Setting: A cozy cabin by a lake near Bergen, Norway. Snow dusts the pine trees outside. Two friends, Erik (the superstitious one) and Lina (the rational thinker), are sipping warm coffee after a morning hike.
Erik: (leans back with a satisfied sigh) You know, I was thinking of taking my old fiddle down to the stream tonight. Might finally get the Fossegrim to teach me how to play properly.
Lina: (raises an eyebrow) You mean the water spirit? Erik, we’ve been through this. The only thing you’ll get from standing in a freezing stream at midnight is pneumonia.
Erik: No, no—you haven’t been listening. I’ve read all the stories. If you offer him a goat, and it’s fresh enough, he’ll come out of the waterfall and literally make your fingers dance on the strings.
Lina: Erik. You live ten minutes from a music school. You could take actual lessons from an actual teacher who wears socks and pays taxes. Why are you choosing an invisible goat-loving fiddle ghost?
Erik: Because science can’t explain everything, Lina! My grandfather swore he heard music coming from the falls near Flåm one night, and the next morning he could play a reel he’d never practiced before.
Lina: Or maybe he just… remembered it in his sleep? Sleep consolidates memory, you know. That’s a real thing. Has to do with the hippocampus, not magical water trolls handing out music diplomas.
Erik: It wasn’t a troll, it was the Fossegrim. He’s different. Elegant. A bit like a watery David Garrett, but more mossy.
Lina: (laughs) Well, at least he has good hair, apparently. But Erik—has anyone ever seen the Fossegrim? Like, properly? Not just “I heard music in the fog” or “I felt a tingling in my fingers.”
Erik: Of course not. He doesn’t show himself to skeptics. He senses disbelief. That’s why you’ve never experienced anything—your energy is too… logical.
Lina: Great. Now I’m banned from spiritual Spotify.
Erik: Don’t mock! I felt something last year when I left a piece of smoked goat meat on the rock by the river. I swear the next day, I played better. My bow hand was smoother.
Lina: Or—and I’m just tossing this out there—your practice finally paid off? You’d been playing every day that month.
Erik: But what about the fog that swirled into a spiral right after I placed the goat? That had to mean something.
Lina: Yeah. It meant the air temperature and humidity created condensation patterns. Erik, nature makes cool shapes sometimes. It’s not always a mystical instruction manual.
Erik: You’re no fun. You’d probably tell a kid the Tooth Fairy’s just a dentist in a tutu.
Lina: Only if the tutu has evidence-based flossing tips.
Erik: See, this is why you’ll never have a Fossegrim moment. You don’t believe in wonder.
Lina: Not true! I love wonder. But I find it in exoplanets, black holes, and how bees communicate. That’s real magic. I just don’t need a goat-sacrificing water fiddler to feel it.
Erik: (smiling) You’ll change your mind when I win the Hardanger Fiddle Championship. I’ll dedicate it to the mossy maestro of the stream.
Lina: And I’ll be in the front row with a sign that says “Science helped too!”
Erik: Deal. But I’m still bringing the goat.
Lina: Just make sure it’s smoked. We don’t want a hangry Fossegrim on our hands.
(They both laugh and clink their mugs together.)
Science Vs Superstition 
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