Part 1

Mr. Parrish sat in his workshop tinkering on his one hundred fifty seventh hobby. He was a lengthy skinny old man with white fuzz covering his nearly bald head and had the sort of face and nose that would remind someone of a vulture. Atop his desk, a small treasure pile of polished dark wooden plates, small wheels or coins of silver and gold, and a single gold rimmed glass circle twinkled under the soft yellow light of a lamp desk. With one eye closed and a tongue peeking out from the edge of his mouth, he carefully filed divots into the edge of a wheel to the perfect depth and shape under a magnifying glass, occasionally letting out small triumphant chuckles as he did so. He was creating his latest masterpiece. A majestic marvel of sophistication where all the pieces fit perfectly together, never wobbled or shook or jammed, never wore down and would always perfectly track time to the exact second. The thought of the self imposed challenge excited him and he liked the idea of accomplishing something that many thought could not be done. He also found it a bit ironic. At first, building clocks was simply something to do, another skill to add to his repertoire or a hobby to move the days along, but slowly he began to take a genuine interest. Soon after he began building more clocks, each one more sophisticated than the last, until he began to see them less as machines and more like art.

His workshop was a slightly cramped room that resembled a sort of artistic science emporium. Colorful knick knacks and baubles occupied shelves that stood in the center of the room along with jars or large tanks filled with strange creatures or ghostly fish. Paintings and clocks that he had made of varying sizes and complexities decorated the walls while statues, both twisted and abstract, stood in the corners. It was on the far end of the workshop near the only window where Mr. Parrish concentrated on his art.

"Working on more garbage are you?"

A a high pitched and sandpaper rough voice spoke from atop a wine red velvet chair near Mr. Parrish's desk. A second later, a small hawk, no larger than a foot in size with an abnormally tiny right wing, hopped down onto the seat. His eyes were the color of blood tangerines and his feathers were the color of charcoal with ash gray streaks with a light sandy brown underside spotted with white. He also always somehow smelled of figs. Mr. Parrish could never figure out how he was able to accomplish that.

Mr. Parrish gently put down his tools and messaged the palm of his left hand.

"This garbage will be the most beautiful thing you've ever seen once it's finished, believe you me." replied Mr. Parrish.

"And just when is that going to be? You stare at the same piece for hours, rubbing it. I'll be surprised if you get it done before either of us dies."

"It'll be finished whenever I finish it. Now shush."

The hawk shook his head.

"Honestly, I don't understand why you like those things."

"I don't expect you to. It's about beauty within functional sophistication, Figgy. Everything has to be just right or it won't work and track time properly. Plus it keeps me busy."

"Yeah? Well, the sun shows time just fine if you ask me."

"Meh. What do you know?"

"I know that I could be busy too."

Mr. Parrish pointed a finger at the hawk.

"You," Mr. Parrish said, "should be resting so your wing can grow back. Not busy."

"I don't need more rest, Parrish. What I need is fresh air!"

"I'll open the window and let in a draft then. Plus, you seemed fine sleeping on my chair that you stole."

"Stole?"

"That's a nine hundred fifty gold chair, Figgy. I sat in it once."

"And here I thought you got it for me."

"Why would I get you a chair when I built you your own room?"

"As a crappy apology."

"Apology for what?"

"For cutting off my wing stupid."

"How long are you going to hold onto that? And I told you to move."

Suddenly, there was a loud knocking from downstairs.

"Now what?" said Mr. Parrish, annoyed.

"Who cares? Take a look at this."

Figgy jumped off the chair and onto the wooden floor. Then he began to jump and hop around in circles while flapping his wings in, what seemed to Mr. Parrish to be, a slightly frantic manner. He did not jump high and sometimes his jumps were crooked, with his body slanted slightly, causing him to stumble before picking himself back up and repeating. By the time he was finished he did not fly, nor so much as glide an inch in any direction.

"See!" shouted Figgy, "Good as new."

"You looked ridiculous."

"Just let me go outside, Parrish. I wasn't meant to stay inside forever."

"Don't be so dramatic. When your wing is back to normal you can soar the skies to your little heart's content alright? Now will you please let me get back to my work?"

"I swear I will peck you until you bleed. Open the window."

"Will you please-"

"There you are, teacher!" interrupted another high pitched voice.

Mr. Parrish turned toward the window. A boy, thirteen years old with curly auburn hair and eyes that still carried wonder, climbed through the window. Mr. Parrish's eyebrows furrowed as he watched the boy climb into the workshop and quickly close the window to stop Figgy from jumping out.

"What in the heavens are you doing outside my window?" Mr. Parrish asked.

"You didn't answer the door, so I figured you were up here."

"Well, don't come up here again like that. I don't want to hear it from your parents if you hurt yourself. And stop calling me teacher."

"Why not? You taught mom and dad."

"That doesn't mean I'm teaching you."

The boy shrugged.

"You shrugged. Why did you shrug? What does that mean?"

The boy then began to wander and examine the many things on the shelves.

"It's not a big deal." said the boy,"And I'm pretty good at climbing anyway."

"Stop touching my stuff."

"But you have such amazing things. Why are these fish in the tank?"

"They're fish, boy. Fish are usually in water."

"Yeah, but why would ghost fish need water?"

"They don't actually need it, it's just more of an instinct thing from when they were alive. Look, don't you have somewhere to be?"

"Oh yeah! I wanted to show you something."

"I don't care."

Mr. Parrish rose from his desk getting ready to shoo the boy away. Ignoring Mr. Parrish, the boy reached into his satchel and produced a match. He lit the match and whispered to the flame. A faint wind blew and the flame began to roll down the match and travel along the boy's fingers like a water droplet. Unimpressed, Mr. Parrish spoke.

"Congratulations, you speak to spirits now."

"Just wait," said the boy.

With his other hand he reached back into his satchel and pulled out a metal marble. Mr. Parrish crossed his arms and began tapping his foot as the boy proceeded. It was not that Mr. Parrish was opposed to the boy learning spirit magic, nor that the boy was showing what he had learned. After living a long life of magic and spirits, Mr. Parrish felt that there was little more that he could see that would impress him. But above all, he found it increasingly irritating that the boy somehow always managed to pick the times when Mr. Parrish was preoccupied or simply just wanted to be alone. Continuing to ignore Mr. Parrish, the boy held the flame over the marble as it dripped off his finger. Slowly, it shrank as the marble absorbed it, and after a brief moment the marble began to glow like a dim lamp.

"Isn't that cool!" Exclaimed the boy with a wide smile on his face, "I just learned that yesterday."

"Great. Now go show your parents."

"Oh come on." said the boy.

"I've seen better. And I have lamps, boy."

"Ah! But can they do this?"

The boy cupped the marble in his hands the way one would protect a lit match from the wind. Then as the boy slowly removed his hand the light began to glow increasingly brighter.

