The Tooth Collector (and Other Tales of Terror) Page 3

  Cynthia huddled in the cage. Dirty shelves, covered in old dust and cobwebs, loomed over her as she peered through the bars. In each jar was a different set of teeth. She considered counting the jars, but the crackling of the fireplace drew her attention.

  Little embers popped from the logs and turned to ash when they hit the cool air. The flames danced to one side, and she noticed two black eye sockets staring at her from the fire. A draft stirred the flames again, and she saw the rest of the skull, smiling at her from the blazing pit.

  The table before the fireplace was nothing more than a wooden slat atop a box-like frame, sitting low to the ground. A wet rag sat in a crimson stain on the table. Next to the stain sat a bloody saw. Morsels of flesh still clung to the sharp teeth of the saw. Cynthia shuddered. So that's how he disposed of his victims.

  Her eyes panned to the table on her left. Chains and ropes hung from the dirty wooden surface. Beside it, a tall, narrow table gleamed with metal instruments. She trembled. Would Cynthia end up on that table? She knew this was a nightmare, but somehow, she felt there was more at stake than just having a bad dream.

  “Your time has come.” Cynthia looked up, expecting to see the tall, sinister man from her dreams. Instead, she was greeted by the glittering red eyes of the cloaked figure, staring down at her through the darkness of the hood.

  The dark entity unlocked the cage and seized Cynthia's wrists in its cold, bony fingers. It yanked her through the cell door, pulling her across the dusty floor. Her flailing limbs kicked up dirt as she struggled against its stone grip.

  She was released. Her wrists throbbed where the circulation had been blocked. She scrambled to her knees, looking up at the lost soul in the dark, billowing robes. “For every joy there is a sorrow. Sacrifices must be made. That's what you tell me in my dreams.”

  The dark figure said nothing. It was motionless aside from the swirling aura of misery that surrounded it, filling Cynthia's heart with dread.

  “You bring me the joy of returning Kya to the world,” she touched her stomach and realized she was not pregnant in the dream. She didn't like the feeling of her empty abdomen and frowned, but continued. “So what is the sacrifice?” Her voice began to shake, eyes wet. “Am I going to die?” It was frightening to put what had been plaguing her into words. The pregnancy had been so rough. She was always ill. And now she was losing so much blood...

  The cloaked figure reached behind its back and produced a large scythe that materialized out of the shadows that swirled around its presence. The dark power that pulsated like a force field of wickedness around the stranger seemed to spread through the atmosphere like toxic gas. The toothless, red-eyed face leaned forward. Its ghoulish nose poked from the shadows. “For every joy there is a sorrow. For every good deed, a dark one. And for every soul I resurrect, one must be taken.” The blade of the scythe caught the firelight.

  “Must it be mine?” She was desperate now, pleading. “Every night you show me the sins of your mortal life. You paint a picture of the monster you once were. But that's not who you are... not any more. Your soul wants to rest.”

  The creature's robes whipped around as the wind picked up speed. Its eyes glowed even brighter. Misery poured from its heart, filling the room.

  “My friend Jenny says no good deed is done without a motive. I think she's right. You have a motive in resurrecting a child. A brand new set of baby teeth will await you. But there's no motive in sparing me. I have nothing to offer you.”

  The floorboards shook beneath her knees as its thunderous voice filled her mind. “There must be a death! A sacrifice from the child's own bloodline!” He raised the scythe high over her head with both arms.

  “Wait!” she screamed. “You cannot take a tooth unless it's offered to you, is that right?” The cloaked figure hovered there, perfectly still, with the blade held over her head, its pointed tip angled toward the center of her skull. “What good will it do you, then... to bring her back, if you're not guaranteed a single tooth from her head?” Sweat dripped down her face. Her blue eyes shined with a devious thought. “I can promise you every last tooth in her mouth. I will offer them to you, willingly. Just hear me out. This sacrifice you require must be of Cynthia's bloodline?”

  The tooth collector said nothing. Its hands shook in the air, rattling the scythe. The air around it spiraled into chaos.

  “Her father deserves to die at the tip of that blade. Not me. Not the one who loves her.” The dark soul continued floating with the blade aimed at Cynthia.

  After a moment, it lowered the weapon. The cyclone of energy that swirled around it faded to an ominous wind. It leaned forward, out of the hood, and Cynthia could see its pale, withered lips and long, cadaverous nose. The skin was alabaster white and clung to the bone so tightly that its face looked skeletal.

  “We must summon him to this world. Think of him,” the soul growled.

  Cynthia did. She thought of all the good times they had together, of how she hated him for leaving without so much as a goodbye. She thought of all the birthdays he had missed. She hated him for walking out of her life, but most of all for abandoning Kya.

