“Another piece of Irish church bell,” I said.

“Here ya go,” said Murgatroyd.  

“This isn’t Irish church bell!  This is a piece of the spear of Longinus!”   

“Sorry.  I’m a little new to the ‘raising up abominations from the fiery unknown’ thing.  Hang on a sec.”

“I keep the Irish church bell over there in a box next to the mythril.”

“All I see here is Zuzu’s petals.”

“It’s behind that, in a box.  You have to tell it it’s lost weight to get it to open.  Mystical boxes are very self-conscious.  The mystical box magazines make them feel fat.”

“You couldn’t put it in a normal box?  Or like a drawer or something.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!  I’ve been raising the souls of the damned since before you were born!”

“I’m seventeen, just like you.”

“Alchemist math, Murgatroyd.  Now hand me the icy tears of the unfaithful.  Soon all shall be complete.”

We mixed the ingredients, spoke the secret incantation, made two dead chickens have sex with each other, and then my magical creation came to life.   

“Success!  Our unholy eater of worlds in born!  Murgatroyd, fetch some champagne, we party tonight!”

Later we sipped our champagne and listened to the sound of carnage floating in through the window.  

“Kinda sounds like the ocean,” said Murgatroyd.