"Alright, that's enough. I get it."

"Hold on, I can do more."

The light continued to get brighter and soon it grew so bright that Mr. Parrish had to cover his eyes.

"Jan, I said that's enough!" shouted Mr. Parrish.

Jan continued to increase the light until the entire room shone a blinding white. As everything got brighter, the marble began to shake violently until it shattered. White hot metallic shards scattered across the room breaking glass and splintering wood. One shard struck Mr. Parrish near his armpit. He cursed at the pain and stumbled into his desk, spilling pieces of his clock onto the floor and shattering the glass face. The fire inside the marble spilled onto the floor like water and quickly began to eat away at the wood.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" shouted Jan.

"Dammit Boy! Put the fire out!"

"But I don't know any water spells!"

"I said put the fire out!" Mr. Parrish demanded.

Jan quickly scanned the room before he rushed to one of the shelves holding a large fish tank. With all his strength he tipped it over. Water and glass streamed across the floor dousing fire as small ghostly piranhas, the size of one's hand, began to swim through the air. Figgy eagerly snapped his beak at a couple, but passed right through them.

Mr. Parrish glared at Jan as he held the spot where the metal shard had struck him.

"The fire is out." said Jan sheepishly.

"This is why I don't teach you! You don't listen and you're too stupid to realize when enough becomes too much!"

"Well, maybe I would be better at it if you taught me!"

"Why me huh? Go ask your parents or read their books or something. I don't care. Just leave me alone!"

Jan furrowed his eyebrows and clenched his fists. For a moment, he looked as if he was about to say something, but instead he turned and ran out of the room. Mr. Parrish scoffed and picked up a piece of the glass face that had fallen from his desk. Figgy was still trying to catch some of the ghostly piranhas.

"I just bought this too." said Parrish.

"Just get another one." Replied Figgy

Mr. Parrish grumbled to himself before heading down the steps that led to the entrance of his workshop.

"Where are you going?"

"To get a broom and mop. And stop snapping at the fish." said Mr. Parrish.

"Why? It's not like they can do anything."

"They may not be able to bite you physically, but they can still bite your soul."

Figgy immediately stopped.

Mr. Parrish then spent the rest of his afternoon sweeping, mopping, and searching for any fallen pieces of his clock. He found as many as he could, and then made a note of how many pieces were missing on a piece of paper before placing it on the desk. He put away the broom and mop door before turning toward the fish that still lazily swam through the air.

"Don't eat me while I sleep or so help me I'll find a way to roast you." He said

Mr. Parrish then turned off the lights and made his way to bed.

The next morning, Mr. Parrish checked if there were any marks or signs on his body that could indicate that the Piranhas had tried to eat his soul. There were none. He nodded in approval and dressed himself before heading to his backyard to tend to his tea garden. It was his fifty third or fifty fourth hobby, he could never remember, but cross breeding and experimenting with teas was one of the things he still actively enjoyed. His garden took up the entirety of his backyard. A tiny river of crystal colored water and a pebbled path snaked its way through neatly trimmed bushes of every shade of green. A scattered crowd of Lavender, Jasmine, and Chrysanthemum sprinkled the garden like gems amidst Chamomile, Hibiscus, and Saffron. On a good day, he would find something new, something unheard of and delicious, that would fill him with a sense of accomplishment. This day, however, he had no such luck. Still, with a slight smile on his face he spent most of his time picking out weeds that had begun to sprout.

When he was finished, he plucked a stem of green tea leaves and a small lavender flower. He brewed a fresh pot of Lavender green tea then sat on his porch drinking in silence while watching the orange pink glow of the sun rise shift into a delightful sapphire sky. His eyes never looked away, even when refilling his cup, and he wore a slight melancholy expression. He thought about the days when he and the sun would have long conversations and debates about society and the philosophies of spirits and humans. They would sit by campfires drinking wine and roasting game they had hunted, talking and laughing about the sort of things they wanted in life and for what purpose. Sometimes they would fantasize about creating worlds full of magic and gadgets that would rival anyone's imagination or about discovering buried secrets from a forgotten past that yearned to be revealed. Ironically, it had been such talks that ultimately led Mr. Parrish to discover one of the secrets to magic which had saved his life on more than one occasion. It was a simpler time. One mostly of peace and fun where discovering the possibilities within magic were as limitless as one's imagination. But it was also a time when the sun talked and when Mr. Parrish felt that he could actually make a difference in the world.

When he finished his tea, he let out a sigh before heading to his workshop. He brought Figgy some breakfast and then grabbed the note that he wrote last night before telling Figgy to watch the place while he was gone. Figgy made his usual complaints of going outside, but Mr. Parrish ignored them as he donned a bronze colored leather coat and made his way down the street. He walked along the river bank and through the peaceful countryside town; roads cracked and sidewalks brown with dirt. When he reached the town square, he bowed and muttered a prayer in front of the park where children played their games and adults picniced and laughed atop the grave of the forest king. Some gave Mr. Parrish an odd look, but he held back the bite and anger in his heart for they did not know the disrespect they showed. When he finished, he walked further into the town square. People scattered about shopping, working, or gossiping. A little blonde girl sat alone on the edge of a fountain watching fish swim in circles and the sound of stray cats fighting in hidden areas cut through the chatter of the crowds.

Mr. Parrish pushed past them all until he arrived at The Ticking Teeth where the familiar scent of oiled wood and metal filled his nostrils as he entered the shop. Clocks of all shapes and sizes stood along or hung on the walls of the store while toward the back were shelves of wooden boxes containing metal bits, nuts and bolts, and tiny wheels.

"Barneby!" shouted Mr. Parrish

"Can I help you sir?"

A baby faced red headed girl with big glasses from behind the register counter approached. Mr. Parrish frowned as he looked at the girl. Since he had taken interest in building clocks he had always favored The Ticking Teeth. Out of all the shops he had found, this shop tended to be more flexible in custom orders and the employees actually knew what they were doing. He had come here so often that he knew every employee that worked here. He did not recognize this girl. Mr. Parrish's eyes then shifted behind her where he noticed the clock on the counter a few steps away. It was disassembled. Or rather, it was destroyed; its pieces scrambled across the counter in a chaotic jumble along with a bottle of semi translucent liquid and cotton swabs. Mr. Parrish's eye twitched and he cleared his throat.

"I'm looking for Barneby."

"Oh he is taking a break right now. Could I help you in the meantime?"

"No offense young lady, but I prefer to speak to Barneby. He usually knows what I want and what to do."

"Not a problem sir. He'll be back in a moment."