  The atmosphere began to pulsate around her. A dark force pushed outward from Cynthia's broken heart, spreading to the far corners of the room. The air was alive with energy. It danced in waves, gathering speed until a cyclone formed before the fireplace, spinning out of control. The center of the tiny tornado grew darker, larger, and then... he was there.

  His dark brown eyes grew wide with fear as he appeared in the circling wind. He was older than she remembered. Wrinkles had formed on his forehead and at the corners of his eyes. The youthful glow had faded from his skin.

  The dark figure approached him, hovering above the floorboards. Its robes dragged along the dirty ground, leaving a trail in the dust. The fire crackled. The bones within it shifted. The skull's mouth fell open in a silent scream. Recognition dawned on the blonde man before the fire as his brown eyes locked on Cynthia.

  “Cynthia?” He looked to the cloaked figure, then back to her. “Cynthia, what's going on?”

  “For every joy there is a sorrow. You are the sacrifice!”

  The blade of the scythe came down on his skull with a loud crack. His eyes turned white as they rolled back in his head. A gurgling noise escaped his throat, and he coughed, dribbling blood over his lips.

  The tooth collector yanked its blade from the man's skull. Another blow punctured the temple with a wet pop. The lost soul turned its eyes to Cynthia, two rubies floating in a black abyss.

  She woke up with Jason's fingers tucked in between her own. He smiled with his mouth closed and gently squeezed her hand. “Nurse, she's awake,” he said.

  Cynthia's pulse quickened as she came to. Her eyes were panicked. “Is she... is she...”

  “She's beautiful,” Jason replied.

  Cynthia's heart swelled. Her eyes filled with tears. “Where is she?”

  A nurse appeared beside the bed. She cradled an infant, swaddled in a pink blanket. Wispy locks of orange hair covered the newborn's head. Cynthia opened her arms. “May I have her?”

  The nurse smiled. “Of course.”

  Cynthia took the baby in her arms. The emerald green eyes stared up at her, and she fell in love with them all over again. “I'll call her Mya,” she said, and kissed the baby's head.

  Blood On The Highway

  Snowflakes swirled in the headlights. They shined like white crystals in the high beams before dissolving against the windshield. Flake after tiny white flake. It was all Emily had seen for hours.

  The wipers ran at full speed, smearing snow across the glass. She closed her eyes, but the snowflakes kept coming. She saw them in her head, an endless stream of icy diamonds, the wipers going back and forth, back and forth.

  Tim was at the wheel. His face hadn't changed in three hours. Determination creased his brow, and Emily wondered if it would freeze that way. She stifled a laugh as she pictured him literally frozen from the frig
id climate, the same look of perseverance in his eye.

  She leaned her head against the seat and sighed. The melody to Jingle Bells had been stuck in her head for hours. There was nothing to block it out but the whir of the car heater and the beating of those relentless windshield wipers. She had tried the radio, but Tim had turned it off and said “Em, I need to concentrate on the road.”

  God, she hated Jingle Bells. She hated this vacation. She needed to see something, anything, besides the moonlit wintry highway, blurred by a veil of ever-falling snow—or she would go mad.

  “Are you sure we didn't take a wrong turn?” she asked.

  Tim glanced sideways without turning his head, leering at her through the corner of his eye. “Are you serious? Have you been paying attention? How many turns have we even made since exiting the interstate, Em?”

  “Um, I don't—”

  “Two.” He gritted his teeth. “Two turns in an hour. Hard to mess that up.”

  “Okay, okay, I was just—”

  “You were texting, reading, and discussing movies with Roger Ebert back there—” He angled his thumb to point over his shoulder.

  “Witty,” a voice chimed from the backseat.

  “—while I've been chauffeuring you two around.” Tim looked at her. A frown pulled at the corners of his mouth. It marred the beauty of his broad, shaven chin and high cheek bones. “And now that you're tired, grumpy, and sick of being in the car, you've started making stupid accusations.”

  “Woah, dude. Ease up,” Eric said. Tim eyed his brother in the rear-view mirror, listening. “Where's your holiday spirit? She just asked a simple question. I mean, how long does it take to get to this place anyway, man?”

  Tim moved his jaw around nervously. Emily heard his teeth grind together. “It takes three hours, man.” He emphasized the word “man”, mocking his younger brother's tone. “The resort is an hour drive up the mountain after exiting the interstate. An hour if you're traveling the speed limit, that is. I can't see anything in this damn blizzard, so we've been traveling at fifteen below the limit. And I didn't take a wrong turn. Sit tight and we'll be there soon.”

  Tim was on the defensive. Taking a trip to the middle of nowhere had been his idea, a “Christmas getaway” he had said. His cold blue eyes were fixed on the highway, foot steady on the gas pedal. The long drive was making everyone feel restless and stir crazy, and Emily longed to see the silhouette of the ski resort on the snowy horizon.

