Tooth Thief

I apologize again for last week's neglect. Hopefully, today's submission inspires you to forgive me and helps you welcome the upcoming holiday weekend.

A clatter interrupts the stillness of night. I roll toward my husband to find that his wall of sleep is too thick to breach. No matter how much I shake him, he doesn’t even moan an acknowledgement. As another clatter echoes up the stairwell, I slip out from under the covers. I pause with my hand reaching toward the door.

Shaking my head, I turn back to survey the bedroom in the dim glow of moonlight. My eyes rest on the Maglite that always sits on my end table. Quickly crossing the distance between us, I pick up the Maglite and start toward the door again. The weight of the long handle gives me courage to walk toward the noise.

Stepping into the hall, I hear a slight buzzing sound accompanied by the rustle of paper. Tentative steps bring me to the top of the stairwell. Looking over the banister, I see a soft blue glow emanating from the living room. Careful to avoid the squeaky second step, I wend my way down the staircase until I can press myself up against the wall to the living room. Inching forward, I am finally able to peek into the room. I stifle a gasp of surprise.

A tiny woman with long, delicate wings floats three feet above the floor in my living room. Blond curls cascade down her back, tied away from her face with a thick pink ribbon. A white pinafore with pockets that look like huge molars covers a dress of pale blue. She holds a scepter with a large smiling tooth atop it in one hand. The other hand busily searches through the Easter baskets that await my children and the morning. She picks up and quickly drops the small toys and books that nestle amongst the colorful grasses without showing any interest, but pockets all of the chocolate. As I inhale sharply in disapproval, she notices she is no longer alone.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” Her voice sounds like a song.

“What are you doing here?” I counter.

“Visiting.”

“But my children haven’t lost any teeth in months.”

The tooth fairy snorts derisively. “Yes, dental hygiene is putting me out of business.”

“So you’re stealing their candy?” Bewilderment sets in.

“They don’t deserve it if they won’t let their teeth rot out of their heads.” She fires back as she points her wand at me.

The smiling molar vibrates and a blue bolt of electricity leaps out at me. I duck reflexively, turning in time to see the painting behind me burst into flames. I turn back toward the tooth fairy. She has raised her wand again.

As she sends another bolt of electricity toward me, I press the button on the Maglite. Startled by the beam of light, she poofs out of existence. The bolt of electricity sails over my shoulder to set a second painting on fire. The fire alarm goes off. My husband and children stumble down the stairs in a sleep-induced stupor as I smother the last flickering flame and move to silence the smoke detector. The children find distraction in their baskets of goodies, but my husband looks as if he wants an explanation. I return his stunned gaze, searching for the correct one.