Fool's Price

Prompt One- The ultimate prank.
Word Count- 1935

Fool’s Price

         Mr. Crow walked up to the gates of Ashbrook Academy of the Arts after a pleasant summer break. His trunk bobbed along behind him with its magic symbol shining like a faint blue fairy above it. The walk from the town was a long one and it was nice, but he was getting older. The wrought iron gates swung open on their own to the main drive for the school and he went in. He just wanted to sit down in his room, drink a pot of tea, and finish the plans on his pranks for the rest of the year. He smiled at that thought as he walked up the cobblestone path to the teacher’s dorm.
         His room was cozy. It had a nice fireplace that was well used, but clean, two overstuffed chairs lounging in front of it, one for him, and the other for the company he entertained. He placed a whoopee cushion under the chair’s cushion to lie in wait for its first victim. At heart he was still a little boy that enjoyed a good fart joke. Wrinkles weren’t something he was concerned about like some people his age, to him they showed that someone had lived life and come out stronger. He had at least. That’s why he loved pranks.
         He hefted the trunk onto the bed and grunted a little. The exertion caused him to pant from the effort with his hands on top of the worn and cracked leather lid. Patting it and memories rose with the clouds of dust and as he brushed familiar nicks and scratches. His eyes were drawn to a scorch mark. His first backfired joke, exploding sneezing powder. The intent was to design a powder that would explode when people sneezed it out. Not explode like a bomb, but more like a pop from snap pops. Something that would startle more than maim. It didn’t work out like he had thought and resulted in a fire, a trip to the nurse’s office, and then a trip to the Dean’s office. The punishment was detention for the rest of that year. Mr. Crow changed his prank design after that, he wanted his jokes to be funny, not lethal. Detention was held in the magic and ethic’s teacher’s classroom. They had long conversations on why some of his pranks worked and other blew up in his face. That was ultimately how he had decided to become a teacher.

***

         Mr. Crow droned on about the complexity of magic and its rules. Even he thought he was blowing hot air at this point. The moment seemed right to choose a target for a prank. The students ranged from those entirely enthralled, taking notes, hanging on every monotone word, to those falling asleep. Grant was one of those students who took himself too seriously and scribbled notes furiously. Not once looking up.
         “Students, this seems to be a great opportunity to show off the rules we have discussed,” Mr. Crow said.
         All of the students perked up at the unexpected twist in their dull class, except one.
         “Ethically and karmically, it would not be acceptable to play jokes on someone with harmful spells. Which could be anything from fire, ice, electricity, or something else that could cause damage to their person. But, could we use other spells, in good conscience, to prank them without suffering the ill effects?” Mr. Crow asked. The students stared at Mr. Crow blankly. “It’s a question. It needs an answer.”
         The students stirred uncomfortably in their seats, afraid to make eye contact with him.
         “Really? No answers to such a prime example of an ethical magic dilemma?”
         One hand rose and fell as if it was unsure it wanted to be seen, but more worried about not answering the question.
         “Sir? I believe, as you’ve quoted from the text, ‘any magic conducted in spite, anger, or other emotions that are deemed harmful towards another being will exact a price upon the caster.’ The caster’s intent for the spell is what determines the effects the spell has on both the caster and the person, or thing, affected by the caster through magic. In this case, if we cast a spell to prank someone in spite, or anger, then we would suffer ill effects and the magic could pick up on the intent and try to hurt him, even if we were not trying to. However, if we cast it in say, fun, to play a trick on them then there should, theoretically, be no ill effects to either party. Other than maybe hurt pride on their part,” the student said.
         Mr. Crow stopped suddenly in front of the student’s desk. The student trembled at his nearness. Mr. Crow turned slowly to face the student and bent forward. He placed his hands on the desk and looked the student in the eyes. He exaggerated his breathing to huff and puff heavily in the student’s face, barely holding back his giggles. The student paled noticeably and held his breath. Mr. Crow’s breakfast happened to be some seafood concoction with garlic and onions.
         “Very good. I’m glad someone pays attention in my class. Now, shall we play a little trick on someone?” The students sat in their desks dumbfounded. Slowly, some nodded, then more joined in, until they all bobbed agreement. Though none held a mischievous smile or glint in their eyes. “Good.”
         Mr. Crow traced glowing symbols in the air. They flashed through the spectrum of colors and slowly took on a sapphire hue. With a muffled snort he snapped his fingers and the symbols bobbed around the classroom and they began to bloat and merge into a translucent gem-like bubble. As seconds ticked by, it kept growing until it was the size of a beach ball. The students watched in awe until the ball began to shudder and ripple. As they floated over Grant, Mr. Crow raised his arm. He snapped his fingers again. Quick inhales emanated from around the classroom as the globe lost its shape and dropped all over Grant in a cascade. As the liquid splashed down, drenching Grant, something odd happened. Everywhere it touched him was stained a deep, sapphire blue. His hair, his skin, his robes, and even the desk. As he sputtered, he fell from his desk and glanced around trying to comprehend what happened to him. His eyes met Mr. Crow’s. Their gaze remained locked, Grant’s face scrunched in confusion, only to be broken when Mr. Crow’s smile spread across his face. Laughter sprang forth in monotone bursts. The scene was so comical that even the most uncomfortable student caught the contagious mirth of the moment and managed a genuine chuckle. Grant wasn’t amused in the least.

