by Billy Wells
I felt my teeth reshaping into the fangs of a vampire as the doctor stared at me in a grip of horror.
In the blink of an eye, I swooped upon him and began to quench my insatiable hunger with his warm, delicious blood. I called for the nurse, and then the receptionist, and also ravaged one occupant remaining in an examination room. The office had closed for the day, and there were no more patients outside in the waiting room to call in.
I was feeling much better, but I still had room for the ambulance drivers.
* * *
What the Cat Dragged In
Sitting in the den sipping coffee while watching Good Morning America, Frank’s fat cat, Van Helsing, stopped at his chair with something ugly dangling from his teeth. Putting down the cup, he looked at the thing with a measure of trepidation. Whatever his mouser had found in the basement or the fenced backyard was not like anything he had ever seen before. Van Helsing plopped the critter down on the carpet, let out a strange whimpering sound, and then disappeared into the kitchen. This was very unusual. In the past, the orange feline had always waited for a pat on the head and a little catnip to acknowledge his incredible accomplishment.
Peering down at the unidentified varmint, Frank noticed a splotch of blood on the beige carpet. The pile of gray thing, which lay at the corner of his right shoe, was missing clumps of fur along the underside of its torso and had a deep gouge in its throat. Its beady eyes seemed fixed on him, and he could see sharp little teeth protruding from its open mouth.
“What an ugly animal,” he thought as he got up from his comfortable chair and headed to the kitchen for soap and a wet rag. When he turned the corner, he found Van Helsing lying on his side on the ceramic tile floor. The cat’s open, glassy eyes told him he was dead.
A pang of deep sorrow fell over Frank as he thought how devastated his wife, Pam, would be when she returned from the mall. Reaching down, he turned his pet over. To his surprise, he found a large gaping hole in Van Helsing’s underbelly. A portion of his innards protruded from the newly acquired orifice. “What on earth had done this?” he thought. “Could it have been the thing Van Helsing dragged in?” He returned to the den for a closer look.
Turning the corner of the sofa, he noticed the splotch of blood on the carpet was all that remained of the gray thing. Startled for a moment by its unexpected disappearance, Frank regained his composure and started searching for the animal that had probably killed his cat. After methodically inspecting the large sectional, he got down on his hands and knees and eyeballed the spaces on and around the media cabinet and other furniture. Finding nothing, he continued the search in every room on the first and second floor. Again, with no results. Could it have gone through the pass-through in the kitchen into the backyard?
He went into the laundry room and removed a big black garbage bag from the top of the refrigerator. Returning to the kitchen, he planned to use it to carry Van Helsing out back for burial under the old apple tree. To his shock and dismay, all that remained of his cat was a trail of blood across the white ceramic tile leading to the open door of the basement.
“This is too weird,” he thought. When he’d come to the kitchen before, he’d noticed the door to the basement closed. That’s why he hadn’t searched downstairs.
Walking to the gaping doorway, he peered into the blackness below. Turning on the light, Frank saw a trace of blood on almost every tread.
His heartbeat began to accelerate as he pondered his next move. He had a bad feeling about going to the basement after the weirdness that had just transpired, so he decided to wait for Pam so they could go down together.
Returning to the den, he took a swallow of his cold coffee. The TV was still on, and a newscaster was babbling about the state of the economy. Suddenly the screen changed to a picture of a little gray monster, pacing back and forth in a cage, just like the one Van Helsing had dragged into the house.
The news reporters returned to the screen at the news desk and the anchor said, “At three a.m. this morning, during a strange meteor shower, creatures like the one you see in the cage materialized in large quantities across the eastern seaboard. Reports from all over the East Coast and some of the southern states indicate these creatures are deadly to household pets, and, in several instances, have attacked humans. Although small, their sharp teeth are capable of stripping an arm or a leg from its flesh like a school of piranha in minutes. If you come upon one of these creatures, call 911 immediately, and isolate yourself in a locked room. Eye witnesses have reported that the alien species can climb walls with their claws and open doors with their teeth.”
