Rot 1

by Aidan J. Reid

  Wish all my trades had been as textbook as that. I didn’t know it at the time, o’ course. There were a lot of hairy moments along the way. One ‘specially. And I can guarantee that’s the best shit story you’ve ever heard.

  Just when you think you know it all, something always comes along to give you a kick in the nuts. Take a bow, Joey Walker. At the grand old age of seven, Joey wasn’t necessarily a horrible kid. Taken in isolation. But. As we all know, kids are rarely on their own. S’like saying, storing an M1917 semi-automatic machine gun in an empty house is perfectly fine. On its own. Introduce a bunch of kids and that’s when the fun really starts.

  Good ol’ Joey. Getting up to all sorts. A special case if ever there was one. The fact he was in an orphanage probably won’t come as much of a surprise. Him and his band of merry men, all profited from my services. I say they. Joey acted as the middle man between tooth-giver and fairy for the group. Whether through choice or coercion, the dozen or so other kids in the home trusted him with their fallen-out teeth. Those he felt weren’t pulling their weight, he’d ask for daily reports, going so far as helpin’ accelerate things with a well-placed punch. A kind soul.

  Strung around his neck was a little velvet pouch which would hang down to his bony chest. In it, was a mouthful of teeth he had been collecting over the months. Otherwise known as my pot of gold.

  I was about four years into the job at that point. Doing well. Top sales rep most months. Hadn’t been a bed of roses. Never is when you workin’ in sales. Clean slate every month. Go do it all again. Yes Mam.

  Had my eye on Joey for a while. The notification popped up on my phone one day. Thought it was bogus when I first saw it. They were starting to roll out the tech at that point, but there were a few kinks that needed ironin’ out.

  So, the reading from the pillow sensor tells me there’s seven isolates. Canines and premolars. All healthy and young. Well, you can just imagine. My eyes lit up, thinking JACKPOT. It’s only when I arrived that night that I found out about the pouch. After some private eye stuff, I noticed that the little ballbag of teeth he carried around went everywhere. The little shit even slept with it. It was bound up real tight too. Double knots. My fairy fingers are nimble but even with weeks of tugging and tweaking, I couldn’t get the damn thing loose.

  Few months later and that bag of seven had grown to sixteen! Every time I visited, I could see the bag was getting more swollen. One month when I wasn’t hitting my number, I brought a saw with me to the orphanage. I must have spent all night sawing on that cord, but I barely made a dent. Worst of all, I lost all idea of time and before I know it, there’s sun on the curtains outside. I hear a knock on the door behind me. Joey opens his eyes. Sees me sitting on the bed, a few human inches from his head, exhausted.

  We look right at each other. I’m frozen. It’s only when he screams that I get to my feet and start hauling ass. ‘Course I left the saw behind as I glide down the rope on the side of the bed. I nearly forget that too, but a quick yank pulls it with me. I start snorting dust like crazy, just as I notice him getting off the bed, searching the floor with his eyes. Big feet that would stomp me in an instant. Before he knows it, I’ve already disappeared.

  Took it easy after that. A good scare ev’ry now and again s’good to make sure you don’t get complacent. Let things stew for a few weeks. But you know what they says – ‘Can’t keep a good fairy down’.

  Next time I go back I’ve got climbing boots, a hunter’s knife, night vision goggles and a head torch. I’m kitted out like Rambo Fairy.

  So, I get down to it again. Makin’ sure he’s asleep. Pullin’ one heavy lid open to see. Out like a light. He’s rolled onto his back so I climb up on his chest. The bag of teeth is about my size. I haven’t even thought about how I’m gonna carry all these teeth. All I want is to get inside. Turns out the knife blade is a lot better at cutting than the saw. Still takes me a few hours. Just as I’m feeling the last few strands of it stretch under my cut, what does the kid do? Starts a sneezing fit! Blows me right off his chest. I nearly fall off the bed, clinging to the edge for dear life. When I do get a foothold, I see Joey’s asleep but lying on his side. The pouch is hanging on him. The string has come loose on the other side. The relief!