***

         Mr. Crow was barely in control of his laughter at lunch as he told the other teachers about his latest pranks on the students. Some of the teachers laughed, others shook their heads, and some even glared openly. He didn’t care. As he was finishing up the story about dropping the bubble of blue dye on a sleeping student, Grant walked in. The teachers stared and only turned their attention back to Mr. Crow when he roared with laughter.
         “You did that, to Grant?” One teacher screeched.
         “You know he’s the top student in my class!” Another growled.
         “Why do you insist on picking on him?” Asked another.
         “I don’t see why it’s such a big deal. He needs to lighten up a little bit and I thought a prank would help break through the studious nature of his. I prank him like I do other students,” He said while glaring back at them.
         He stood up and stalked off. Just as he got to the door, the jam jars at the table shot their contents all over the teachers at the table. Some laughed, but the others either screamed or seethed silently at him. He walked out cackling.

***

         Mr. Crow carried on as usual and asked the class again if they should play another prank. With a resounding yes and Mr. Crow’s stifled monotone chuckle, he started to trace patterns into the air. Grant leapt up and shouted a spell insanely at Mr. Crow. The power words clung to the air in sickly green and black distorted shapes. They buzzed and swarmed towards Mr. Crow like deranged hornets until they struck. He let out a surprised gasp then crumpled to the floor coughing and then retched. A black beak poked out of his mouth and emitted a low caw. As the spasms continued more of the bird convulsed out of Crow’s mouth, until, with one last spasm, the crow slopped out of his mouth to land with a squishy thud on the floor. The spit soaked crow twitched slightly on the floor until it opened one black eye and emitted a faint caw again. Crow looked at it in horror. The crow began to stir more and the black eyes glowed more and more with an inner red light that pulsed stronger by the second.
         Mr. Crow took action. He stumbled to his feet and furiously drew symbols in the air. The crow let out a strangled squawk as it was enveloped by a net made of blinding, white light. Where the net touched the crow, the net began to smoke and wither the demonic bird away. With a final flourish from Crow, a loud pop, and the bird was gone. Exhausted, he leaned heavily on the podium, breathing raggedly. A feather devoid of light fluttered from his mouth, seesawing back and forth towards the floor, and popped liked a miniature grenade on the hardwood. A crow’s outline was scorched into the grain of the wood.
         Grant laughed hysterically; spit flew from and clung to his mouth in strings. Pointing and cawing harder until he was doubled over with tears leaking from his eyes. The students and Mr. Crow gasped. Crow had never seen anything like this. Grant was changing in front of them and Mr. Crow was frozen in fear and revulsion. All he could do is watch frozen to the floor as Grant stumbled towards other students as they flinched away from him until he fell to the floor in spasms.
         Grants irises blazed red with black tendrils exuding from the edges. His nose began to elongate and yellow. His skin must have itched or been bothering him because he frantically started scratching and digging at it between spasms. Grant attempted to call for help, but his mouth wasn’t suited for words anymore. His jaw had started to lengthen with his nose into a beak and only emitted garbled caws. Grant flapped around as his skin sloughed off and black feathers and pieces of flesh spattered around the classroom to the horror of the unlucky that were covered in Grant’s had tattered remnants.
         He tried to go to the door and open it, but when he reached for the knob he saw a wing. His panic soared and manifested in squawking and flapping wildly against the door.
         Once Mr. Crow recovered he commanded the students to move behind him. He approached what used to be Grant, cautiously, ready to etch symbols at a moment’s notice. A floor board betrayed his position and it turned on him. A garbled human-demonic-bird-like his seethed from the beak. Crow stumbled back as it charged on wobbly, spindly legs. Student’s parted in frantic piles trying to climb over desks and each other, and the thing crashed through a window and took to the sky on shaky wings.