He heard the garage door opening at the front of the house. Thank God, Pam was home. He ran to the kitchen, opened a kitchen drawer, and extracted the largest butcher knife he could find. Pam was fantastic at handling stress. She’d know what to do. He took a seat in the breakfast nook and waited for his wife to join him in the kitchen.
Minutes passed, and the house was as silent as a tomb. He stared at the laundry room door waiting for Pam to appear.
More minutes passed. “Something was wrong,” he thought, wringing his hands. His face was wet with sweat. Pam had come home that was certain, but what was she doing in the garage for so long?
He bounded through the laundry room and opened the door to the garage. One glimpse of his wife’s denuded arm on the bloody cement floor hammered home the reality that life, as he knew it, would never be the same again. Half of Pam’s face had already been eaten away, and several of the gray things were slithering inside the hole in her chest cavity.
Turning away from the horror, Frank ran into the kitchen and slammed the door. A high wail emanated from his throat. His face felt like it was on fire as he thrashed about the room, scratching his arms and pounding his fist on the refrigerator.
A piercing sound screeched from the TV in the den. Darting into the room, he saw the news commentator and his co-anchor slumped across the news desk with an army of the little demons feasting on their bodies on the live telecast.
He heard the pitter-patter of what sounded like dwarfs running across the front porch. The front door squeaked opened. A little gray thing hanging by its teeth on the doorjamb glared at him with its beady, evil eyes. A hundred small bundles of fur darted inside skittering across the tile toward him. The pain was unbearable as the creatures swarmed his ankles and started gnawing ferociously. Within seconds, he felt himself getting shorter as his legs sunk into his shoes, and he started to topple.
Slumping against the kitchen counter and screaming like a madman, he desperately sliced across his throat with the large butcher knife he’d been holding. Once, twice, three times he slashed at his Adam’s apple with little or no consequence as his calves melted into a bloody pulp from the frenzy of razor-sharp, ravaging teeth.
“Fuck!” he shrieked. “This is the knife Pam said needed sharpening last Thanksgiving.”
Tooth Fairy
Inspector Clancy took another look at the little boy’s body on a slab in the morgue right after the medical examiner had completed the autopsy. Just like the others, Boyd Long’s two incisors were missing and a crucifix was driven through his heart, which was entered on the death certificate as the cause of death. Like the other five cases, two silver dollars were found under his pillow at the crime scene—the signature of the New York City child killer, the “Tooth Fairy.”
After interviewing Boyd’s parents, his schoolmates, and neighbors, it was evident that Boyd was a gifted child, well liked by everyone who knew him. Not one person could think of anyone who would have a reason to harm him. The M.O. was the same as the other victims. All were eleven years old. Nothing tied any of the boys to each other. Each had attended different schools in different parts of the NYC metropolitan area, and there was no indication their paths had ever crossed.
No one had seen any suspicious characters in the neighborhood in recent days before the killings. There was no sign of breaking and entering at any of the crime scenes. None of the par
ents had seen or heard anything unusual during the nights the crimes were committed. Each boy was found murdered in his bed by the parents the morning after.
The case was getting tremendous media coverage, and the commissioner added another team of detectives after each Tooth Fairy murder.
Clancy ran his fingers through his balding head. Reviewing his notes for the fifth time, he asked the ME, “Jack, tell me you’ve found a clue on this one. Something the fiend left behind I can nail him with.”
“Sorry, Clancy, I wish I had better news. It’s the identical M.O. No prints on the crucifix. The teeth were extracted after the kid was staked.”
“Staked…that’s an interesting choice of words. What do you mean?”
“The way the blunt end of the crucifix is lodged in the breastbone, I would say that it must have been hammered into place with a brick or a heavy mallet. Since the crucifix doesn’t have a point, no human being could plunge it through the breastbone so deeply without the aid of some kind of...let’s say hammer.”
