After the first slip and taste of the beings blood, a tiny bit of Apizal’s strength returned, it could just about ‘see’ the small wooden box of a room it was in. All around Apizal the other ‘tools’ hung on little hooks. It also had it’s own hook and loved to get mysteriously dislodged when the hand of it’s owner was reaching underneath.

A month after being bought Apizal had drank enough of it’s owner’s blood to be able to exert a tiny bit of power over it’s movements.

If it’s owner had even the smallest momentary laps in concentration Apizal would slice through his finger.

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Apizal took great joy in cutting tiny slithers into the man’s fingers and hands, not removing the skin just making it a painful bloody flap that it could then slice again.

The bench the man was making had multiple small blood stains on it and he was running out of plasters. Apizal laughed manically to itself as it heard the man complain to a woman that often brought him hot drinks, “it’s cursed! I’m telling you the chisel is trying to cut me!”

“Now don’t get hysterical dear, it’s just a chisel, it’s not trying to get you.” Said the female voice, which made Apizal laugh harder. It most certainly was trying to get him.