As a dentist in the small, quiet town of Calmhaven, I was known as Dr. Harold Bartley, or “Dr. B” for short. My life revolved around the familiar, the routine; patients came and went, bearing the usual mix of cavities, gum issues, and general oral hygiene problems. My job was straightforward - provide the best care and keep my patients smiling.
But everything changed. It started subtly, a small ripple in the otherwise serene pond of my existence. One morning, my fingertips brushed against something hard under my pillow. I pulled out a tooth, a molar, surprisingly fresh and still tinged with a hint of blood.
What struck me the most was the recognition. I had seen this tooth before; I had held it between my gloved fingers just the day before as I extracted it from Mrs. Peterson. The feeling of confusion was quickly replaced by unease. Was this a prank? But who would pull such an unsettling joke?
In the days that followed, it became painfully clear that this was no prank. Teeth began appearing under my pillow every morning, each one I had pulled from a patient the previous day. The phenomenon was eerie, unexplainable, and the reality of it hung over me like a dark cloud.
Just when I thought things couldn’t get any weirder, the notes started appearing. Tiny, crumpled pieces of paper accompanying the teeth, each bearing a message that sent shivers down my spine. “Keep what’s not yours, and lose what’s dear.” It was a threat, a warning.
A growing sense of dread clung to me as I navigated my daily routines. The once familiar and comforting clinic felt different, the tools of my trade became objects of terror, and the teeth, oh, the teeth were no longer just teeth.
My sleep was marred by nightmares, my waking hours haunted by the phantom threat. The cheerful, approachable Dr. B was now a man living on the edge, fear and anxiety seeping into my every pore. How could I explain my predicament? Would anyone even believe me? The town’s beloved dentist haunted by a vengeful tooth fairy? It sounded ludicrous even to me.
In my desperate attempts to make sense of the nonsensical, I decided to confront my fears. The next tooth I extracted - from a Mrs. Mulligan - was willingly placed under my pillow. I steeled myself for the inevitable morning discovery, the terror that came with it.
That night, my dreams were invaded by faces of my patients, their mouths wide open, revealing empty gums, their teeth stolen by an unseen menace. I awoke with a start, sweat drenching my sheets, heart pounding like a drum. My hand slid under the pillow, and as expected, there was Mrs. Mulligan’s tooth, a chilling testament to the reality of my waking nightmare. Alongside the tooth was a new note: “Tick-tock, Dr. B. Time to return what’s not meant to be.”
The threat felt more real than ever. I was no longer just a passive recipient. I was now actively engaging with this terror, inviting it into my personal space. And it scared me more than I’d like to admit. But I was also determined. I had to get to the bottom of this.
The evening sun cast long shadows across Calmhaven as I pondered over my next move. The once peaceful town now seemed ominous, each ticking clock a grim reminder of the time slipping through my fingers. It was time to confront my tormentor, time to face the tooth fairy’s grudge.
By nightfall, I was in my bedroom, an incisor I’d extracted from a jovial elderly man, Mr. Hughes, clenched in my hand. With a deep breath, I placed the tooth under my pillow and waited. The hours slipped by, each minute stretching into eternity as I listened to the rhythm of the night.
Suddenly, a cold sensation woke me. My heart pounded against my chest as I reached under the pillow. The tooth, another tooth. This time, a note accompanied it, “Tonight’s the night, doc. Do you dare?”
The thinly veiled threat sent a shiver down my spine, a chill that the break of dawn did nothing to dissipate. As I splashed water onto my face, my reflection in the mirror appeared more haggard, the strain of the ordeal evident in my eyes.
Outside, Calmhaven was coming alive, oblivious of the terror that gripped its dentist. My life was unraveling, pulled apart by the threads of an unexplained phenomenon, each tooth an eerie reminder of my nightmare. But today was the day I decided to confront my fear, to find out who - or what - was causing this. As unnerving as it was, I knew there was no turning back.
As the sun descended, surrendering to the dominion of the night, my resolve solidified. Fear was replaced by a newfound determination. I knew I had to face this head-on, regardless of what lay in wait for me.
That evening, I held Mr. Hughes’ incisor in my palm, turning it over, observing it under the dying light. It was just a tooth, something I had seen and handled countless times. But now, it held a more sinister significance. It was a symbol of my unnamed terror, an entry ticket to a nightmare that had bled into my reality.