Mr. Parrish nodded and the girl went back to her work. The ticking of dozens of clocks filled the silence. After a couple minutes, Mr. Parrish curiously glanced over toward the girl to observe her work. Immediately, he narrowed his eyes. After dipping a cotton swab in the cleaning solution, he noticed that she pressed too hard against some of the parts causing the clock to wobble and shake. Such treatment could lead to a weakened frame or worse; breaking something. She was also not wearing gloves. That meant she was possibly leaving oil marks from the skin on her fingers which, over time, could lead to early rusting or wear to the inner pieces. A heat began to rise within Mr. Parrish. He wanted to correct her or at least tell her to put some damn gloves on and to watch the order she removed the clock pieces; else she could forget which piece goes where. He was about to say something when a young man with unkempt short blonde hair, and also had large glasses, walked out from a door behind the counter. The young man spotted Mr. Parrish and immediately began to retreat back behind the door.

"Barneby, there you are!" Mr. Parrish shouted gleefully.

Barneby stopped mid step, gently tapped the door frame with his fist a couple times, and turned around with an improvised smile.

"Mr. Parrish! I wasn't expecting to see you today." he said.

"Nonsense. This place practically runs on my money."

"You're definitely here enough to prove that sir."

"I need more gold wheels, preferably ones without teeth, and another gold rimmed glass face."

Barneby pointed at the girl.

"Mr. Parrish, I go home in a few minutes. Perhaps Katie could help?"

Katie looked up from her work; a look of slight confusion on her face.

"Now, Barneby, don't try and run away."

"Mr. Parrish I-"

"Come on Barneby." Mr. Parrish interrupted, "Show me what you have."

"Mr. Parrish, there's nothing to show."

"What are you talking about?"

"You're speaking of solid gold wheels, Mr. Parrish. We don't just have that on our shelves. I would have to put in another special order and I want to go home, sir."

"So would I, Barneby. But I can't do that without a suitable replacement for the wheels now can I?"

"We have some brass ones."

"Are you crazy? They need to be gold. I won't settle for anything else."

"They don't need to be gold, sir."

Mr. Parrish let out a sigh.

"Have you ever actually made a clock, Barneby?"

"Have you seen where I work, sir?"

"Excuse me." said Katie, "um… maybe Barneby didn't see it earlier but we still have some golden wheels from the last shipment."

Mr. Parrish smiled.

"You don't say?", he said.

"Where?" Barneby sighed.

"It's on the shelf near the old manager's office." replied Katie.

"It's on the shelf by the manager's office. " Mr. Parrish repeated.

Barneby scratched his head and then made his way behind the door from where he came. After a couple seconds of silence Mr. Parrish noticed that Katie was still standing there. The silence felt a bit awkward, so he decided to say something.

"You're new here."

"Oh, yeah. I just started working here a few days ago. Barneby has been teaching me."

"You should wear gloves when touching the clocks. The oil from your hands will ruin them later on."

"Ah"

Mr. Parrish donned a confused expression.

"Ah?"

"Barneby told me about you. He mentioned you were blunt. He said that you're blunt, but you're not a bad person and that you just don't know how to talk."

"And he has me figured out does he?"

Katie shrugged.

"You shrugged. Why did you shrug? What does that mean?"

"I'm sorry. I just didn't know how to respond to that. I mean, it's not like I know him very well and I'm just trying to understand the clientele. And it's not like our new way of training helps."

"Then don't shrug. It doesn't help anyone. Least of all yourself. As for Barneby, he's great with clocks. A bit lazy, but knowledgeable and reliable."

"He is. Even when he's busy with stuff he stops to help me if I need it."

Barneby returned carrying a large wooden box.

"Barneby! What are you telling this girl about me?"

"Nothing that isn't true, sir."

Barneby let out a grunt as he placed the box atop the counter and began to speak in an exaggerated tone.

"Now, let's find you more stuff to progress your endeavors."

"You keep sweet talking me, Barneby and I just might never leave."

There was a twitch in Barneby's eye as he forced a chuckle.

Mr. Parrish began to examine the contents of the box discussing measurements, sizes, and prices as if appraising fine jewelry. Barneby acknowledged Mr. Parrish's assessments unenthusiastically and occasionally said something meaningless like "sounds about right" while continuously glancing at one of the clocks on the wall. After about an hour Mr. Parrish selected the ones he deemed satisfactory. They were of lesser quality than the ones he had before, but at least now he could finish the inside of his clock. Barneby showed Katie how to neatly wrap the pieces individually in a thin paper before placing them in a paper bag and handing it to Mr. Parrish.

"Don't forget to send a notice about the glass face."

Barneby replied with an over-enthusiastic tone.

"First thing tomorrow, sir. Just don't forget to check back in in a couple of days."

Mr. Parrish then exited the shop. As he did, the shouting of a man and a woman grabbed his attention. The man had the appearance of a farmer with hair the color of mud while the woman had dirty blonde hair and wore a clean plain green dress. They were arguing in front of the little blonde girl that sat on the edge of the fountain. At first, Mr. Parrish just assumed they were her parents and that they were having a typical couple's quarrel. For a moment, he debated with himself as to whether or not he should say something. He knew that it was not his place to do so, but after seeing the expression on the girl's face Mr. Parrish wanted to tell the parents to at least not have the argument in front of the child. As he began to approach the couple, Mr. Parrish noticed them. They were faint. Hiding. Blending themselves with the background so well that Mr. Parrish would missed them entirely if he decided to ignore the arguing. Two spirits clung to the backs of the girl's parents.

Mr. Parrish let out sigh. A part of him was relieved that their was a quick and silent resolution to the arguing. Another part of him, however, felt annoyed at the spirits causing trouble. Still, he had a promise to keep and a duty to fulfill when it came to spirits. Mr. Parrish quickly glanced around at the surrounding people. When he noted that they were either ignoring the arguing couple or walking away from the situation entirely, he grabbed stray a dandelion from the ground. Softly, he whispered into it and blew. The white seeds began to glow with a faint golden hue as they floated through the air towards the arguing couple. When the seeds drifted past them the spirits peeled off their backs, as if caught and dragged by a net, and the couple suddenly fell to the ground unconscious.

Wildly, the spirits struggled and thrashed about like animals as they attempted to release themselves from the force that continued to drag them. When the spell faded and their thrashing had stopped, Mr. Parrish could see them more clearly. Their faces were skeletal and twisted and their bodies were the same as human's with no legs. They noticed Mr. Parrish dashed toward him. Mr. Parrish turned and ran as fast as he could. He ran past carts, people, and through a couple alleyways until he was outside of the town and near the riverbank. When he arrived there, Mr. Parrish grabbed a blade of grass and whispered into it. Seconds later, the grass came alive and ensnared the pursuing spirits. As they struggled and slashed at their binds, Mr. Parrish scooped up a hand full of air and whispered a spell before releasing it. Two large boulders made of tornado winds began to form above the spirits before one plummeted and smashed one of the spirits, causing its essence to scatter. The other spirit, however, managed to slash its way out of its binds and leap to safety before the boulder dropped. As the spirit regained its stance, it lunged toward Mr. Parrish, who rolled to the side, grabbing a hand full of grass along the way. He whispered another word of power as the spirit lept once more for an attack. Mr. Parrish threw the grass toward the spirit and, in a split second, they became as hard as steel and as sharp as daggers. The magic blades ripped and tore through the spirit in a moment before its essence began to dissolve into the wind.

