The Dentist
BY ANNA WALSH
The story began in a dark, small bedroom, on a narrow street, with a young man called Tom. Tom was angry at himself and wanted more than he would ever get in this life, wanted more than to live in this damp, moldy room. He resented his poor fortunes, caught between a miserly landlord, and a job that made his body ache. When Tom stood in the full light of day, examining himself, he saw nothing but the tinges of yellow under his eyes, his grey, chapped lips.
Recently, a dull ache had begun in his back teeth. It had started with momentary spasms, sudden, shocking pains that lasted the full bite of his cold, black carrots. As time went on, the spasms became more frequent, and at night he tested his limits, pushing his tongue hard against his teeth, each time shocking himself, as though pain were an entirely new concept.
He tried to deal with it as best he could. He chewed cloves in work. He tried tying string to the door. He considered drinking a bottle of whiskey and whacking his head against a wall. The only dentist he knew of charged extortionately. He was nicknamed Red, christened so after the blood he spilled, in purportedly copious amounts.
Some weeks later, Tom stood in the kitchen, holding the side of his face in pain. His landlord, Maud, bustled in, holding a large steel pot of stew, and looked at him sharply.
“What’s the matter with you?”
“Toothache. Riddled with it.”
Maud rolled her eyes.
“Yous lads can’t handle a bloody thing, fuck sake. Pull it out!”
“I can’t! I tried, but I couldn’t get back far enough to-ow!”
She grabbed the side of his face roughly, feeling the back of his jaw.
“Open your gob.”
He obeyed, and she grimaced.
“Jesus lad it’s a cesspit in there. Are you not able to clean your teeth at all? The back is all covered in old blood and white stuff.”
“I do! It’s just so sore lately that –”
“Christ. This won’t fix itself. You’ll have to go see someone.”
“I can’t! I can’t afford it and – I just can’t!”
“I wonder....”
She folded her arms.
“My sister’s husband’s sister knew a fella before; he went to this chap across town... Worked out so he didn’t have to pay half of what you’d pay Red up the road.”
Tom thought of Red running his hands through his hair, brandishing rusty equipment and grinning, exposing pink gums, and too white teeth.
“Oh?”
“Yes. I’ll ask them during the week when I see them. Can’t have you dying of something stupid in that lovely room of mine, you never can get the smell of death out of a place.”
Tom felt as though this was meant to be reassuring. He nodded in agreement, holding his jaw.
A week of increasing pain later, Tom woke up and found an envelope with his name on it, in big block capitals, shoved under the door. He was late for work, and stuffed the envelope into his trouser pocket, quickly swilling dirty water from the bathroom sink around his mouth. After his shift, Tom sat. Gulping half his pint, his name swam before him as he examined the front of the envelope. He tore it open, unfolding a large sheaf of paper. On one side there was what appeared to be a rough diagram, on the other, some scribbled instructions.
TOM
Go to the top of the street
Left, till Mrs Reilly’s (you’ll know it, all the cats)
Up the bit of road
Down the right till Pa’s house (no cats at all)
Past the old school, follow to the park.
Posh looking house, steel knocker
Knock after 6, three times.
The dentist does take some money off. Tell him a bit of a story.
Tom felt a little dizzy, reading the instructions again. There was no sign-off at the end. He flipped the page over and looked at the crudely drawn map, wiping beer from his lip. The map was no more intelligible the second, or third time he studied it. He decided the whole thing was a wind-up, resolving to look for a second job.
The next day, he woke exhausted. He’d been having the same dream every night since the pain began. In the dream, he rises, in prime health, his toothache having never existed. He pays social calls, goes to work, goes to the shop. Over the course of his day, his teeth begin to slip from his gums. He doesn’t notice straight away but is vaguely aware that something is amiss. Eventually, he recognizes the severity of the problem, and, calmly, tries to push the teeth back in. Each attempt serves to push another tooth out, and each night the dream ends with Tom, pressing his fingers against his closed mouth, resigned. Standing in front of the mirror, Tom watches silently as he takes his hands from his mouth and a cascade of teeth slip down the sink, rattling against the porcelain.
Shuddering, Tom stared at the white paste pulsating rhythmically from his gums, circling the bottom of his front teeth. He took a mouthful of tap water, swishing it around and spitting blood into the sink. He dressed quickly and grabbed the envelope.
He decided to simply find the house and sit outside it until the bell rang six, and to have a chat with the dentist. He would not do anything or agree to anything today. He set out from the end of his road and tried following the map as directly as possible. The first two times, he ended back up squarely in front of his own lodgings. The third, he ended up outside an old shack that seemed to be infested with street cats. On the fourth try, he managed to arrive at a narrow, imposing Georgian house. He had almost missed it, assuming it was a connective space between the two houses it was flanked by.