  I walk over, all casual like, even though my back and arm are sore as hell from cutting all night. Suddenly, he opens his eyes. Exact same as last time. He blinks a few times. I’m stuck, wondering what the hell to do. I seen kids just close their eyes and go back to sleep. Thinking they just had a bad dream. Not our Joey. He lets out another scream. Wakes the whole house up. He bolts out of bed. The springs bounce me about. There’s an earthquake under my feet. Next thing I know, someone has turned on a light and I’m exposed. Just sitting there.

  This big bull of a woman comes in, dressed in a nightie. Comes right up to Joey. Joey looks like he’s seen a ghost, pointing toward the bed where I am. I make a dash for the bed cover, and hide as best I can, searching in my pockets for my bag of dust. He’s arguing with the woman who looks none too impressed, and then get this. She says-

  “You and your bloody imagination!”

  She pulls the little bag off Joey’s neck. It was dangling there, God knows how, clinging to his sweat. She walks into the bathroom next door to the bedroom, Joey following. I hear the toilet flush and then the cries of Joey.

  “Grow up!” she says and slams the door shut on her way out.

  It’s a few minutes before Joey comes back in. I’ve already made it down to the floor, hiding under the bed. He doesn’t even look for me. He’s lost interest. Turns off the light and gets back into bed. I hear him cryin’ in his sleep, but don’t get out ‘til I hear snores.

  When I go check out the toilet, my hopes are crushed. The bag hasn’t floated up. My mind starts working overdrive. You know, I’m not one to give up easy. No sirree. Here’s my logic for what you’re about to hear. Least you can see some method in my madness. I’m thinking this ain’t just a one-off. My brain is working like crazy. Maybe there’s lots of isolates flushed down the toilet all ‘round the country. Think ‘bout it. Lots have gone missin’. Not been reported. Just maybe, if I get to that place, I’ll find my pot of gold at the end of the rainbow – or at least at the end of the sewage pipe.

  Worth a go, I decide. So, I hop up onto the toilet rim, manage to lift up the tank lid. I chuck my tools inside, figuring they’d be safe there. When I drop it down, I take a deep breath. It takes all my strength to pull down on the flusher, but when I do, I divebomb into the swirling water below.

  Good thing about being fairy sized in their world is that you get into tiny spots where others can’t. ‘Spose bad thing about that then is human sized things are obviously lot bigger. When they see beautiful things, I see ugliness. A pretty flower infested with tiny mites. A beautiful painting, cracked and decayin’. And that’s just the good lookin’ stuff.

  Ever seen a marbled human turd up close? It’s a real work of art. Seen the threads of corn that stitch it together? Something Dr. Frankenstein would be proud of I tell ya.

  How long did it take before I realized what a bad idea jumpin’ in the toilet was? Oh…I’d say about fifteen seconds. First part was pretty cool. Didn’t expect no water slide park. I had my head torch on. It wasn’t much help. I was sloshin’ round in them pipes ‘til I was black and blue. I’m strugglin’ to catch a breath, falling deeper into this hole. Talk about shit creek without a paddle. Suddenly, I’m fallin’ through the air.

  Ever had one of those perfect moments when time stands still? Or everything slows? Beautiful innit? Yeah, well mine ended when I face-planted in a river of shit.

  The smell? Came up smellin’ roses, whadya think? I was covered in it. Every inch. I was picking it out every hole for days to come. The missus sure loved that. Got in my pores. I was sweating it out of me. Real joy to be around back then. Talk about going the extra mile? And then some.

  Now, I’m thinking, cut my losses. Snort dust
, or what crumbly shitty fragments are left of it in my pocket. Get out of there, onto dry ground, then use my whistle. Then I’d catch my ride, hoping I get a cat that don’t mind my eau de toilette, arrive back at the Kingdom and then scrub myself ‘til it bleeds.

  ‘Course, then there’s that other part of me. The one that got me into this mess. He’s telling me that the worst is over. Nothing left to lose by hoking around. God, I hate that prick.

  So, I’m doing the backstroke through some boiled turds, trying not to gulp down any giblets. Big rubbery condoms float on the surface, bloated jellyfish. They’re trying to trap me but I finally get to the edge of this tunnel. Least I think it’s a tunnel the way the walls were shaped. There’s a platform on the side, too steep for me to climb up. So, I start roundin’ up some shitbergs and wedging them against this wall. It’s not the most stable thing in the underworld. Some of the crap won’t mix. I’m saying, ‘let’s all get along’. I need to use some elbow grease ‘til I’ve gelled my Frankenturd and dug footholds into it. After some trial and error, I get up on the platform.