Mr. Parrish let a sigh of relief and dusted himself off. He cursed at the new pain in his hip from rolling out of the way and rubbed at it a few times before making a mental note to not do that again in the future. He made his way back to the fountain where, upon his return, he saw the shouting couple uninjured and reconciling as the little girl clung to them both. Mr. Parrish watched in silence for a few seconds before he began his walk home.

An hour later, Mr. Parrish arrived at his home and brewed another pot of tea; this one sweeter with the aroma and taste of a light maple. The ghost piranhas were now floating around the common room, some with their tail fins or faces peeking halfway through the floors. For a moment, he thought about recollecting them and putting them back into a tank, but ultimately decided that it was just too much work to do and that he would much rather work on his clock. He grabbed the pot of tea, a cup, the bag of newly purchased gold wheels, and then headed upstairs to his workshop. When he reached the top of the steps that led into his workshop he nearly dropped everything at the sight. The clock that he was nearly done creating, his latest and most beautiful masterpiece, was scattered into pieces.

He hurried over to the desk and examined the damage while setting down the tea and the bag. His first thought was that someone had broken into his home to steal from his collection and destroyed his clock as a statement; the kind that says 'we're watching you'. He had made many enemies over the years after all. He checked the window. There was no damage to the glass or wood and he confirmed that it was indeed still locked. Then he checked the shelves. He let out a sigh of relief when he found that everything was where it was supposed to be. Puzzled, he scratched his head and began to search for signs that would give him some idea of what could have caused the damage to his clock. For a moment, he wondered if it was him. Perhaps he was in such a hurry in the morning that he carelessly knocked it over. He shook his head as soon as he finished the thought and decided that there was no way he would do something so foolish. While pondering the possibilities, Mr. Parrish peeked at the top right corner of the room. His jaw clenched and a slight headache began to form. Atop one of Mr. Parrish's many clocks was Figgy and in one of his talons was a cylindrical golden piece.

Mr. Parrish pointed at the desk.

"You want to tell me what happened?" asked Mr. Parrish.

"You ignored me this morning, Parrish. So I had to take measures."

"So you ruin my clock!?"

"If anything I restored your sanity."

"You're lucky I don't barbecue you you little shit! And how did you even get up there?"

"You see!? So upset over something that isn't even alive."

"Do you have any idea how much work I put into that!?"

"I know it was about as much time as we used to spend hunting."

"And now I'm tempted to lock you in your cage so that you'll hardly be able to move let alone hunt."

"Look! You've even resorted to threatening me now."

There was a loud and rapid knocking from downstairs. Mr. Parrish tried to ignore it, but the thumping of it somehow made his headache worse.

"For crying out loud! Go away!" shouted Mr. Parrish.

"You can't just let me out for a second or two?"

"Because I know you. You'll end up doing something stupid."

"Like what!?"

"Like picking fights with that damn cat that lurks around here for one."

"The cat's not going to do anything."

"It's twice your size, you idiot!"

A light tapping came from the window. Small pebbles and half solid clumps of dirt knocked against the glass leaving stains.

"I think Jan is trying to get your attention again."

"Nevermind the boy!" Mr. Parrish snapped.

"You're enjoying keeping me locked up like this aren't you?"

"I swear Figgy, give that to me or so help me I'll stop your wing from growing back."

"I've been cooped up here for too long, Parrish!"

"It's been a week!"

They were interrupted by a loud shattering sound. Pieces of glass scattered across the floor and a rock the size of a fist rolled to a stop after thumping into one of the shelves.

"What now!?"

Mr. Parrish hurried to the window. Outside, Jan was standing in front of the house; a look of dismay on his face.

"Sorry teacher!" he shouted, "I didn't mean to do that!"

"By the blazing hells, what's wrong with you boy!"

"I need your help with something!"

"Ask your parents to-"

The feeling of eight small knives piercing the skin interrupted Mr. Parrish. He cursed at the pain as Figgy's talons gripped the back of his neck and shoulders.

"You won't hold me back, Parrish!" shouted Figgy.

Figgy then began to peck at Mr. Parrish's head as Mr. Parrish frantically reached behind him attempting to restrain the hawk. Figgy maneuvered from shoulder to back, clinging to and climbing clothes or skin, as Mr. Parrish failed to grab him. Then, as soon as Mr. Parrish's back was toward the open window, Figgy released his grip and jumped onto the slanted rooftop where he clumsily stumbled upon landing and began to tumble toward the ground.

"Dammit!" shouted Mr. Parrish, "Jan! Do you see him!?"

"He's okay I think!"

"Make sure he doesn't move!"

As fast as he could, Mr. Parrish hurried downstairs to the front door. When he opened it, Jan was on the other side; a dusty and squirming Figgy in his hands.

"You idiot!" he shouted.

"I have no regrets, Parrish!" replied Figgy.

Mr. Parrish extended his hands in a 'give it here' motion and gently received the hawk from Jan's grasp. Immediately, the urge to shake the bird in frustration arose when he held Figgy in his hands, but he held back and settled for a glare.

"Teacher, I'm sorry but I really need your help."

"Whatever it is, Jan, I'm sure you don't."

Mr. Parrish walked to his dining room table and began to examine Figgy for any broken bones or injuries.

"Now hold still."

"Teacher, I'm serious."said Jan, "If you don't help I think something really bad is going to happen."

"Jan, the only serious matter regarding you right now - Dammit Figgy hold still - is the matter of how you're going to replace my window."

"Teacher please. I ow!"

Jan lifted his foot and found a small golden cylinder with a circular flat end partially pressed into the ground.

"What's this?"

"Ah! A wind up key for my clock. Give it here."

Jan picked up the key and only partially entered the house as Mr. Parrish continued to examine Figgy.

"Well, miraculously nothing is broken. But, I'm having you stay inside longer just in case."

"What in the hells, Parrish!?" shouted Figgy.

"I told you to rest. Don't get mad at me because you did something stupid."

"That doesn't mean you can lock me up for a longer time. And I would have been fine if you didn't mess me up."

"That's exactly what it means, so shut up and rest."

Mr. Parrish then turned toward the front door and frowned. Jan was still standing in the archway, half inside half outside, staring at the key in his hand. Mr. Parrish held out an expectant hand.