“I always assumed each child had been stabbed with the crucifix.”
“Hey, this is my first autopsy on a Tooth Fairy victim. Jerry and Fred did the others, but I know for a fact the same type of crucifix was used on all six victims. I’m sure this point was withheld from the media due to the hysteria the image suggests, but it must be in the other autopsy reports.”
“I must be losing it; I didn’t pick up on this point when I reviewed the first five case files.” Clancy looked at his notes in disbelief and continued. “The media should rename the perp ‘Vampire Slayer’ rather than ‘Tooth Fairy.’ ”
“It does appear the perp thinks he’s slaying little vampires.”
“That’s crazy. Look at this face. I’ve never seen a kid look more innocent than this one. In fact, every one of them looks like little angels that have died and gone to heaven. The parents are the same way. They’re all model citizens, and they all appeared to be on the verge of a mental breakdown when I interviewed them at the crime scene. I’ve never seen such genuine remorse from the loss of a loved one since I’ve been carrying a badge.”
“They may all be as pure as the driven snow, but I guarantee you the Tooth Fairy does not think he is killing angels. I’ve seen a lot of strange things in my thirty years of dissecting stiffs, but I’ve never performed an autopsy on an eleven-year-old boy with a stake through his heart…I mean a crucifix.”
Clancy ran his fingers through the few hairs he had left on his head and put his notebook in his inside pocket. He grimaced a last reply, “I’m beat, and I need to write up a report on the homicide. Call me if you think of anything else.”
Clancy left the morgue, found his car, and drove to the precinct.
After finishing his report, he went home to collect his thoughts and get ready for the commissioner’s tirade the next morning and the grilling he would have to face at tomorrow’s press conference. He could see the headlines now: “The Tooth Fairy Strikes Again.”
When he went to bed, he couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned for hours thinking about the six boys lying on the cold metal autopsy tables. A black fog flooded his senses as he studied each of their innocent faces. One by one, the boys sprang upright and looked at him with dead, hungry eyes. He saw the missing incisors and felt their cold, clammy fingers clawing at his flesh. He tried to run, but his legs were like lead. The open wounds where the crucifixes had been lodged were alive with maggots.
He woke himself with a bloodcurdling scream. Turning on the light, he couldn’t stop shaking. He got out of bed, took a cold shower, and afterward, downed about half a fifth of Jack Daniels. He was feeling better when the sun started to rise. He reviewed the murder books of each victim and hoped to find something he’d overlooked.
“Why is the Tooth Fairy removing the incisors and driving a crucifix through their hearts?” Clancy pondered restlessly. “Why are the boys being murdered when they are eleven years old?”
He went to his laptop and logged into the computer at the office, calling up files from previous child slayings. He jotted down each child’s birthday and the date they were murdered.
He couldn’t believe what he discovered from the exercise. Each boy was murdered within thirty days of his twelfth birthday. He went into his kitchen and pulled the calendar off the wall. He opened the fridge and popped a can of Bud, reviewing the dates of the murders as he took a refreshing swig.
He sat there flabbergasted when he discovered that each murder had occurred on the night of the full moon just before each boy’s twelfth birthday. But why? Based on the general population in the NYC metro area, there may have been hundreds of boys reaching twelve who were not murdered. Why did the Tooth Fairy pick these boys to be his victims?
Clancy didn’t know what it all meant, but he was sure this was not a coincidence and must be relevant to the case.
The next day he went to the office and jotted down the blood types of the six victims on the same pad as the birthdays and the murder and full moon dates. The next full moon would be on November 16. If the Tooth Fairy followed his previous M.O., he would have almost a month to work on the case before the next kill.
He called Carl Blane, his favorite computer geek at the precinct, to compile a list of all boys in the surrounding boroughs that would reach the age of twelve within the next month. He hoped the list would be manageable so he could stop the Tooth Fairy on November 16.
