle away and tilted his gaze. “...who you really are...”

“I... am Twitht...” The foal whimpered, fidgeting in place. “...the motht adorable filly that ever pranthed around...”

“Are you?” Large Numbers reached into the crate and pulled out a yellow bottle with a blue cap. “Are you... really?”

Twist whimpered. “Is that...?”

“Garlic and herb...?” The detective sprinkled several brown flakes onto the red-and-yellow mess. He squinted at the filly through the corner of his eyes while his cigar glowed inquisitively. “Does this refresh your memory?”

“I... I...” Twist's jaw clenched and unclenched with several popping sounds. “I... d-don't know what you're talking aboot, eh?”

Large Numbers instantly stopped sprinkling. He pulled the bottle back. “What was that...?”

“Uhhh... Uhhmmmm...” Twist was hopping up and down at this point. The whole second floor shook dramatically from such a tiny body. The officers rattled uneasily in their armor. “I... th-think it's time for me to go to bed... sleep and dream... of sleep...”

“What happened to your lisp, little girl?”

“Uhhh... uhmmm...”

“Perhaps...” Large Numbers reached into the crate one last time, pulling out a canister of Parmesan cheese. He ignored the moan issuing from the far end of the room as he raised it over the bowl and started dusting it over the macaroni mountain. “...the cat stole your tongue?” His eyes glared. “Or should I say squirrel?”

“Mmmmmmmm—” FWOOOSH! Twist rocketed forward. The thunder clap of her approach knocked Large Numbers back into the other officers. “GRAAAUGHHHKKTLLL!” She slammed her head muzzle-deep into the bowl, munching sloppily at the macaroni.

Large Numbers was helped back to his hooves. He steadied the officers with his hooves, glancing down at where his cigar had fallen, forming a burn-hole in the floor. With a deep breath, he trotted forward, his eyes locked on the cheese-devouring figure.

“Now... I'm going to ask you one more time...” He pulled out a clipboard from his trenchcoat, grasped a pencil, and prepared to strike a hash mark. “Who are you... really...?”

“Mmmcshclkkk-shskllkk-mmmmm-scrmmmf-nommfff-buuuuurp!”

“I said...” Large Numbers sneered, thunder rolling as the righteous percussion to his next utterance: “Who. Are. YOU?!”

“Mmmmm-phweeeee...” The little redhead deflated, sobbing into the bowl. “I'm... I'm soh-rry...”

The detective glanced sideways. “Huh?”

“It was the only thing I could do... but now I can't hide anymore... none of us can hide anymore!”

Large Numbers could feel his pulse pounding through his ears. He pressed the pencil hard against the clipboard, until the graphite threatened to break. “You know where the others are?”

“I can't tell ya, hoser.”

“You can and you will—”

“No... I...” Twist looked up, and her eyeballs popped out, replaced by thick brown antlers that shattered through the wide-framed glasses. “CAN'TTTTT” She thrust forward, slamming skull-first into the detective's body.

SNAP! His pencil broke, forming a haphazard number “ONE” across the sheet. His body flew back with a shriek, lopping off the bottom half of the ceiling bulb. POP!

The room was cast into darkness.

Every officer gasped, shuddering in their armor.

Flashes of lightning flickered through the window, showing in bright bursts the tiny body of a ginger filly ballooning outward. Like a grotesque butterfly emerging from its pupa, a big brown mass of hair and muscle and hooves tore loose from its flimsy disguise. It rolled outwards like a gummy maw, and a slobbering set of jaws roarrrrred into the criss-crossing beams of the C.C.B.'s flashlights.

“We've got one! We've got one!”

“Look out! It's horns are loaded!”

“Twelve o'clock high—”

WHAM! A massive antler uppercutted two officers at once. They soared out into the hallway, serenaded by screams. Macaroni flew as shotgun after shotgun blew off, but to no avail. A stampede of monstrous hooves tore up the carpet, and one by one the officers fell amidst the settling dust of gunpowder.

Large Numbers shuddered, sprawled out on his chest. A stallion rolled over him, screaming for his mother. He reached out for his clipboard, only to feel his fetlock crushed to gravel by a giant hoof.

“AAAAAAAUGH!” He screamed out loud, but was then hoisted up by an enormous pair of antlers.

“I'M SOH-RRY!” A beady-eyed face screamed into a nightmarish flash of lightning and muzzle-fire. Everything was thunder and drool. Somewhere far below, a married couple wept in horror. “YOU PONIES MADE ME DO THIS!” It then proceeded to pummel Large Numbers' flailing body repeatedly against the wall. THUD! THUD! THUD!

Large Numbers wheezed, coughing up bits of his tarred lungs. He toppled over, dangling bloodily as he spotted the marionette bodies of battered stallions rolling across the sundered domain. “SHOOT HER!” he bellowed into the thunder and noise. “SHOOT HERRRRRRRR!”

“Open fire!”

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

The pellets simply bounced off the dense fur as the moose repeatedly smashed the detective's meaty figure against the stained surfaces of the place.

“I'M SOH-RRY!” WHAM! “I'M SOH-RRY!” WHAM! “I'M SOH-RRY!” WHAM!

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