Demon Dentist Read online

  “I said, good morning, children…” repeated the dentist, and she fixed them all with a powerful stare. So powerful that soon a hush descended upon the room. Then in unison all the assembled pupils said:

  “Good morning.”

  “Let me introduce myself. I am your new dentist. My name is Miss Root, but I ask all my little patients like you to call me ‘Mummy’.”

  Alfie and Gabz shared a look of disbelief.

  “So can I hear a great big ‘Hello, Mummy’? After three! One, two, three…”

  Miss Root mouthed the words silently as the children joined in.

  “Hello, Mummy,” they murmured.

  “Excellent! Now I came to this town when a very unfortunate, indeed fatal, accident befell Mr Erstwhile. The poor wretch must have fallen on to one of his own dental instruments. Oh, the irony! Of course there’s no need to go into all the gory details, but suffice it to say, Mr Erstwhile was found lying on the floor of his surgery in a huge pool of blood. The dental probe was embedded deep in his heart…”

  A deafening silence descended on the hall. Alfie gulped. It was a horrifying image. Mr Erstwhile may have been old and doddery, but could he really have accidentally stabbed himself in the heart?

  “Mummy would like you all to give one minute’s silence for Mr Erstwhile. Now close your eyes, children. All of you. No peeping!”

  Alfie didn’t trust Miss Root enough to close his eyes. Nor did Gabz. Both screwed up their faces and squinted. From out of the tiny slits in his eyelids, Alfie spied something very strange. Instead of standing at the front with her own eyes closed, Miss Root tiptoed around the room inspecting all the children’s teeth. When she finally reached Alfie’s row at the back, the boy squeezed his eyes tightly shut for fear of getting into trouble. Miss Root must have lingered looking at his rotten set, as the boy could feel her cold breath on his face for a while before she tiptoed back to the front of the hall.

  “And that’s one minute!” the dentist announced. “Thank you, children, you can open your eyes…”

  Alfie and Gabz looked at each other again. They were the only two kids who had witnessed Miss Root’s peculiar behaviour…

  4

  Blacker than Black

  “Of course, Mr Erstwhile will be sadly missed,” concluded Miss Root. “But as your new dentist I asked your wonderful headmaster if I could come here today. Mummy wanted to give you all a chance to get to know me, so I can welcome each and every one of you personally to my surgery. Now I am going to begin today’s little talk with an incy-wincy question. Children, how many of you hate going to the dentist?”

  All but one kid put their hand up. No one actually enjoyed going to the dentist. At best it was tolerated. The one boy who didn’t put his hand up was too busy texting.

  Alfie reached his hand in the air as high as he could.

  “Oh! So many hands. Ha ha!” she laughed, though not in a way that suggested she found it funny. “So how many of you REALLY REALLY REALLY hate going to the dentist…?” incanted Miss Root in that singsong voice of hers.

  Most of the hands stayed up, and Alfie actually rose out of his chair so his hand would be the highest. This boy was the king of really really really hating going to the dentist. After he had the wrong tooth pulled out, no one in the known universe hated going to the dentist more than Alfie.

  “Ho ho ho!” said the dentist.

  “Who on earth says ‘Ho ho ho’?” whispered Alfie to Gabz.

  “So lame!” replied the little girl.

  “Well, Mummy is here today to tell you there is absolutely nothing to be scared of…” The words danced in the air as she spoke. If her tone of voice was meant to sound reassuring, it didn’t. It sounded the opposite of reassuring. It was in fact decidedly unnonreassuring*.

  * * *

  *Made-up word ALERT

  * * *

  “Now I need a volunteer, hands up…!” said the dentist.

  All those little hands that had been up were now well and truly down. To avoid any confusion, Alfie shot his hands down to his feet. Any lower and they would be underground. He wanted there to be a less than zero chance that he would be picked.

  “Nobody…?” asked Miss Root.

  Even the swots and show-offs kept deadly silent.

  “Come on, children, I don’t bite!” The dentist smiled and flashed her blindingly white teeth.