  When I’m on solid ground, I take a breather. I dump my whistle on the ground. The little bag of dust – it’s wet through and through. Can’t tell you how excited I am to snort that. I start taking off my clothes and wring them out. My pockets are full of sunken treasure, weighing me down. After a minute, I’m in my birthday suit. In a sewer. Covered in shit. You could say I was reviewing my career options at that point.

  Cut a long story short, I spend the next couple hours trawling the bottom of the sewer floor searching for teeth. Did I find any? A couple. They had nearly rotted away to nothin’ though. Hardly worth the travel expense alone. Did I find Joey’s bag of teeth? Nah. Damn thing got away from me again. Oh, well. Shit happens.

  When the Rot came, it changed everything. I was nine years into the job. Doing pretty well too, thanks for askin’.

  It was, what you call it, a gradual thing. Like death by a thousand papercuts. The first lick might sting but you don’t pay no attention. Before you know it, you’re dead meat. Y’ask me and I think it started with the fluoride in the water. Now, you’ll probably call me some conspiracy nut, but I did my own research. Some of the others thought it’d be a good thing. Think they been drinking the Kool-Aid and it’s rotted their brains. Word from up top was that fluoride was gonna be put into toothpastes too. Young teeth were soon gonna be bathing in the stuff. Bright, polished healthy teeth for us to go after. Hmmm. I weren’t convinced.

  Eating habits was changin’ too. That’s what marketing was telling us. They did some research saying that kids was eating more crap than ever. I coulda told you that much. After nine years on the job, I was seeing it. There were times I had to crawl through beds of candy wrappers. Some of the kids were using fizzy drinks as mouthwash, ‘specially in the worse places. The teeth I was finding wasn’t worth as much as when I first started. You could even see the rot on the isolates. On milkies! Don’t need to look hard none neither. This from kids. How’s that possible? OK, I’ll quit with the fluoride stuff. But coincidence?

  Before, we’d be getting less teeth, better quality. After the Rot, it was the other way ‘round. More teeth, less quality. Hit’s the pocket. Suddenly, you’re working longer hours just to break even. Call me romantic and all that, but don’t call me a liar. I was earning more off those early trades. Sometimes, twice as much. You don’t know they’re the good ol’ days’ ‘til they’re gone. Ain’t that the truth.

  Anyways, so around that time we’re all feeling the squeeze. Some of the ol’ crew had already cashed in their teeth and retired. Targets are up, quality of the isolates are going down. ‘Cept now there are molars and pre’s. Never would’ve had those nine years ago. Now, there’s one in every twenty. Rotten or not, they’re still damn tough. And a better margin. So, every cloud. Whatever makes her happy, I guess.

  Speaking of which, I only seen the Fairy G lose it three times. With me obviously – I’ll get to that. Two years ago. Then the first time was four years ago. Seems to be a pattern there. Huh. Never noticed that before. Guess I’m the sacrifice this year.

  Each time, they were marched along the plank. We’d all be watching from the side, hurling abuse. All for show, of course. Had to do what the council ordered, ‘specially when she was around.

  At least I was given an option. Don’t get me wrong. Still, not much of an option. We ain’t talking medium or well-done steaks here. S’far as I could tell, for the others it was a one-way ticket to Acidville. Jumping into the mouth of a hollowed-out whale’s tooth, filled with boiling rotten waste. So toxic and foul, it’s making me all misty-eyed for the sewers again. Good times.

  Sarah Volt was first to die. Somethin’ cracked in her head, long before she vaulted off the plank like an Olympic diver. Somersaults and cartwheels as she went head first into the slime. Her crime? Smugglin’. She always seemed low on fairy dust. We’re given a quota each month, and she always had to borrow from the rest of the team. Proper pain she was. We all thought she was an addict. Turns out she was caught creating little hollows in the teeth, filling it up with the dust, and puttin’ a metal filling over the top. Clever idea. I’m sure the hobgoblins paid her a tidy profit for that. But you can’t take it with you. RIP Sarah.