"Jan. The key." Mr. Parrish said.

Jan quickly glanced at Mr. Parrish and then looked back at the key. He gulped and took a deep breath before enclosing it in his fist.

"No."

"What?"

Jan's voice was slightly shaky.

"I need your help. If you want this then you have to help me."

Mr. Parrish scowled at the boy and without a word he stood from his seat and walked across the room to a wooden mahogany box attached to his wall. Two metal bells and circular knob with a hole at the tip adorned the front while a cylindrical cup attached to a tube hung to the side of the box. Mr. Parrish whispered a word of power into and after a few moments began to speak.

"Jasper. Are you aware that your son is here at my home bugging me?"

"No!?" shouted Jan.

Alarmed, Jan jumped and pulled at Mr. Parrish's arm while he twisted and turned; keeping the voice box just out of reach. After a couple seconds, Jan backed away and then sprinted toward Mr. Parrish in an attempt to tackle him and make him drop the voice box. Without so much as a glance, Mr. Parrish stepped to the side and stuck out his foot causing Jan to trip and stumble to the floor. Quickly, Jan picked himself up and ran toward Mr. Parrish again. This time, instead of trying to take the voice box, Jan reached for the voice box cord and yanked it as hard as he could until the voice box separated from the wall completely leaving a circular hole. The spell Mr. Parrish had used faded and his face crimsoned with a small vein protruding from his forehead.

"My parents can't know about this. Please."

"First my window and now my voice box and wall." said Mr Parrish through clenched teeth.

Jan did not reply.

Mr. Parrish tossed the metal cup in his hand aside before placing both hands on his hips taking several deep breaths. Over the years he had known Jan, the boy had never gone through such lengths to get Mr. Parrish's attention. Usually, Mr. Parrish would tell the boy to go away and he would. Sometimes angry, sometimes not, but he usually left. As Mr. Parrish slightly calmed, he began to wonder why this time was different. He turned to Jan and stared at him for a moment.

"Look me in the eyes boy."

Jan did so.

"Is it really bad? Dangerous even?"

Jan nodded, but Mr. Parrish continued to stare for a moment longer, his eyes squinting before also nodding.

"Fine. But as soon as we're done I want my key."

Jan nodded again.

Mr. Parrish let out a sigh as he walked back to the dining room table and sat back down in his chair.

"Alright. Tell me what's going on."

"I...think it would be better if I just showed you."

"Look. If it is as bad as you think then I can't just go. I need to prepare depending on what we're dealing with."

"Ok."

Mr. Parrish crossed his legs and began massaging his left hand as he carefully listened to Jan. Jan spoke of his father's hidden library within a study and a book he found covered in chains a couple weeks before. He mentioned a spirit that he found within the pages that showed him frozen flames that grew in the dark and how it spoke of secrets that even Mr. Parrish did not know. He told Mr. Parrish that since he was trying to learn spirit magic, like his parents and Mr. Parrish, he decided to learn what he could from the spirit within the book. Then, Jan spoke of how angry he was after the workshop incident and how he immediately ran home and asked the spirit for help. When Jan finished, Mr. Parrish let out a sigh and began to rub his temples.

"So let me get this straight. You were angry at me, so you took my advice literally and read the deepest darkest most secret thing you could find in your father's library. Then summoned a spirit that is destroying your home and now want me to deal with it without your parents knowing. That about right?"

Jan nodded sheepishly.

"You're more of an idiot than either of your parents, you know that?"

"But you said-"

"I said ask them for lessons. Not go off and summon the dead."

Jan's gaze fell to the floor.

Mr. Parrish stood and then made his way up the stairs and into his bedroom where he opened his closet. He moved a few leather coats to the side revealing a blank wall. Then, with a finger, he began to shift and rearrange the oddly shaped bumps and lumps that textured the wall until there was an audible click. The wall began to slide open. When he stepped through, he entered into a massive warehouse as if made for giants. Sparkling treasures and finely carved statues hung from the ceiling or littered the floor. The air was rich with the scent of freshly cut wood and book paper as a library of tomes, each several feet thick, and scrolls of all shades of tan occupied a corner of the room. Next to the library were glass cases of oddly curved pearlescent blades along with strangely carved stones with primitive drawings. The rest of the warehouse was covered in darkness. As he stood in place glancing about the elephant sized shelves full of memories, Mr. Parrish felt his chest slightly tighten and it became harder to breathe. His eyes roamed over things from when he fought in the war against the fairies and from when he helped the giants find a new home. Briefly, he stared at the dark corners of the warehouse where things that he chained away and had forgotten, but still itched at the back of his mind, remained. All things that he had not seen in decades.

"Teacher?"

The sound of Jan's voice from behind startled him.

"I told you to wait downstairs!"

"No you didn't." Jan protested.

Mr. Parrish let out a sigh, quickly wiped the sweat forming on his brow, and began rummaging through the shelves. He grumbled to himself, scratched his head, and then began rummaging through the drawers of a desk near the library. The desk stood under an oil painting of a woman with fire red eyes and curly hair the color of polished cherry wood. She wore a blue dress laced with cloud white frills; the kind that nobles often wore to formal gatherings. Mr. Parrish continued shoving aside papers and vials of varying colored liquids until he grabbed a light brown satchel from the largest drawer on the bottom along with what looked like a small cigar box. In the box were several thick glass needles, half the size of a standard wooden pencil, and in those needles was a milky liquid with a faint glow.

"What's that?"

"Venom from the soul of a stonefish. Powerful and nasty stuff. Also hard to get."

"Will that kill it?"

"It can."

"What if it doesn't?"

"Then I have other ways."

"Then why do you need that?"

"Because it can help. Now shut up and let's get going."

He stuffed the case in his coat pocket. As Jan proceeded to leave, Mr. Parrish stood in place looking at the oil painting for a couple seconds before following. The two of them went back downstairs, exited the house, and made their way down the road the opposite way of the town. After a few minutes of walking, they arrived at a dirt path between two rows of thin trees that led up to a two story house the same blue as the sky. The lawn was even shade of apple green and a small line of rose bushes lined the front of the house to the front door where potted plants hung from an awning. Mr. Parrish shook his head and clicked his tongue.

"What?" asked Jan.

"Your mother isn't using the fertilizer I told her to use is she?"

"What do you mean?"

"Nevermind."

The two of them made their way to the front door when Mr. Parrish decided to stretch his arms and legs before entering. He did the same stretches he learned from an elf he once met that ran as fast as wolves and then spent several seconds in between stretches to take deep breaths; the same kind he learned from a monk that tamed the mountain winds. Silently, he told his nerves to calm down and reminded himself that he was indeed strong and that there is nothing to worry about: he's can handle it. In the end, his heart still drummed in his chest, his palms still wet with sweat, and the fluttering in his stomach would not stop. Still, there was a part of him that was fascinated that even after all his years of experience the nerves always came back. At the same time, it was always situations like this that seemed a bit sad to Mr. Parrish. To see something from the outside that seems fine, normal even, but to feel that something was wrong on the inside and that not a single soul was aware.

