“What do you know of impossible?!” A pointed nose, like the beak of a predatory bird, jutted from the shadows of the hood, followed by two blood red eyes that held her captive with a frightening stare. “My task is impossible. Collecting teeth from the children.”
Cynthia arched an eyebrow. “Who are you?”
The dark presence ignored her question, continuing instead with its own line of thought. “The children, they wish to make offerings to me. They want me to collect their teeth. But the parents, they lie. They put the teeth in the garbage, leaving false gifts beneath their slumbering heads.” The stranger paused, forming a steeple with its alabaster fingers. “That beautiful tooth your daughter offered me, and the sacrifice she made to deliver it... I was touched.”
Cynthia's heart raced. “You monster. Don't speak of her. Don't think of her. I banish you back to Hell where you belong!” She wasn't done speaking, but when she closed her mouth, her upper and lower jaw fused shut. It was as if her teeth had been super glued together. She worked her jaw, trying desperately to pull her teeth apart, but it was fruitless. She couldn't speak another word.
“Funny you should mention Hell. I was there once.” The menacing figure moved closer. A sour feeling emanated from the air that swirled around it, like a force field of wickedness ever stirring its long hair and heavy garments. The raspy, baritone words, accented by a wet, smacking tongue echoed through her head as its voice filled the room. “I was a sinner in my mortal life. A heartless man with no soul.” Cynthia shrunk as close to the headboard as she could manage. One of her hands gripped the bed post, and the other still clutched Kya's tooth in a balled fist.
“I was a collector in my old life, much like I am today. But back then, I did it for pleasure. I took the children... oh, so many children. I snatched them from their parents, locked them away. I removed their teeth, one by one, just to watch them writhe in pain.”
Cynthia moaned in terror. She closed her eyes, repeating the mantra in her mind. You're not real; you're not real; you're not real. The creature's voice was louder than her thoughts. It continued...
“Now if I wish to find a moment of rest and escape my existence of misery and pain, I must collect enough teeth to triple those that I stole. That is my punishment, to dwell in the deepest state of sorrow until my collection is complete. I cannot take the teeth by force. They must be offered to me as gifts from the innocent children of the world.”
Cynthia opened her eyes. She sucked a startled breath through her nose. The dark presence floated inches from her face, its red eyes set deep in its withered face like sunken rubies. It squinted, and the dark circles beneath its eyes were like shadowy half moons. “I am a restless soul, haunting the realm between Hell and Earth.” A long, curved nose hung over its thin lips as it grinned, the smile nothing more than a black hole in the darkness of the hood. “You can call me the tooth fairy,” it said.
Tears streamed from her eyes as she strained the muscles of her jaw, fighting to open her mouth. She wanted to scream in its face. What do you want from me?
It pointed at her closed fist. “I want the tooth,” it said. Cynthia looked at her hand. It was clenched so tight that sweat oozed from her palm. Her brow furrowed as she considered its request. “I know it means the world to you, so I will make an offer. If I return your daughter—the living, breathing, innocent Kya—will you promise me the tooth?”
Cynthia's blue eyes were wide. Her whole body shook. The muscles in her mouth relaxed, and she could mover her jaw, her upper and lower teeth no longer stuck together. Everything inside her screamed and argued against the word that escaped her lips next. “Yes.”
Her stomach flip flopped, and her vision dimmed as the lights in the bedroom flickered. And just as quickly as the word “yes” left her mouth, the hideous creature vanished.
Cynthia remained still, knees pulled up to her chest, fingers white around the wooden headboard. Minutes passed, but she didn't move. She was suspended on a frozen wave of panic. The telephone rang and she jumped, yelping like a frightened puppy.
Her hands shook as she picked up the phone and placed the receiver to her ear. “Hello?”
“Cynthia... how are you doing?” Jenny's voice filled the ear piece.
Cynthia broke down, sobs rolling from her gut. “Not good, Jen.” Her breathing was panicked. She choked on saliva, coughing as tears spilled down her cheeks. “I'm not good...”
“Oh, honey. You are crying. That is good, don't you see? Let it all out, sweetie... just let it out...”
Cynthia watched the tall, sinister man through the bars of the cage. His arms jerked in sketchy spasms as he tightened the ropes, as if sheer madness pumped through his veins. Firelight glowed across his pale features. His nose, like the tip of a vulture's beak, cast a thin shadow over his frown. Long hair was gathered into an unruly ponytail and tied with a ribbon at the back of his head. Wilds strands framed his gaunt face as he peered down at his victim.
The little boy fought against his restraints. His short blonde hair was matted with sweat. Blood dotted the raw skin around his wrists and ankles. His chest rose and fell with each frantic breath. He squirmed, his puny body strapped to a wooden table beneath an intertwining network of thin ropes and chains. The boy could only whimper, exhausted, and listen to the fire crackle.