  Teddy Jones was two years ago. Little Napoleon. Didn’t last long. Twelve months on the job before he realized it wasn’t like the magic tales. The life of a fairy is blood, sweat and tears. He started a rebellion. Plannin’ to overthrow the Fairy G. Started circulating flyers, anonymous like, all ‘round the town. Hired a team of brownies to plaster it across billboards, forest trees, lamp posts – even tucked it in the collars of our cats in their world as if the humans would care. At the bottom of the flyer was Teddy’s email address. Yeah, not the sharpest tooth in the mouth.

  Then there’s me. I’m not gonna win the Darwin award anytime soon. I’m almost embarrassed to be in the same league as them. Harsh, I say. But then again. Maybe I had it coming. I’ll let you decide.

  The first time I gave a tooth a push was six months ago. It was barely hanging on by a root. I gave it a kick with my steel capped toe, and it popped right out of his mouth. I’d be damned if I was gonna wait another evening. Not with my bills. I picked up the one that made the sensor go off – an incisor – and slipped it and the second bonus one in my bag. Two for the price of one. Feelin’ pretty happy with myself I was. Went under the radar. Ended my shift early that night. Think that’s when the idea sprouted in my own head.

  Every visit I made after that, I’d take a detour of the mouth. Just on the off chance you know? One in twenty times, there’d be one just waiting to be taken. I’d see the isolate wobble with every breath that the kid would take. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t do the same. All I gave was a little encouragement. Didn’t see the big fuss. S’not like I was ripping teeth out. Well. Not at that point.

  If they weren’t ridin’ us so hard, then maybe I would have stopped. Higher targets. The Rot was getting worse. What’s a guy to do?

  First time I did it and felt anything like guilt was a couple months ago. Musta spent an hour lookin’ ‘round the pillow for the tooth. Sometimes, they slip inside. I even seen kids swallow them by accident. Good luck fishing that out Moby Dick. But they always show up. Sensor never lies. If there’s one thing I’ll give the Fairy G, it’s that she designed that well. Guess that’s where most of the tax we pay goes. Research and Development.

  Anyways, I’m goin’ through a bad streak at that point. Worse than ever. It’s end of my shift, and I’m not going home without something. Kid’s mouth is gaped open. I’m sitting on my ass, breathing heavy, staring into this head’s hole.

  ‘Right’, I says.

  I pick up my hammer and crawl inside to see what I can find. He has a mouth tarmacked in metal. All stubs and angry uproots. Gums are shot red. I’m squishing on them and there’s blood oozing out with every step. I expect him to wake up any minute, but I’m beyond caring
. There’s a big ugly sore around one tooth on the side. A canine. Looks like a little volcano. He’s been biting into his cheek with it and it isn’t healing. Figure I’m doin’ the kid a favor. I can see the gum doesn’t have a good hold of the tooth. It doesn’t have a good hold of any of the teeth. I’m in a house full of cards.

  Anyways, I take out my hammer and start slapping the tooth hard with it. It’s only a few blows before it slides out. Kid doesn’t even miss a breath. I clear off with the rotten tooth. Every little helps.

  Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. Don’t sound serious enough to threaten me with the flat sack or the plank. I’m getting to it, yeah? Jeez.

  I s’pose the one that got me was when I met my mate Joey again. Remember Joey? Well, kid’s all grown up now, but guess what? Still believes in the tooth fairy. And people say I have issues. Leave’s a tooth out one evening and I get the alert. New client? Yes, please.

  Poor Joey’s holed up in some psych ward.

  Somethin’ ‘bout me you should know. I never forget a mouth. It’s like a fingerprint. ‘Cept even better. It can tell a lot about a person. Diet, stress, hygiene. See, with a mouthful of teeth you can tell a whole history. But a fingerprint? It’s just a snapshot in time.

  Well, Joey’s was a mouth I had been in a good few times. This was a good few years since we met. He’d traded a lot of the milkies for adults now o‘course, but I could still tell by the formation it was him. Lot of the back teeth were ground down now. A grinder. That gave me joy to see. Stressed out a little are we buddy? I’m wondering if he was still thinking of that lost little bag of teeth. That would be worth a pretty penny now in today’s market.