Days passed and nothing surfaced except for Blane’s input. There were seventeen boys who would be twelve years old after November 16.
Unable to fall asleep, Clancy continued to mull over what the medical examiner had said. When he finally dozed off, he dreamed of the final scene in Rosemary’s Baby, but instead of Rosemary, he was the one who saw the spawn of Satan in the crib and screamed. This was getting embarrassing. Wet with perspiration, he looked at the clock on his nightstand. It was 4:00 a.m.
The nightmare had reminded him that he wanted to follow up on the list of blood types. The next day, he made an appointment to meet with the parents of the first victim.
Clancy took a seat on their sofa. The Madisons sat on the loveseat across from him.
“I’m sorry to bother you again,” Clancy began as he pulled out his notebook and extracted a pen from his shirt pocket. “The Tooth Fairy is still at large, but I believe we do have new evidence, which could lead to his arrest.”
Both parents looked hopeful, but their eyes revealed that apprehending the monster would not bring their son back.
“Can you tell me what blood type you both have?”
Delores Madison looked puzzled for a second and answered, “O negative.”
George Madison answered, “B positive.”
Clancy explained, “There are several characteristics shared by all six victims, and I am trying to see if any other similarities exist. Can either of you think of anything peculiar that happened around the time of conception or the time of your son’s birth?”
Delores answered this question immediately. “Why, yes. The peculiar thing was that I became pregnant with artificial insemination from a sperm donor. George and I tried for two years and went through every test imaginable without results. The conclusion was that George’s sperm count was too low to impregnate me. Brent was like a miracle to both of us. That’s what makes his death so disturbing and so hurtful.”
Clancy thought of Rosemary’s Baby and got up to leave.
“One more thing,” Clancy asked. “What was the doctor’s name who supplied the donor?”
“His name was Hans Leiber. He was the chief administrator at the Zydeco Clinic,” Delores replied.
“He was a strange bird, but totally dedicated to his work. The Zydeco Clinic came well recommended,” George added.
Clancy made a note and headed for the door. “You’ve been very helpful. I’ll be in touch if anything new surfaces.”
Back at the office, he began calling the parents of the other victims. All of them were under the care o
f Dr. Leiber at the Zydeco Clinic. All of them had received the same diagnosis of low sperm count from the husband. All had become pregnant by artificial insemination from a sperm donor. All six victims had the same blood type. Unbelievably, it was possible that all six boys, while having a different mother, could have the same father.
Clancy and his partner went to the clinic the next day. The receptionist informed them that Dr. Leiber was on a sabbatical and Fritz Thorn was now the chief administrator.
Dr. Thorn refused to release any confidential information without a court order.
Fortunately, the commissioner pulled some strings and a subpoena was issued. The records were secured from the Zydeco Clinic and taken back to headquarters for review. Three days later, it was confirmed that seven parents were treated by Dr. Leiber and successfully inseminated by a donor.
During the weeks that followed, Clancy was sure that the next victim of the Tooth Fairy would be Robert Craig, who would be twelve on November 26, ten days after the full moon.
On the morning of November 16, Clancy discovered a manila envelope on his desk. Inside, he found pictures of two corpses, each with a crucifix through his heart. The ghastly incisors were protruding from their lips, and their dead, open eyes looked like they were swimming in blood. Both bodies were laid out in a black suit in their own coffin, in what appeared to be loose dirt in some sort of warehouse. One of the pale corpses was Fritz Thorn, the man Clancy and Alexander had met at the clinic; the other he assumed was Hans Leiber, no longer on sabbatical, but dead.
A white piece of paper was enclosed in the envelope. Clancy’s hands trembled as he read the very small writing: “The beast will wake on November 26. Tonight, with the rising of the full moon, I must strike, and my mission will be over. No more monsters will be born. The future of all mankind depends on my success. Wish me well, and don’t interfere.”