With a heavy heart, I placed the tooth under my pillow. The waiting was agonizing. Every tick of the clock, every sound in the dead of the night felt amplified, each one a potential harbinger of my impending terror. I had to remind myself to breathe as I lay rigid in my bed, my ears straining to pick up any out-of-place sound.
And then, it happened. A cold, nearly bone-chilling sensation slid beneath my pillow. It was as if an icy breeze had swept through my room, a spectral visitor marking its presence. My heart pounded in my chest, a staccato drumming that seemed to echo in the silence.
I reached under the pillow, my fingers closing around the familiar hardness of the tooth and the crumpled paper. The message was stark, a challenge, a final call, “End it or be ended, Doc.”
As fear and anticipation coursed through my veins, I sat up, my eyes scanning the moonlit room. The camera I had set up was still rolling, capturing every agonizing second of this ordeal. But it offered no insight into my phantom tormentor. A creeping sense of despair washed over me. Was I losing my mind? Was the tormentor within me?
With the break of dawn, the town of Calmhaven stirred from its sleep. But sleep had eluded me. My reflection stared back at me from the mirror, a man torn between fear and determination. I looked at the tooth on the sink, the inanimate object that had brought so much dread into my life.
As the day unfolded, I found myself at the edge, teetering between terror and sanity. I knew I had to act. My life, my sanity depended on it. I took a deep breath, the tooth clutched in my hand.
As the evening fell, a plan formed in my mind. I decided to stay awake, to confront my tormentor, to bring an end to this torment. I set up more cameras around my room, covering every possible angle. If something or someone was invading my space, I would have it on tape.
Night fell like a heavy shroud. Calmhaven descended into silence, the tranquillity of the small town a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside me. I lay in my bed, the tooth under my pillow, and waited.
The hours slipped by, a silent vigil in the dead of the night. My eyes felt heavy, but fear kept me awake. And then, I felt it. A wave of coldness swept through the room, making my hair stand on end. A faint rustling sound echoed, coming from right beneath my pillow.
The time had come.
I switched on the lights. The room was empty. I was alone, or so it seemed. I looked at the camera feed, but it showed nothing. Was my mind playing tricks on me? I decided to investigate further.
I grabbed a flashlight and ventured into the attic. A wave of cold air hit me. It was colder than it should’ve been. I flashed the light around, and there they were - rows upon rows of teeth, my teeth, the ones I had extracted over the years. They were displayed like trophies, the ghastly sight sending chills down my spine.
The reality hit me hard. My tormentor wasn’t an invisible phantom; it was very real and living amongst us. I had to tell someone, show them the horrifying sight. But just as I turned to leave, something caught my eye - a figure standing at the edge of the flashlight’s beam. A being cloaked in darkness, its face obscured, but in its hands, it held a tooth, gleaming ominously under the feeble light.
“Who are you?” I stammered, my voice barely a whisper.
Its response was a low growl, a sound that curdled my blood. The next moment, the figure lunged towards me. I dodged, heart pounding, but tripped over the displayed teeth. As I fell, a searing pain ripped through me. The figure had gone, leaving behind a deep, bloody scratch.
I woke up to the sound of voices. My eyes fluttered open, taking in the sterile white surroundings. I was in the hospital, bandaged, and in pain. As I tried to sit up, the previous night’s memories rushed back. The teeth, the figure, the attack, it all felt too real to be a nightmare.
The sheriff was there, his face a grim mask. They had found me unconscious in my attic, surrounded by teeth, my own flesh ripped open. The sight had horrified them, he admitted. I tried to explain, tell them about the figure, but they dismissed it as a result of my trauma.
Days turned into weeks. As my wounds healed, my tormentor seemed to have disappeared. But the fear, the memory of that night, it remained, etched deep within me. I couldn’t help but feel watched, haunted, like the eye of the storm had passed, but the tempest was far from over.
I left Calmhaven, leaving behind my practice, my home, my nightmare. I could no longer be Dr. B, the dentist. But the memories, they followed me. The tooth fairy’s grudge, it seemed, was far from settled.
And every night, as I lie in my bed, the fear of finding another tooth under my pillow keeps me awake. It’s a fear that’s become my constant companion, a chilling reminder of the phantom threat that still lurks in the shadows of my life.