Bogleech.com's 2015 Horror Write-off:
" The Boxes: Tooth Fairy "
Submitted by Sam Miller (samuel.wr.miller@gmail.com)
I am sitting in a waiting room. The floor is a terrible tacky carpet. The ceiling is also a terrible tacky carpet. Similarly, the walls are terrible tacky carpet. All surfaces are covered with terrible tacky carpet. I don’t think dentist’s offices are supposed to look like this. Well, I haven’t been to the dentist’s in a while, maybe this is just a new look? Who knows.
Sitting next to my chair are some magazines. The covers are very… indistinct and strange. I don’t think I’ve ever seen any magazines like these ones. One of them has nothing but a chair and the word “chairs!” on it. I open it, only to find out that it’s nothing but pictures of chairs. Other magazines have covers of nothing but words, completely blank white colors, strange patterns, and one of them has what looks like a semi-deflated balloon with a face doodled on it on the cover. Waiting rooms always have weird magazines in them, but normally I know about them at the very least.
I look up from a strange magazine where are the pages are just badly-resized images of monkeys to see the others in the waiting room. This sure isn’t a normal dentist. None of the other inhabitants of the room with the incredibly bad choice of carpet look even remotely human. Some of them are humanoid in silhouette but not in the slightest in features, some the other way around. One of them looks like nothing more than a pile of rotting gunk with a perfectly pristine white mask, another seems to be made of metal wire and cockroaches. Do some of these things even have teeth? As I am staring at these creatures in both vague disgust and disbelief, I hear my name called out by some person. Her voice sounds normal enough, but as I get up and go to the door I see a nurse with a head of teeth. She has no eyes. She has no ears, no nose. Her skin is veiny, red, and wet. Her teeth are a smooth and pale ivory, her gums are bright pink. She wears a white uniform decorated with red emblems of teeth. She grabs my wrist and pulls me into the hall to go to my dentist.
We pass by and go through corners, tunnels, doorways, windows, gates, chambers, and innumerable halls. We pass by similarly denture-headed nurses walking strange things back to the waiting room. Eventually we find a door marked with a green tooth. The nurse opens the door and ushers me into it. I try to ask her some questions and she just puts a gloved hand to her gigantic toothy head and splutters out something that could be compared to a shush.
There is a chair. Standing next to the chair is a dentist, with a toothy cranium similar to the nurse, but wearing a blue uniform. Sitting on the chair is a machine of wires and spikes and whirring things and scalpels and mirrors and scooping spoons and metal plates and iron clamps and gloved hands. Sitting next to it is a table with even more syringes and tubes and knives, oh so many knives.
The denture dentist gestures me towards the chair.
“Hello, my friend,” the dentist chatters out, “If you could please sit down in the chair, we can begin the procedure,”. I’m fairly certain the dentist has some mockery of a german accent.
“Oh hell no. What are you gonna do to me?” I blurt out at the toothy tooth doctor.
“Well, we are simply going to remove your excess teeth! We don’t want you to have to deal with the tooth fairy, do we?”
“What?! No! The tooth fairy!? What do you even mean? I am not ever going to let you remove any of teeth, there is a perfect amount in there!”
The denture-head gasps and somehow shows signs of anxiety and surprise, as the dentist responds, taken aback “But there isn’t. If you would rather not have us give you the correct amount of teeth, we must have you leave now. That is, unless you change your mind and wish to have your teeth readjusted,”
“No. I am not changing my mind”
“Well, now you must leave” the dentist retorts in a very quick manner and waves me to the door. The nurse pushes me out and then quickly slams the entrance. Through the shut door I can hear the dentist shout “And remember to keep your teeth squeaky clean!”. I am alone in the tunnels of incredibly tacky carpeting.
I try to find the waiting room. I can hear speaking. I can hear footsteps. I try to find the nurses and the patients that they come from but I can never find them. I crawl through the circular tunnels, the halls of brightly colored carpet, the endless hallways and innumerable chambers of the maze-like dentistry establishment.
I can hear something around me. I can hear scratching. I can hear the gnashing of teeth. I feel as though I am being watched yet not seen. As if I am being tasted. I can hear the clicking sound of needle on needle. I can hear the gnashing and clacking of teeth.
I turn a corner. There is a thing. It is the first thing I have seen in a long while. It is floating. It is humanoid. Its skin is the same vomit-inducing carpeting as the floors and walls and ceilings. I walk up to it and go to tap it on the shoulder, but it quickly swivels around, almost like it is on an axis, to face me. Its mouth is filled with teeth of many sorts, constantly gnashing. Its eyes are smaller mouths filled with teeth of many sorts, constantly gnashing. It's thin and fragile hands and fingers are tipped with metallic dentistry tools, ranging from syringes to spiral drills. It edges towards me with no movement of the body. I edge away from it. It reaches up a hand, middle finger pointing towards me, tipped with a whirring drill. I run away from the floating thing.
It chases me through the endless hallways. I can hear its whirring and gnashing and clacking and clanking. I can hear its silence.
I hit a dead end. The floating creature has me cornered. It grabs my head with its left tool-tipped hand, and with its other it forces and cuts out all of my teeth. During the entire forceful operation, the three mouths of the floating beast continue clicking and clacking and gnashing. It doesn’t even respond to any of my violent and rebellious squirming, and continues on forcefully removing all of my teeth.