  “Who hasn’t been to the dentist for a very very long time…?” she purred.

  The pupils started whispering to each other and looking around. Soon hundreds of pairs of eyes were glaring at Alfie. Everyone at school had at some point noticed his teeth. They were so bad, they might as well have been a tourist attraction. They could even have their own café and gift shop.

  The dentist followed the children’s gaze and fixed her eyes on Alfie.

  “Oh yes, I thought it might be you…” Miss Root’s long, thin, gnarled finger pointed straight at him. “You, boy. Come to Mummy…”

  When Alfie’s shaking legs finally propelled him to the front of the hall, he looked into the dentist’s eyes for the first time. Miss Root’s eyes were black. Blacker than oil. Blacker than coal. Blacker than the blackest black.

  In short, they were black.

  The dentist stared long and hard at the boy, before uttering…

  “Don’t be scared, child…”

  There is nothing designed to scare a person more than being told not to be scared.

  “Let Mummy have a little look at your teeth…”

  Alfie kept his mouth firmly shut.

  “Open wide, there’s a good boy…”

  Suddenly Alfie felt as if he couldn’t help doing exactly what the dentist told him. He opened his mouth, and she peered inside.

  “Oh…” moaned the woman in pleasure. “Your teeth are absolutely abhorrent…”

  The whole of the lower school laughed at him.

  Except two children – Gabz, who looked on with sadness at the cruelty, and Texting Boy, who was still texting and had missed everything.

  “Oh dear, oh dear. What is your name, child…?” enquired the dentist.

  “Alfie, M-M-Miss…” the boy spluttered.

  “Call me Mummy…”

  There was no way he was ever going to call anyone that, least of all her.

  “Alfie what…?” continued Miss Root.

  “Alfie Griffith.”

  “Well, young Alfie Griffith, you simply must make an appointment to come and see me at my surgery very soon…”

  Alfie shuddered at the thought. He had vowed never to go anywhere near another dentist as long as he lived.

  “Do you like presents, child…?”

  Like all kids, the boy loved presents.

  “Y-y-yes…” he replied.

  “Well, Mummy’s got a little present for you. For being such a good boy today, here – have a free tube of my own special brand of toothpaste…”

  From the trolley, Miss Root picked up a thick white tube with the word ‘MUMMY’S’ emblazoned in big red letters on the side.

  The slogan ‘Mummy loves your teeth’ was inscribed in smaller black letters under that.

  “And one of my special toothbrushes. Do you prefer hard or soft bristles, Alfie Griffith…?”

  The boy had had the same toothbrush all his life. He had no idea whether it once had been hard or soft. Right now there was only one lonely bristle left. It was virtually bristleless*.

  * * *

  *Made-up word ALERT

  * * *

  “I don’t mind…”

  “I’ll give you a nice soft one, then…” announced Miss Root.

  A gleaming white ‘MUMMY’S’ toothbrush was produced from the trolley. The bristles on the end were sharp and wiry. Alfie ran his finger along them and winced. It was like stroking a porcupine.

  Holding the brush and tube in his hands, Alfie looked like a tearful child you might see at the zoo who has been made to face their fear of spiders by being given a huge, hairy, highly
poisonous tarantula to hold.

  “Alfie, we shall meet again…”

  No, we won’t! thought Alfie.

  “Oh yes we will…” she whispered. It was as if the dentist could hear his thoughts…

  5

  Special Sweeties

  “Now be a good boy and pop back to your seat…!” ordered Miss Root. Alfie did what he was told. Not wanting to catch anyone’s eyes for fear of further humiliation, he put his head down as he trudged back to his seat.

  “Now, children…” continued the lady, “who else would like a present? I have some free sweeties…?”

  Hundreds of hands shot up, and soon the hall was humming with the chattering of excited children.

  “But don’t sweets rot your teeth?” shouted out Gabz.

  Miss Root glared at her, then smiled. “Oh, aren’t you a feisty one? What’s your name, child…?”