  She eyed Tim thoughtfully. Things hadn't been the same since he found out she was pregnant. He'd grown callous, a shell of a person, barely acknowledging her presence when she tried to make him laugh, or turn him on. He responded to the news of a baby as if it were a crisis—making plans, preparing himself, thinking. He wore a path in the rug from pacing back and forth during the two and a half weeks they were expecting.

  She sensed happiness in his voice when she told him about the miscarriage. “Oh, honey...” he had said. “Are you very upset?”

  What kind of a question was that? Of course she was upset! She was devastated. And he would feel the same crushing sadness if he cared about the baby at all. That's when Emily realized. He'd never wanted the baby. Maybe if the life inside her had blossomed, made it to full term, Tim would have grown to love it. But Emily lost the embryo at eight weeks of life, and she could swear—though she hated to admit it—Tim had breathed a sigh of relief when she told him.

  “Are we there yet?” Eric leaned forward from the backseat, doing his best impersonation of an impatient child. He gripped the driver's seat headrest and drummed his fingers on the leather. He was testing Tim's patience, which was nothing but a threadbare strand. They were brothers, with the same icy blue eyes and dark hair, but their personalities were like night and day. Tim was disappointed that the vacation he'd planned was turning into a nightmare, and Eric was passing the time the only way he knew how: by poking fun at his brother's discomfort. Mere inches from Tim's ear, he said, “What do ya think, bro? How much longer you holding us hostage in this car?”

  Despite Eric's immaturity, Emily couldn't fight the corners of her mouth as they curled into a smile. “Eric, cut it out,” Tim said as he turned to punch his brother's hand from the back of his headrest.

  Suddenly the endless sky full of snow flurries and stars disappeared behind a large white blur that darted in front of the Jeep. White, furry, enormous. Tim couldn't see the highway past the hulking figure that stood, frozen like a deer in the headlights.

  Tim slammed the brakes. The animal's eyes glowed red in the headlights before it finally turned and tried to run away. But it was too late. The tires squealed, and Emily screamed. They were skidding, crashing, the metal frame crunching inward. Glass splinters flew into the air, mixed with the falling snowflakes.

  Something soft supported Emily's head as the force of the crash sent her forward. The air bag. She couldn't see past it and her pulse quickened as she started to feel smothered. She pushed it away from her face, trying to see if Tim was all right. The smell of burnt rubber hung in the air. The engine hissed and her heartbeat pounded in her ears.

  The airbags began to deflate. “Emily, are you okay?” It was Eric. Emily turned her head. A sharp pain tore through her neck and shoulders as she did.

  “Yes, I'm all right,” she answered.

  Eric looked dazed. He rubbed the back of his skull with his palm. “Ow,” he said. “Some fuckin' Christmas, huh?”

  They both looked at Tim, who was in the driver's seat, staring blankly through a jagged hole in the windshield. His air bag hung, deflated, in his lap. His white-knuckled fingers gripped the steering wheel, still squeezing it tight. His hands trembled with fear. A shard of glass between his knuckles formed a thin trail of blood. It drizzled down his hand onto his pants.

  The car was parked horizontally across the right shoulder lane, facing the woods. Moments before impact, Tim had turned the steering wheel, but whatever they hit—some kind of animal—it was solid enough to smash the front left side of the hood and warp the metal on the entire driver's side. Tim stared into the dark forest, motionless.

  “Tim?” Emily put her hand on his forearm. “Tim? Are you okay?”

  “What the hell was that thing?” Tim's voice was low, the words muttered, as if talking to himself. He turned to Emily, eyes wide.

  Emily had seen an animal, but she didn't know what kind. The fur was soft and white like a polar bear, but it walked on two feet like an ape. The hair around its face was long, blowing in the wind. And its eyes. She could picture them, glowing in the headlights. Shining an eerie red.

  Tim tried his door. It wouldn't open. The metal frame was bent inward near the latch. Tim leaned his shoulder into it, pushing until the door creaked open in a chorus of protesting metal parts. He stumbled from the car, disappearing around the side.

  Emily's door opened without a fight, and she followed him into the frosty night. A gust of wind stole her breath, so cold it stung her cheeks. It carried her breath away in white, cloudy streams as she made her way around the car.

  Tim stood over the animal... the beast. It wasn't much taller than a man, but its body was packed with muscle from head to toe. Huge biceps and thighs bulged from under its thick, white fur. Its wide nostrils sloped into a snout that reminded Emily of a gorilla. Each finger ended in a jagged, yellow claw, and a bushy tail poked out from underneath its lifeless body.

  Emily cringed as she drew closer. Broken bones tore through its skin, jutting from the rib cage, arm, and legs at odd angles. A pool of blood gathered in the snow beneath the beast, leaking from the deep, gory wounds that lay open throughout its matted fur. Muscle tissue and veins dangled from the wounds, dripping blood. Snow melted as it hit the creature's still-warm flesh, adding to the sloppy mess.