The toothfairy goes about his round
|With one long finger, I peel back the boy's lips. He has good teeth; pearly white, smooth, even. I cock my head and delight in the little things in life. I pause - just for a moment - and let my finger slide along his tiny little milk teeth.
He grunts in his sleep and twists away from me. Annoyed, I pull back. But the boy settles again and breathes in a soft, breezy rhythm. He's beautiful. Well, his teeth are. Frankly I don't tend to look at them, the children. That would be rather sinister, don't you think?
I reach out once more, and part those rose-petal pink lips. I shift slightly, so as to be a little more on the mortal plane, and press just so. The incisor - deliciously sharp and feral under my finger - moves in a satisfying wiggle. I will come back again tomorrow night and apply a little more pressure - just so - and by the end of the week, I'll claim this little slither of bone for my own.
I suppress a small shiver of anticipation and run my tongue along my own imperfect, jagged teeth. A stray moonbeam catches me, and I know it'll light up my mouth as a blood-red gash across my otherwise white, skeletal face.
I sigh. I can almost taste the boy. He smells clean and warm and wholesome. I fight the impulse to finger his beautiful teeth one more time. Patience.
My next visit is to a teenage girl further along the same street. She stays up late so I loiter at her side, invisible in the fae realm, until she settles for the night. What bizarre creatures human are; all that rigmarole, undressing and redressing, just sleep. The woman-child shucks off her day clothes and pulls a long shirt over her budding breasts before climbing into her bed. I linger beside her, breathing in the scent of her. Unlike my little boy, she smells of suppressed sexuality and secrets and lies.
How perfectly fitting.
As her breaths become deeper and more relaxed, I lean over. She still wears blush and a smear of lipstick. Shifting across into her plane, I prise her lips open and stifle a moan. Her third molar, her wisdom tooth, in the lower right quadrant had indeed started to appear. Just as anticipated. I close my eyes and trace the wet trail from central incisor to lateral incisor. From cuspid to first and then second bicuspid. Across molars one, two, and the coy just-emerging three. I'm leaning right across my little seductress, my mouth almost grazing hers. I trail my finger back along her teeth, fighting the carnal urge to rip back her head and pull.
And pull. And pull. Pull until that glossy, provocative little molar is mine.
But I have other visits this night. And with reluctance, I ease back. Away from that coquettish tooth and silky mouth. I let my fingers brush against her lips before I leave. Promising us both that I will return on the morrow night.
My other visits are not so rewarding that night. A housewife, beaten and berated; her front two teeth knocked loose and bloody. I find her distasteful after my two innocent beauties. In fury I lash out and snatch both teeth from her. Pocketing them, I storm away to my final visit.
A dying old man in a hospital ward. I loathe and despise hospitals. Why humans should persist in delaying the inevitable baffles me. Still, death seems, please, forgive the expression, morbidly fascinating to the odd little creatures; and their shrines to the infirm and dying draw some fae like moths to the flickering flame. I pass a weary sandman and a winged dhampir, his face long and wicked. A journeyman yōkai, glittering under the ghastly florescence, trudges past; no doubt stealing both medicament and dreams.
The old man lay in a side-ward. Semi-privacy for the dying. Such is this modern world. Once this pitiful near-corpse would have been surrounded by family; children and grandchildren circled around his deathbed. I sniffed. The scent of death wafts close and from the corner of my eye I see sprites in the nether-realm leaning in.
Well, they would have to wait a little longer. Tonight he is mine.
I tilt his head back and dug my fingers in - no finesse for this one. The dying often see into other planes and I had spent rather too much time with my delicious boy and sensuous woman-child. I yank at his upper left canine and pull it free. The old man yelps in pain and thrashes under my hands.
"Hold still," I snarl and thrust him back into his pillows. I leave him, screaming for the nurse.
The catch for the night falls in at a mere three; the beaten housewife's two incisors and the old man's canine. Part of me glowers; such meagre takings. And yet... I lean back and bask in the soothing glow of knowledge. My little boy is coming along nicely; in a sennight that tiny slither of lust will sit coolly in my hand. I close my eyes and envision the moment I pluck the boy's tooth from his rose-bud mouth. I linger over his rosy face and breathe in his scent.
I let my mind wonder; and I'm back with my woman-child. Her sleeping form rustling under the covers and me straddled across her, peering deep into her hot mouth.
That molar won't be mine for years; not unless it grows too big for that tight, taunt little mouth, but that's okay. I'll bide my time. Wait and watch it bud; breaking through the scarlet flesh. My tongue flickers along my lips and passes over my own teeth. The milk-tooth incisor will fit so nicely between the housewife's broken front teeth. A teeny-tiny pebble between her nasty broken mountains. I'll find space for the old man's canine, probably by pulling out one of last week's - I've a sizeable from a boxer and it doesn't fit well. I twist my head, feeling the bones crunch and click in my neck. That sinful molar though, I'll save a space for that one.
No matter how long I have to wait.
Prompt: Teeth horror
Word Count: 1033
Daily Winner 18th January 2018