Mr. Parrish took several more deep breaths and did one last stretch before dusting off the nonexistent dirt on his coat.

"Alright. Show me."

Slowly, they opened the door and crept inside. There was a faint stench of mold and rot that hung in the air. The walls were slightly blackened and cracked with faint rectangular marks where fallen pictures had once hung. Ceramic shards from various broken pots and fine china were sprinkled across the rugs and a large black leather sofa stood in the center; its cushions ripped and the inner wooden structure exposed.

"For crying out loud, boy. How did you do all of this so quickly?"

"The spirit did it, not me."

"You summoned it. So by extension, you."

"That's not fair."

"Neither is you coming to my home, destroying it, and leaving me to fix it."

There was a loud thud from the second floor followed by shuffling and scraping noises. Slowly and quietly, the two of them made their way up the stairs. At the top, Mr. Parrish peeked around the corners of an empty hallway. The left side forked into two paths, a short diagonal path branching into another hall and a straightaway ending at a door. To the right, was a hallway that ended with two doors on adjacent walls. They decided to go left. There they searched a large cupboard that contained little more than cleaning supplies, Jan's bedroom, and an empty bathroom. When they exited, they had looped to the opposite end of the forked path and into the other hall that was parallel to the first. This hallway was cleaner. Black and white photos of Jan's family during road trips or doing various activities like fishing still hung on the walls.

Further down, Mr. Parrish noticed a particular oil painting. It was the sort of obnoxiously large portrait one would find in a noble's mansion. In it, Jan's father wore a gray suit with a pink tie and his mother sat in front wearing a pink dress with loose hanging ruffles that flowed down her shoulders ending in an elegant bow on her chest. Standing behind them both was a much younger Mr. Parrish in a black and blood red suit smiling with a ball of fire burning in his left hand. He stood tall, his head held high, and there was a fire in the eyes that even in a painting was visible. Mr. Parrish began massaging his left hand as he stared at the painting. For a moment, he barely recognized himself. Sometimes he could still feel the ache from posing for hours that day. He also remembered that as the day Jan's parents had introduced him to the painter. Mr. Parrish ripped his eyes away from the painting and decided to move on. Thinking about that day would do him no good at a time like this.

At the end of the hall, they arrived at a room that Mr. Parrish guessed was once the study. A soft stream of sunlight peered through the windows drawing slanted rectangles on the left wall indicating that it was still around noon, yet the room was barely lit to the point where one might mistake it for sundown. Books and paper littered the floor leaving small shelves mostly bare. A single bookshelf protruded from the left corner revealing a staircase that led down into darkness.

On the right side of the room was where it stood. It was in front of one of the windows gazing at the outside. It was thin with blots of yellow and purple everywhere as if someone had tightly wrapped a skeleton in bruised skin. Patches of string like hair dangled from its mostly bald scalp and when it turned they could see its glossy black lidless eyes.

"I was wondering when you were going to come back, child. And with a friend.", said the spirit.

It's voice was gravel road rough and there was a hint of what sounded like exhaustion to it.

"Friend is a bit too strong.", replied Mr. Parrish, "I'm more of an annoyed acquaintance."

"The child has interesting acquaintances then."

"Imagine my surprise when I heard the boy mention he was talking to a dead guy."

The spirit turned to Jan.

"An easy remedy. It just takes a little time and adjusting." it said.

"You mean a sacrifice."

"A necessity. The child asked for power and he will get it. He will ascend."

"Oh you're just oozing with kindness aren't you?"

The spirit turned its gaze back to Mr. Parrish and paused for a moment as if examining him.

"Often the first to mock are those that don't understand."

"Oh, I understand plenty. I understand that you don't even need the boy for what you want. In fact, you don't even need to be here. It's best if you move on."

The spirit turned toward the window and began to glance outside once more.

"Everything has fallen apart. I can see just from this window the damage. Those that should not be dead lying beneath disgusting ignorant smiles."

"That's not your fight anymore. And I can promise you that they would not want the blood of a child on their account."

"After seeing the incompetence of this era, I would say that they would not care if it meant restoring the true order. I, at least, still appear to be the only one who is willing to fight for it."

"I've seen plenty of idiots like you try at what you're doing and not a single one could pay the price necessary. Case in point, you're dead. Things change and you need to accept that."

"And I have heard that many times before."

The spirit slowly turned back toward Mr. Parrish.

"And yet all who have told me that lie in the ground while I still walk." the spirit continued.

"You're not getting the boy. And you are going to leave."

"Such talk. To think you have power."

The spirit began inching toward them; its feet hovering just above the floor. Its eyes slowly swelled into large black spheres and its mouth grew wider as needle-like teeth began to form. Mr. Parrish opened his satchel.

"I do have power. You are before the Baron of the Bloodless. Deemed so by the Queen of Souls. And you'll stop right there."

The spirit did not stop.

"A meaningless title. You stink of gifts that are not your own."

"And you're ugly, so what? We can keep pointing things out or you can do us both a favor and get the hell out of here."

The spirit began to chuckle.

"You test my patience, spirit. It's a pretty stupid idea to ruin the one chance that you are given." Mr. Parrish continued.

"Such talk. Such a small noise. Like a frail dog past its prime barking at a bear."

The spirit inched even closer. Its arms stretched longer and it seemed to grow a foot taller. Mr. Parrish took a step back and involuntarily gulped.

"Last chance spirit. Leave or you'll find death a second time."

"I've been trapped for far too long. I will have my rebirth. And things will be right again."

The spirit lunged forward; its monstrous jaw unnaturally wide. Time slowed as Mr. Parrish felt an immediate surge of adrenaline. His body seemed to move on its own as he reached into his satchel and produced a handful of powdered salt, which he then hurled into the air forming a cloud of ashen white. When the spirit had reached him, it came to a sudden stop as it slammed head first against an invisible wall. Like a caged animal it crawled, clawed, and struck at the barrier trying to find a way to through.

Mr. Parrish then took out a vial of mist and a handful of dirt. He whispered a few words of power and blue lightning began to form and crackle as his hands came closer together. With a motion it shot forward and struck the spirit, forcing it to the opposite side of the room. When the components had burned away and the spell had stopped, Mr. Parrish quickly reached into his coat, grabbed one of the glass needles, and threw it at the spirit. The spirit, however, caught the needle as it recovered from the shock of lightning and broke it in its grasp; the milky liquid dripping between the cracks of its fingers. The spirit then darted forward again, but did not attack the barrier. Instead, it went to the side and began clawing at the wooden walls of the house. As it quickly struck and dug at the wood, the hand that caught the needle suddenly went limp and there was surprise on the spirit's face before it was replaced with a newly found fury.