  The girl hesitated, but eventually said, “Gabz…”

  “Well, of course, young Gabriella is right. Normally sweeties do rot your teeth. But not these ones. No! Mummy’s sweeties are special. All my sweeties are completely sugar-free, so you can eat as many as you like…” From under the trolley she pulled out a tray, and whisked a white sheet off the top of it. Underneath was a huge pile of brightly coloured goodies. There were chocolates and chocolates and more chocolates. Toffees and fudge. Sucky sweets and chewy sweets. Fruity ones and minty ones. Melt in your mouth sweets. Crunchy sweets. Fizzy sweets. Explosive sweets.

  “Come on, children. Don’t be scared. Come and help yourselves to Mummy’s special sweeties…”

  In an instant, hundreds of children surged forward and started eagerly grabbing huge handfuls of sweets. As many as they grabbed, and the greedy little boys and girls were stuffing their faces and pockets, there seemed to be more. And more. And more.

  “Take as many as you like!” Miss Root called over the din. “I can always magic up some more…!”

  Alfie noticed Gabz was sitting stock-still in her seat.

  “Are you not gonna get any?” asked Alfie.

  Gabz shook her head. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Haven’t you ever heard the tale about the brother and sister who go into the woods and find the house made of sweets…?”

  Alfie was surprised that the little girl’s imagination had run away with her like this. “Hansel and Gretel? Yes, of course, everyone has, but that’s just a stupid fairy story.”

  Gabz turned her head and fixed him with a stare.

  “It’s not stupid. And just because it’s a fairy story doesn’t mean it never happened…” she said, before turning her gaze back to the dentist who was smiling broadly with those impossibly white teeth of hers, as the kids filled all their pockets with sweets. Strangely, however many the children took, there were more and more and more filling the tray.

  Along the rows, just one boy stayed glued to his chair. It was Texting Boy. He was still texting.

  *

  On his way home from school that afternoon, Alfie wanted to dispose of the presents Miss Root had given him as quickly as possible. He didn’t trust that lady one bit. There was something deeply disturbing about her. That splash of red on her shoe, the creep around the hall in the minute’s silence for the dead dentist, and those sugar-free sweets that never ran out were just too good to be true. So when Alfie crossed the bridge over the canal as he always did on his way to and from school, he stopped. He pulled the toothbrush and toothpaste out of his blazer pocket. He examined the label, ‘MUMMY’S’. It was such a comforting brand name. How could you not trust anything called ‘MUMMY’S’?

  The boy unscrewed the lid of the tube. Immediately some sticky yellow gunk, the colour of pus, snaked out of the end. It smelt rank, like warm sick. A small glob of it fell to the ground. It hissed and fizzed as it bore its way through the stone bridge like acid. What is in that toothpaste? thought Alfie. Just then he noticed the paste was still oozing out of the tube. It was moving dangerously close to his fingers. A smidgen of it landed on his skin, and instantly he could feel it burning.

  “Ow!” screamed the boy. He quickly threw the tube into the canal below. It plopped into the water, and he watched as the tube sank to the bottom, the paste still snaking out. Then Alfie noticed he still had the hard wire toothbrush Miss Root had given him in his other hand. The bristles looked like they would scratch your teeth away, rather than clean them. So he threw the brush in the canal too.

  As Alfie took a couple of paces to continue on his journey home, a strange sound stopped him in his tracks. Looking back he saw that beneath the bridge, the water in the canal was boiling and bubbling. It was like a mini volcano erupting. The boy watched in horror as a school of dead fish plopped to the surface and floated there. As he peered down at the water, a gaggle of kids from his school passed him, laughing and joking, their mouths full of ‘MUMMY’S’ chocolates and toffees and fruit chews. Every single child looked like they couldn’t be happier, greedily munching and crunching and scrunching them.

  If that’s what her toothpaste does, thought Alfie, what on earth is in those special sweets of hers…?

  6

  The Intruder

  “You must be Alfred,” boomed a voice when he walked in the front door of his little bungalow, which squatted in an estate on the edge of town.

  “Who are you?” demanded the boy. Alfie was very protective of his dad and didn’t like seeing strangers in the bungalow.

