Teeth

The dentist’s chair was occupied by a fairy. “You don’t see that often,” the dentist said. “Any special kind of fairy?” He rather suspected something.

“Mmmmm,” the fairy said. She found it hard to articulate with a metal hook and a blood vacuum in her mouth.

“Spit,” the dentist said.

The fairy spat the neatest stream you ever saw into the small basin.

“Excellent set of teeth,” the dentist said after she had got up, “but I refuse to believe in tooth fairies.”

The fairy said nothing, but in reply stuck a hand in her apron. A fist came out, and, held in the air, started to release a steady trickle of teeth. The trickle became a stream, the stream a torrent.

“My my,” the dentist said.

“Oh boy.”

The teeth kept coming. At first they were just many, then you could hardly see the linoleum any more, and before you knew it you were standing ankle deep in them. There must have been millions of teeth! The dentist started to get nervous.

“That is quite enough,” he said.

And then: “Whoa, stop!”

But the fairy did not respond, and suddenly the teeth reached his waist. The dentist tried to wade to the door but slipped on something and fell into the sea of teeth, and almost drowned.

This is what his assistant saw when she entered the room, an old man lying in the dust, gasping for air.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.