I wake up in a disgusting and dirty alleyway. My clothing is caked with blood and dirt. How long have I been here? My face feels stiff and weak. I feel my mouth. I have no teeth.
Sitting next to my chair are some magazines. The covers are very… indistinct and strange. I don’t think I’ve ever seen any magazines like these ones. One of them has nothing but a chair and the word “chairs!” on it. I open it, only to find out that it’s nothing but pictures of chairs. Other magazines have covers of nothing but words, completely blank white colors, strange patterns, and one of them has what looks like a semi-deflated balloon with a face doodled on it on the cover. Waiting rooms always have weird magazines in them, but normally I know about them at the very least.
I look up from a strange magazine where are the pages are just badly-resized images of monkeys to see the others in the waiting room. This sure isn’t a normal dentist. None of the other inhabitants of the room with the incredibly bad choice of carpet look even remotely human. Some of them are humanoid in silhouette but not in the slightest in features, some the other way around. One of them looks like nothing more than a pile of rotting gunk with a perfectly pristine white mask, another seems to be made of metal wire and cockroaches. Do some of these things even have teeth? As I am staring at these creatures in both vague disgust and disbelief, I hear my name called out by some person. Her voice sounds normal enough, but as I get up and go to the door I see a nurse with a head of teeth. She has no eyes. She has no ears, no nose. Her skin is veiny, red, and wet. Her teeth are a smooth and pale ivory, her gums are bright pink. She wears a white uniform decorated with red emblems of teeth. She grabs my wrist and pulls me into the hall to go to my dentist.
We pass by and go through corners, tunnels, doorways, windows, gates, chambers, and innumerable halls. We pass by similarly denture-headed nurses walking strange things back to the waiting room. Eventually we find a door marked with a green tooth. The nurse opens the door and ushers me into it. I try to ask her some questions and she just puts a gloved hand to her gigantic toothy head and splutters out something that could be compared to a shush.
There is a chair. Standing next to the chair is a dentist, with a toothy cranium similar to the nurse, but wearing a blue uniform. Sitting on the chair is a machine of wires and spikes and whirring things and scalpels and mirrors and scooping spoons and metal plates and iron clamps and gloved hands. Sitting next to it is a table with even more syringes and tubes and knives, oh so many knives.
The denture dentist gestures me towards the chair.
“Hello, my friend,” the dentist chatters out, “If you could please sit down in the chair, we can begin the procedure,”. I’m fairly certain the dentist has some mockery of a german accent.
“Oh hell no. What are you gonna do to me?” I blurt out at the toothy tooth doctor.
“Well, we are simply going to remove your excess teeth! We don’t want you to have to deal with the tooth fairy, do we?”
“What?! No! The tooth fairy!? What do you even mean? I am not ever going to let you remove any of teeth, there is a perfect amount in there!”
The denture-head gasps and somehow shows signs of anxiety and surprise, as the dentist responds, taken aback “But there isn’t. If you would rather not have us give you the correct amount of teeth, we must have you leave now. That is, unless you change your mind and wish to have your teeth readjusted,”
“No. I am not changing my mind”
“Well, now you must leave” the dentist retorts in a very quick manner and waves me to the door. The nurse pushes me out and then quickly slams the entrance. Through the shut door I can hear the dentist shout “And remember to keep your teeth squeaky clean!”. I am alone in the tunnels of incredibly tacky carpeting.
I try to find the waiting room. I can hear speaking. I can hear footsteps. I try to find the nurses and the patients that they come from but I can never find them. I crawl through the circular tunnels, the halls of brightly colored carpet, the endless hallways and innumerable chambers of the maze-like dentistry establishment.
I can hear something around me. I can hear scratching. I can hear the gnashing of teeth. I feel as though I am being watched yet not seen. As if I am being tasted. I can hear the clicking sound of needle on needle. I can hear the gnashing and clacking of teeth.
I turn a corner. There is a thing. It is the first thing I have seen in a long while. It is floating. It is humanoid. Its skin is the same vomit-inducing carpeting as the floors and walls and ceilings. I walk up to it and go to tap it on the shoulder, but it quickly swivels around, almost like it is on an axis, to face me. Its mouth is filled with teeth of many sorts, constantly gnashing. Its eyes are smaller mouths filled with teeth of many sorts, constantly gnashing. It's thin and fragile hands and fingers are tipped with metallic dentistry tools, ranging from syringes to spiral drills. It edges towards me with no movement of the body. I edge away from it. It reaches up a hand, middle finger pointing towards me, tipped with a whirring drill. I run away from the floating thing.
It chases me through the endless hallways. I can hear its whirring and gnashing and clacking and clanking. I can hear its silence.
I hit a dead end. The floating creature has me cornered. It grabs my head with its left tool-tipped hand, and with its other it forces and cuts out all of my teeth. During the entire forceful operation, the three mouths of the floating beast continue clicking and clacking and gnashing. It doesn’t even respond to any of my violent and rebellious squirming, and continues on forcefully removing all of my teeth.
I wake up in a disgusting and dirty alleyway. My clothing is caked with blood and dirt. How long have I been here? My face feels stiff and weak. I feel my mouth. I have no teeth.