He banged the steel knocker three times. There was no answer. He knocked again, another three times. He stood facing the door, a sudden fury erupting in him. Turning around, making to storm off, he tripped. Brushing himself off as he stood, he rose to see that the door had opened.
“Hello?”
There was no answer.
“Hello?”
He tentatively put one foot over the threshold. He faced into a long, candle-lit hallway. He walked to the end of the hallway, and to his right, saw a small flight of stairs going down into a basement.
“Oh fuck.”
He looked around, grabbed one of the candles and made his way down the steps. The steps were concrete, more solid than the wood of the hall. This did not comfort him. He reached the bottom of the stairs, and faced into a narrow passage, the candle meek against the large pitch blackness he was surrounded by.
“Hello?”
“Tom?”
A thin voice piped through the darkness and concrete walls. His back was to the cold wall and he could not tell if the moisture on his back was sweat, or condensation.
“Er, yes?”
“I’ve been waiting for you all day.”
He was hesitant to move anywhere near the voice. He waited for it again.
“Tom? Come into the light there, the light is rather dull down here I’m afraid.”
Suddenly, the basement hall was illuminated. He could not tell where the voice was coming from, it sounded as though it was coming from all sides. He looked down the hallway and saw a large door at the end of it. The door had no handle but was slightly ajar.
“Tom, come! I don’t bite!”
Walking towards the door, Tom was hit by a hot burst of moisture. It smelled familiar, with an underlying sourness, like warm butter in a bin.
Once inside, the smell was less pungent. The room was not as well-lit as the hall, and Tom squinted around to get his bearings. It was quite large, and warm. There was a large, black leather dentist’s chair in the middle of the room, with a small table attached to its side. Facing this was a large desk, covered in papers and an array of tools.
“Ah, you made it.”
Tom started. Behind the desk was a man. He once again felt as though he had missed something, in the space of a moment.
“Wha—I— I didn’t see you get here.”
The man chuckled.
“I was here all along.”
Tom felt his jaw and looked at the man. He was thin, and almost translucently pale. Tom could not tell if the man was sitting down or simply very short, the desk covering his lower half. He wore a tight, white medical cap, several pale hairs sprouting out from underneath. A pair of small, very round sunglasses perched at the tip of his button nose, which appeared to be covered in a light sheen of sweat. Tom could have placed him anywhere between thirty-five and fifty-five.
“Are you nervous Tom?”
The dentist was facing him. Tom adjusted himself and cleared his throat, trying to glean some sense of the dentist from his rubbery smile, his black, reflective sunglasses.
“I have a lot of people come to me, very anxious and worked up, over little things. They tend to run away with themselves.”
Tom nodded. The dentist continued.
“We haven’t been properly introduced yet, Tom. My name is Dr Paul, it’s very nice to meet you.”
The dentist did not make any gesture to shake hands, and Tom found himself slightly relieved.
“Yes, nice to meet you too. How did you know it was me?”
Dr Paul laughed.
“You have some good people looking out for you Tom.”
Tom waited for further explanation and when it was not offered, he cleared his throat again.
“So... do you want to tell me why you’re here?”
“Ahem... yes. Em. My back teeth... They’re really sore. And now so are my front teeth. They didn’t hurt at the start but now they do.”
The dentist nodded slightly, taking notes in his gloved hand.
“And why is it you came to see me specifically?”
“Well... I was told that you’re very kind… That you, er, very kindly charge people less than the usual fees...And I was wondering would I be eligible for this... I work in a badly paying bar, and I—”
“Say no more, I don’t need to be privy to your personal affairs. Let’s see what we can do.”
Tom nodded again, and the dentist gestured towards the chair.
“Please Tom. Sit. There is one… catch in the agreement we choose to make, as you may have suspected. You’re an intelligent boy, and I appreciate you must think there is something...off about my situation.”
Tom breathed. His stomach turned cold, and Dr Paul remained in his seat, ticking a paper as he spoke.
“As you can probably guess, I do not see very well. In fact, I am fully blind.”
The dentist sounded morose as he said this. He stopped speaking as though to let Tom interject, and when Tom didn’t, he continued.
“My license would have been taken off me when I began to lose my sight. I had been practicing for 25 years and then, my body betrayed me. I had good friends Tom, good friends like you do. They helped me relocate and set up my small, word-of-mouth business here, where I can do some small good for other good people, and not have to fear the law taking me out on some irrelevant detail.”