“Done fighting so soon?” The man's voice was chilling and deep, and a lisp caused his 's' sounds to drag. “I enjoy watching you struggle.” He stood before a table filled with shiny silver tools. Orange flames reflected in the steel instruments as the fire licked at the hearth.
Cynthia wanted to cry out and beg him not to hurt the boy, but a cloth gag had been shoved in her throat. Guttural noises escaped her mouth as she grunted in protest, but no words formed. The dry piece of fabric held in her mouth by a knotted cloth seemed to suck all the moisture from her tongue.
The man selected a pair of dental forceps from the table. Firelight gleamed on the polished metal and he smiled, revealing slick gums ripe with decay. “I never knew my father. My mother was an absent whore.” He turned toward the boy, approaching him in long strides. “Gum disease left me toothless by age twenty-two.” He stepped closer, and the boy's eyelids disappeared as he stared wide-eyed at the forceps.
“My only comfort is the suffering of others.” He pulled the gag from the frightened child's mouth. The boy's cries filled the chamber, bringing a smile to the man's face. “Ah, it's like music to my ears.”
The boy tried to fight back. He turned his head to the side, but the man was too strong. He held his tiny head in place with one lanky hand as the pliers descended. The metal grips locked around an incisor, and his entire body jolted with pain. Blood spurted from the tender, pink gums as the tooth was deposited into a jar. One of many jars that lined the dirty shelves, every one of them filled with teeth.
Cynthia couldn't help but scream. It came out as a pathetic, muted whine, muffled by the gag in her mouth. It was enough to catch the madman's attention. He turned his dark, menacing eyes on her, and smiled that empty smile.
Then he laughed and pointed the bloody forceps at her. “For every joy there is a sorrow. Sacrifices must be made. You are next!”
Cynthia gasped. She bolted upright in bed. Sweat trickled down her spine and beaded on her forehead. A strip of light shined through a gap in the curtains. It was morning. She was in her own bed. Cynthia fell back onto her pillow, relieved.
The nightmare again. The same dream that haunted every night of sleep since making a promise to the dark stranger months ago. In the dream, she was locked inside a cage and forced to watch children plead for mercy at the hands of a monster. Tears rimmed her eyes. She didn't know what frightened her more: the heartless acts committed in those dreams, or the promise she had made to the monster who committed them.
She rolled over and rubbed the hard bulge at her midriff. Over the passing months, her abdomen had stretched to the size of a beach ball. She could feel little kicks and punches if she rested h
er hand there. It gave her a reason to keep living.
The encounter with the cloaked figure seemed like a distant memory. She wanted to lock it in the back of her mind and never think of it again, but her body was a constant reminder. And the dreams were beginning to plague her. Every night they came: visions of the madman carrying out his evil deeds. More than just dreams. They felt real somehow. Like she was trapped inside the dark memories of a stranger, witnessing the sins of his mortal life.
It all started with that terrible promise. The dreams were short at first, nightmarish snippets in between more pleasant dreams. But then, they started to last the whole night. That's when Cynthia realized she had missed her period. She knew it was ridiculous—she hadn't been with a man in years—but something inside her told her to take a pregnancy test. The two pink lines that appeared in the “results” window of the little plastic test sent her into a state of shock. She sat on the bathroom floor that seemingly endless afternoon and stared at the pink lines until they lost all meaning.
Cynthia stretched, groaned, and sat up. Hair long brown hair was a mess, tangled from a long night of tossing and turning. A wave of nausea washed over her when she tried to stand up. She bowed her head and concentrated on breathing, resting her hands on her knees. She didn't know how much more of this she could take.
The dreams had become more vivid over the months as her health deteriorated and her belly grew. The sick bastard had tricked her. He had promised to bring Kya back to life, but not in the form of an unborn child. The pregnancy was straining Cynthia physically, fraught with complications. She was always sick, constantly lacking energy, and haunted by the recurring nightmares. The only thing that kept her going was the hope that, somehow, she and Kya would be together again soon.
Cynthia leaned on the counter and rested her chin in her hands. She watched Jason work, enjoying the way his muscles moved beneath his skin. Fluorescent lighting made it easy to read the thousands of titles on the shelves. Wall-to-wall shelves of books, DVDs, and CDs, categorized by genre and kept in alphabetical order. They even sold iPods and e-Readers now. The shop was really coming along.
“Feeling any better?” Jason knelt before a pile of display rack pieces, his dark brown eyes fixed on her.
“A little,” she said.
“Good.” He pointed to the checkout counter where she leaned. “There are some saltine crackers under the register if you feel woozy.”
Cynthia forced a weak smile. “Thanks.”
“What do the doctors say?” He selected a phillips head screwdriver from the collection of tools on the floor and flipped a piece of particle board into a standing position.
“They say all kinds of things. My iron is low. My blood pressure is high. And that's just the tip of the iceberg.” She paused, not wanting to sound so pessimistic, then added. “But they say the Pre-eclampsia is under control.”