As the spirit dug at the wooden walls, Mr. Parrish then reached back into his satchel and produced a handful of rounded leaves. He then lit them on fire with a match and began to whisper into the flame. The spirit squeezed into the hole it had created in the wall, its arms dislocating and twisting to pull itself through. When it reached the other side, it attacked just as Mr. Parrish opened his hands and unleashed a torrent of white and gold flames. The spirit screamed, a high pitched screech, and reeled back in pain as the fire engulfed it. Before Mr. Parrish could back away and create distance, the spirit blindly reached out of the flames and managed to grab Mr. Parrish by the neck. It then lifted him and slammed him onto the floor where it began to choke and bite. Mr. Parrish did not scream. Over the years he learned that focusing on the pain, even just a little bit, did nothing for you in a situation like this. In the time it took for one to do nothing but scream there was time to do something else that could help. So, he reached out and grabbed a handful of sunlight that shone through the nearby window as if plucking the fruit from a tree. With it, he pressed it into the spirit's arm and burned through it, releasing its hold on his neck. The spirit screamed in pain once again and then stomped on Mr. Parrish hard enough to break the floor. A spurt of blood shot from Mr. Parrish's mouth and he could feel the cracks in his ribs as he fell through.

There was a loud thump as Mr. Parrish's back hit the floor and he let out an involuntary cough as the wind escaped his lungs. Broken pieces of glass and pottery stabbed him as he laid there. He could feel the throbbing of the bite marks around his neck and arm. Despite the injuries and the pain, he found himself becoming more annoyed that his shirt and coat were starting to stick to his skin as it soaked up his blood. It reminded Mr. Parrish of clothes sticking to the body after a hot and sweaty summer day. And then, for a brief moment, he wondered if him being more concerned about that instead of his injuries was either a good or a bad thing. Mr. Parrish gritted his teeth and grunted as he picked himself up. When he glanced around, he found that he was in the room by the entrance. With another grunt, he began to remove his coat when he noticed a faintly glowing patch of white near his hip. Cursing out loud, Mr. Parrish checked his coat pocket to find that the remaining glass needles had cracked in the case during his fall and also soaked into his shirt and pants. Jan screamed from the floor above.

"What the hell are you still doing up there boy!? Run!" Mr. Parrish shouted as he began removing his shirt.

Already, his side started to numb. Mr. Parrish reached into his satchel, retrieved a few rectangular pea green leaves, clumped them together, and placed it in his mouth as if it was chewing tobacco. The leaves tasted of mint and pepper. After a second, the bite marks stopped bleeding and started to itch as the skin began to knit itself together. He let out a frustrated grunt as he held himself back from scratching at them. Then Mr. Parrish grabbed the case of broken needles and a toothpick and began to dip the toothpick in the remaining venom that pooled in one of the corners inside the case. Loud thuds accompanied by hurried steps echoed from upstairs until there was a crashing sound as Jan rushed down the stairs. The spirit, close behind Jan, slammed into the wall to stop its momentum from chasing before leaping down the stairs after Jan like a leopard pouncing at its prey. Mr. Parrish whispered a word of power and flicked one of the pieces of pottery that surrounded him. The piece rapidly grew in size as it flew through the air and struck the spirit; smashing it into the wall. Mr. Parrish dropped the toothpick inside the case then closed it; hoping the wood would fully absorb the venom or at least be fully coated when he needed it. Then he pulled out another vial of mist and more dirt from his satchel. This time, he whispered a different word and, as his hands came closer, thin strands of mist and dirt began to weave itself together before creating a whip of electricity.

The enlarged piece of pottery leaned forward and then fell revealing the spirit pressed into the wall; limbs crooked and fingers bent. In a fairly cartoonish fashion, the spirit peeled itself from the wall and its limbs began to snap and spasm as everything straightened. It glared at Mr. Parrish. Then, as if it were a ball, it kicked the enlarged piece of pottery back. Mr. Parrish lashed the whip forward, creating a loud crack like thunder, and split the piece in half just before it reached him. A cloud of dust filled his vision and, in less than a second, the spirit appeared in front of Mr. Parrish unleashing a torrent of bites and kicks. Mr. Parrish weaved and dodged the spirit's attacks while countering with strikes of his own from the whip. With each strike of the whip, the sound of thunder roared and clouds of dust began to manifest until the room was overtaken by a thunderstorm. The spirit screamed its tormented shrill as electricity, like small lightning strikes, shocked it from multiple angles. Still, the fight pressed on and Mr. Parrish felt his body begin to slow as he be tire. The ache in his out of shape muscles was starting to work against him and his arms did not move as fast as he wanted them to. The spirit, on the other hand, did not slow down. Mr. Parrish could see and feel each kick, each electrified bite, getting closer. He gritted his teeth and commanded his body to move faster, but ultimately that did nothing. In a split moment, the spirit landed a kick to Mr. Parrish's arm and sent him flying to the other side of the room.

There was a loud boom as Mr. Parrish slammed into the wall. When the dust settled, he laid uncomfortably on the floor halfway through the wall, his torso in the kitchen, his legs still in the common room. The whip of electricity fizzled away and his left arm now bent in the opposite direction from the elbow. The spirit appeared in front of Mr. Parrish and, ravenously, began to bite and chew. The bites felt worse this time. In Mr. Parrish's mind it felt as if someone had taken a bear trap, replaced the teeth with blunt needles and repeatedly opened and closed it around his body. Mr. Parrish roared through gritted teeth as he fought the pain. Suddenly, a small fireball struck the spirit across the face. The spirit turned toward the source to see Jan standing on the other end of the room; a burnt match in his hand.

Mr. Parrish could not move. It was as if his body had become stone: heavy, cold, and motionless. Everything hurt. When he tried to open his eyes he found that everything was fuzzy. His head felt like it was about to explode and, on account of his cracked ribs, it was hard to breathe. He could hear strange muffled noises happening somewhere in the house and something that might have been a scream. There was a part of him that was telling him to get up; ignore the pain and ignore everything else, just fight it. But he was tired now. Nevermind the fight or the boy or the spirit or whatever else was wrong with the world. He was tired now and he wanted to rest. So, Mr. Parrish closed his eyes and allowed everything to fade away.