Tom said nothing. The dentist continued.
“I have relearned, and retaught my trade, utilizing the best parts of all my senses and intelligence. For the procedure to cost an affordable rate, the patient must understand all of this and agree to my conditions, which is that the patient must wear a blindfold throughout.”
“What? Why?”
“Ah, consider it a matter of personal comfort, a ... a nervous tic, an insecurity even. I prefer the patient and I to be on an equal footing, I find it adds to their understanding of my work. If the patient does not want to agree to this, that is entirely fine. I bear no ill will to anyone who may feel uncomfortable with these terms, I can see... I can understand why they might be ill at ease.”
Tom fidgeted in his chair and weighed up his feelings. He reasoned to himself. He could leave, leave now and try to beg a loan from work. His stomach sank as he thought about his prospects, and considered that he could simply take off the blindfold and leave during the procedure, should it prove to be too much. He was not bound to anything. The pain in his jaws throbbed.
“Em...okay.”
The dentist clapped lightly. It sounded wet.
“Ah! Are you sure now Tom? Again, I don’t want to force you into anything.”
“No, it’s grand, yeah. I’ll do it.”
Tom felt a small pride for taking care of himself. The dentist busied himself moving around papers as Tom sat in the chair, facing the ceiling.
“Ok, Tom. I’m just making out a form for you to fill in after we have a look. It’s just to have an official record of your dental issues, should you need to visit me again. I’m going to give you a small amount of diluted anesthetic that will numb the gums for you, just in case I need to dig a little deeper to get to the bottom of things.”
Tom nodded.
“Now, it is a homemade solution that I administer to all my patients, and previous clients have much preferred it to being injected with pain relievers. The vial is on the table beside you, and there should be a stack of blindfolds beside it. I’d like you to put on the blindfold now, and to take the vial immediately after. It will take maybe six minutes to kick in, during which time I will examine your mouth. I expect you will be nervous, but don’t worry, I’ll talk you through everything.’
Tom found the blindfold and the vial, and before putting it on, looked around the room. He looked at the walls, the dentist sweating at his desk, his own legs stretched out in front of him in the dentist chair. He popped the lid off the vial and took a deep breath. He was hit again by the smell of hot butter as he tipped the solution into his mouth. Lying back, he rolled the sweet liquid around in his mouth, the pain in his teeth fading.
“How are you feeling Tom?”
Tom opened his eyes underneath the blindfold and felt as though he had fallen asleep for several hours. Once again, he could not tell where the dentist’s voice was coming from. He blinked. He found he could not move his mouth to reply.
“Ah, the drug has taken effect. A very excellent recipe if I do say so.”
The dentist sounded closer, and odder. His voice had climbed several pitches, piping reedily around the room. Again, Tom tried to reply, but found he could not remember which muscles he had to use to do so.
“Ah Tom.... don’t upset yourself. Just relax.”
Tom felt the air in the room turn cold and heard an oozing sound as something in the room began to move. It was slight, but unmistakable. Tom blinked furiously under the blindfold and, when he tried to turn towards the sound, found he could not move his head. He heard a high chuckle come from the side of the room, and the smell of sour butter became strong again. He tried to move his arms and legs, bound to the chair by a strong rope.
“Tom, oh Tom, relax…”
The voice was closer, and as he tried to move his head, his blindfold slipped slightly to one side. The room was very dark, and out of the corner of his right eye, Tom saw a blur of something coiled and white beside him, latching onto his leg. He felt it breathe hotly on his ankle, and he soiled himself. The thing seemed to notice this, and moved its head, balefully meeting Tom’s eyeline. Tom’s heart was beating in his mouth and he tried again to open it to scream, his throat allowing only a faltering gurgle. The thing had no eyes, a small, wet hole for a mouth.
“Oh Tom...”
The worm spoke, flecking moisture across Tom’s face. It oozed up to his face, so close they could have kissed, and the sweet earthy smell from its mouth made Tom want to retch. He felt his stomach contract as he noticed the dentist’s clothes crumpled in the corner, and the pale hairs sprouting from its large, white head. The worm rubbed its face on Tom’s cheek, its skin so thin Tom could almost hear the blood pulse through it. It continued to stroke against him, its breathing more and more shallow. Tom faded in and out of consciousness, gasping to breathe through the bile in his throat. The last thing Tom saw was the giant worm, licking a long, thin white tongue around where its lips should be. He remained conscious long enough to feel the worm’s tongue slip wetly into his own mouth, engorging and pulsing inside Tom’s esophagus, and he did not breathe anymore.