  A flamboyantly dressed lady had plonked herself down in the living room with Dad. Her ample frame was taking up more than one place on the worn and torn sofa.

  The riot of colour in her mismatched outfit (yellow scarf, pink stripy leggings, green top and electric-blue shiny plastic coat) looked decidedly out of place in the small, grey room. In fact, it would have looked out of place anywhere.

  Dad was sitting in his wheelchair in the corner of the room where he always was, a frayed tartan blanket covering his knees. It was cold in the bungalow. The central heating had been cut off a few winters ago. In truth, their little home was falling to pieces. Since Dad had been confined to a wheelchair, the bungalow had fallen into a state of disrepair. Despite Alfie’s best efforts, water poured in through the roof when it rained. Cracks had appeared in most of the windows, and mould was creeping up the walls all the way to the ceiling.

  “Oh, son, this is…” Dad took a loud shallow breath, “…Winnie. She’s a social worker.”

  “A what?” asked Alfie, still staring rather rudely at the intruder.

  “No need to be worried about me, young man, ha ha!” proclaimed the big jolly lady, as she plumped up a cushion and placed it behind Dad’s back. “I’m here from the council. Social workers like me just want to help…”

  “We don’t need any help, thank you,” said Alfie. “I look after my father better than anyone else could, don’t I, Dad?”

  Dad smiled at his son, but didn’t say anything.

  “I am sure you do!” replied Winnie with a smile. “By the way, it’s very nice to meet you, young man,” she said, reaching out one of her podgy hands with fingers like bejewelled sausages. Alfie just stared at it.

  “Shake her hand, son. Be a good boy…” implored Dad.

  Alfie reluctantly let his little hand meet hers. The social worker gripped it tight and shook it so vigorously, the boy thought his poor arm would be yanked out of its socket. The multicoloured plastic bracelets that adorned her wrists rattled loudly as she did so.

  “Now, young Alfred, could I trouble you for a cup of tea?” bellowed Winnie.

  “Yes, a pot of tea would be lovely, thanks, son,” prompted Dad. “Then we can all sit down together and have a good talk.”

  “I can’t have coffee, it goes right through me! Ha ha!” added the social worker.

  Alfie stared at this intruder as he backed out of the living room to make the tea. Father and son always shared a pot of tea when Alfie returned home from school. He would lay out a tray with two cups. It
had been just two cups for as long as he could remember.

  One thing the boy had learned from his father was that however poor they were, they should still take great pride in life’s simple pleasures. So when Alfie made the tea he would try his hardest to make everything just so. As the kettle was boiling, he fetched a little chipped teapot with the lid missing and placed it on a tray he had liberated from the school cafeteria. Then he took two cups out of the cupboard. There were only two cups in the house, so Alfie had to think on his feet. Eventually he found an eggcup, and put it on the tray. That would do for his mouthful of tea. The milk jug was really a moonlighting gravy boat Alfie had bought in a charity-shop sale. Last but not least, the boy took out a cracked plate, and arranged three crumbling out-of-date chocolate biscuits on it. The local newsagent had given Alfie a free packet one day when the boy looked particularly hungry.

  With a proud smile on his face Alfie entered the living room carrying the tray. Carefully he placed it down on the coffee table (well, it was really just an upturned cardboard box, but he and Dad called it the coffee table).

  “I have heard so much about you from your father, young Alfred,” said Winnie, spraying biscuit crumbs all over the boy and the carpet and even as far away as the curtains as she spoke. She took a large and noisy slurp of her tea from her cup, and washed the remainder of the biscuit down her throat.

  “Aah!” she sighed, smacking her bright-pink painted lips together. “That’s better. I am soooo looking forward to getting to know…”

  As she spoke Alfie tried to smile, and sipped some tea from his eggcup, feeling somehow like a tiny giant. Winnie peered at the boy. She slid along the sofa, and her big fat face came close to his, like a hippopotamus inspecting a little bird that has landed on its nose. “Oh, my word! Look at the boy’s teet!”