In the darkness, Mr. Parrish began to ponder as to when he had become so weak. He could not decide whether or not he had underestimated the spirit or if he overestimated himself. Or whether or not it was just a matter of him being out of practice and out of shape. One thing he was sure of though was that the young man in the painting would not have had this issue and that maybe, just maybe, he made a mistake in not participating the rebirth ritual when he had the chance. A faint laughter became audible from somewhere in the dark. Or rather, a cackle that became louder as each second passed. It was kind that comes from the core of a person: loud and boisterous. The kind that fills a room and pierces through the noise of dozens of conversations. And then, Mr. Parrish opened his eyes. He groaned as the memories of his current situation flooded back to him. Slowly, he rolled to his side. Then, using his good elbow, he propped himself up on to his knees and began to look around.

Jan was standing alone on the other side of the common room staring at his hands. He turned to Mr. Parrish. His eyes were swollen, nearly bulging out of the sockets, with streaks of blood down his cheeks, his ears, nose, and from the corners of his mouth. Jan smiled. It was unnaturally wide and disturbingly toothy, as if someone was pulling back his mouth with hooks.

"What do you think old man? Does it suit me?"

Mr. Parrish did not reply.

"I'd forgotten what it feels like. The flesh. The energy. The feeling."

Mr. Parrish wanted to say something clever, something smart or witty - something that would anger the spirit and cause it to start making mistakes. He internally cursed at himself when nothing came to mind. So instead, Mr. Parrish decided he would let his actions do the talking. With a shaky hand, he reached into his satchel and pulled out another toothpick. Jan started to run toward one of the windows to escape. Mr. Parrish bit down hard on the toothpick, causing an audible crunch, placed a hand on the floor, and whispered a word of power. The floor began to bend and warp: creating small waves and dips as if it had become water. As Jan leapt forward, attempting to dive through the window and avoid the floor entirely, the window fell from the wall and sunk into the wood as everything wooden began to warp as well. It was as if the window had become a painting of the outside that fell into water. Unable to stop his momentum, Jan dove into the wood. When Jan emerged, he began to swim toward Mr. Parrish, a look of pure hatred in his eyes. As he got closer, his movements began to slow and his swimming quickly turned into struggling as the liquid wood became thicker and stickier like molasses.

Mr. Parrish watched as Jan began to thrash and scream, like a wild animal that had been caught, as he fought against the spell. For a moment, Mr. Parrish did not say anything nor did he move. He just observed; a strange mix of exhaustion, frustration, and almost pity on his face. He began to wonder just how he was going to get out of this mess. He thought about just stabbing Jan with the venom coated toothpick. That would, undoubtedly, affect the spirit enough to where he could cleanly and effectively finish it off, but in doing so he would end up killing Jan in the process. As annoying as the boy could be, he was still just a boy.

Mr. Parrish decided that the best thing to do was to first remove the spirit from Jan's body. However, despite his preparation, Mr. Parrish underestimated the situation and did not expect it turn out the way it did. He had no materials to remove the spirit from a body and all of his components were back home in his warehouse. Even if he managed to get there with his injuries, it would still take too much time to go upstairs, enter the warehouse, and then search for them. The spirit would be long gone along with Jan's body by then. He thought about asking Figgy for help, but decided against it on account of his still injured wing. The only place where Mr. Parrish could immediately and quickly access anything was in his workshop. He frowned as he thought about the few baubles and trinkets that would maybe delay the spirit, but not actually help remove it. The statues only created a safe haven, the paintings were just doors, and the fish were useless. And then it dawned on him. There was a good chance that the spirits of the Piranhas were still floating around the house. If he could somehow summon them they could not only remove the spirit from Jan's body, but potentially aid in eliminating it. Mr. Parrish thought about how he was going to do that and then he remembered an article he read before he initially set out to capture the spirits. The article claimed that Piranhas were able to detect a single drop of blood in about two hundred liters of water. Mr. Parrish knew what he had to do.

Mr. Parrish took a deep breath and whispered a command. Slowly, he pulled. Blood began to flow out of his bite wounds. Tiny crimson rivers streamed through the air and pooled into a sphere above his hand. His face began to pale as he continuously pulled from his wounds. When Mr. Parrish decided it was enough he began to shift it into an icicle. But not one that was completely frozen, only partially frozen; just enough to where the blood still dripped. After all, the point was to leave a trail. Then, as hard as Mr. Parrish could, he threw the icicle through wooden walls of the house and in the direction of his home.

With a grunt, Mr. Parrish pulled himself out of the floor and began to sprinkle blood in a messy line toward the still thrashing and fighting Jan. Mr. Parrish approached Jan and then, repeating the same process that he did for the icicle, gathered a little more blood, leaving his face a ghost white pale, and splashed it onto Jan. Jan's thrashing only increased and he began to scream in a frustrated rage.

"It doesn't work you know." said Mr. Parrish.

Jan did not reply.

Slowly, Mr. Parrish shuffled his feet to the kitchen and began to search the cabinets.

"Gah, how many years has it been? A hundred? A thousand? Honestly it gets to a point when you can't even tell. Has there ever been a moment when you thought it was a day of the sun and then you asked someone and found out it was a day of the leaves? It's kind of like that."

Mr. Parrish grabbed a bottle of alcohol he found along with two washcloths, and then shuffled back. He then sat on the floor in front of Jan.

"You know, even if you were to succeed, it all goes wrong later on. And I'm willing"

Mr. Parrish let out a grunt as he poured the alcohol over his wounds. It felt as though someone had lit his body on fire.

"Should've brought more herbs - I'm willing to bet that you, spirit, were just dumb enough to forget that. All the bad. All the wrong."

He placed one washcloth next to him on the floor while he used the other to cover the deeper injuries. When he finished, Mr. Parrish stared at Jan for a moment, but was only met with a cold glare. Then, from the corner of his eye, Mr. Parrish noticed movement. When turned, he saw that his plan had worked. The Piranhas had followed the trail and were now approaching Jan. At first, they did not swarm him; only circled and nipped. It was when Jan resumed his struggling and thrashing did the piranhas begin to frenzy. One by one, they partially entered Jan's body, chewed, and then turned away to make room for the next piranha. And then, as if Jan's body was splitting into two, the spirit hastily crawled out of Jan while simultaneously swatting and biting at the frenzied fish. Immediately, Mr. Parrish whispered a word and began to swat away what fish were chewing at Jan's spirit with the other washcloth. After a couple swats, they left Jan alone and began to fully swarm the thrashing spirit. As quick as he could, Mr. Parrish retrieved the venom coated toothpick and threw it at the spirit. After a second, the spirit's movements slowed and then stopped as piranhas continued to feast on their meal.

Minutes later after feasting, the piranhas resumed their familiar behavior of lazily drifting through the air. Jan had regained consciousness on the floor. Immediately, he donned an expression of panic and horror as saw the all the blood.

"Good. You're awake." said Mr Parrish.

As quickly as he said those words, Mr. Parrish fell to the floor. Just before everything faded to black he heard the voice of a woman from somewhere in the room.

"What in the hells is going on here!?"