She pretended to straighten the merchandise on the counter, secretly watching Jason as she worked. She'd been so lonely lately. And he was so sweet. “Thanks for taking care of everything while I was sick,” she said.
“No problem. We're partners.” He positioned a metal piece over the particle board and set to work driving the screw into the hole. Cynthia bit her lip. She tried to view Jason as a business partner and co-owner of the shop, but her hormones went wild at the sight of him. He looked up at her. “You don't have to stay late with me, you know. I'm a big boy. I can lock up by myself.”
“It's okay.” Cynthia hesitated for a moment, then smiled and decided to continue. “I enjoy spending time with you.”
Arching his eyebrows, he set the screwdriver on the floor. “You do?”
She blushed... or maybe it was a hot flash. “Yeah.”
Jason grinned. A crooked tooth near the front of his mouth made his smile all the more charming. She loved the curves of his lips, the stubble on his chin, the sexy way he chuckled nervously as he ran a hand through his short, dark hair. “I like spending time with you, too.” Jason stood up and approached the counter. Cynthia couldn't help but smirk, thinking Jenny was right all along.
Cynthia's heart sank at the thought of Jenny. She hadn't spoken to her best friend in weeks. Cynthia had broken an unspoken rule by refusing to talk about the pregnancy. They had never kept secrets from each other in the past. Jenny couldn't understand what had changed. Eventually, it drove them apart. Cynthia laughed as she remembered Jenny's theory about motives. “Everybody's got a motive” she had said.
“What's so funny?” Jason asked as he stood on the customer's side of the counter, smiling at her.
“I was just thinking... about motives.”
He squinted one eye in a questioning gaze. “What do you mean?”
“I mean... This might sound stupid and conceded, but... well... I'm very curious about something...”
“You've got my attention.”
“Before you decided to invest in the store... were you interested in me? I mean...as more than a business partner?”
Jason rested his knuckles on the counter and leaned in close to her. “Like a friend?” His lips curled away from his teeth in a teasing smile.
“Well, maybe...”
He brushed a lock of brown hair from her eyes and leaned closer. “Or maybe more than friends?”
“Maybe,” she replied, his lips inches from hers.
He leaned in closer. She could feel his hot breath on her ear as he whispered. “You're very beautiful, you know. I suppose we all have motives, don't we?” He slid his hand to the back of her neck and pulled her into a kiss. Warmth danced over her skin, tingling between her thighs. It was a feeling of euphoria she hadn't felt in ages. Followed by a wave of nausea.
She pulled away. “Sorry...” Cynthia felt lightheaded. She fought back a gag and spoke with her eyes closed, embarrassed and nauseated at the same time. “It's not you. I'm sick” Her voice shook with the last word as she tried not to cry. Her perfect moment was ruined.
“It's okay,” he said, putting his hand on top of hers. “We'll try again when you're feeling better.” He smiled, and she couldn't help but smile, too.
The hospital bed rattled softly as a nurse wheeled Cynthia down the hall. The pain in her gut exploded. It felt like her insides were filled with broken glass and being clenched in a tight fist until her internal organs were shredded. She winced and tried to focus on taking deep breaths.
“You've lost a lot of blood from the hemorrhaging. What is your pain level?”
Cynthia's teeth were clenched, every muscle tense. “10,” she managed to groan.
The nurse pressed an elevator button. It lit up, and the door slid open with a ding. “The doctor is meeting us upstairs for the C-section.”
“Where's Jason?” Cynthia mumbled as the door slid shut.
The nurse leaned over her. She smiled, but there was something in that smile that Cynthia didn't like. Pity, maybe. A hidden sadness. Fear for Cynthia's life. “If you're speaking about the handsome man you came in with, he's in the waiting room upstairs.”
Cynthia raised her head. Her vision was blurred by tears. Every movement she made brought a fresh wave of nausea. Straining to hold her neck up, she examined her lower half. Blood soaked through the fresh sheets that had been placed on the rolling bed. The stain spread across the white cotton fabric between her thighs, dark red in the center.
She let her head fall back on the pillow. The ceiling whizzed by in a blurry succession of drop tiles and fluorescent lights. She heard the familiar tone of Dr. Killburn's voice. “The room is ready for her.” He bent down to greet her. He smiled, but the smile seemed vacant somehow... just like the nurse's had been. The creases around his eyes and furrowed brow told a different story.
Cynthia, feeling woozy, could only struggle to keep her eyes open and think, Oh no, am I going to die? As if reading her mind, Dr. Killburn responded. “Hello, dear. We're going to get you through this.”
Pain burst through her abdomen, so sharp she cried out. Cynthia could
n't fight it any more. Her eyelids fluttered as she fought against the blackness that checkered her vision. Afraid that she might drop the tiny tooth clutched in her fist, she slid her hand beneath the pillow and tucked it there for safekeeping. Then she slipped into unconsciousness.
The Tooth Collector (and Other Tales of Terror) Page 2