Posted by Childe on January 19, 1999 at 19:22:15:
Toofh Fairy
by
Childe
*Sometime being li’l Childe not safe out there - ‘specially when a Childe is seben. But I ‘members a time
when I was six n toofhs get loose in moufh n the Toofh Fairy comes to visit. Sometimes Toofh Fairy’s not
what you ‘magines. I knows. I ‘members. Even now I tslks wif Fairies sometimes. I pretty smart but I
believes in Faries even if Big Peoples not. They may be smart but they not knows what Childe knows. I tell
‘Tory for you as Toofh Fairy told me when I was six. It a bit scary but only little childes and old peoples
worried shoud be. ‘Cause I knows a Toofh Fairy that is different. He is, he is. This be his ‘tory that he tol’
me.*
I told this to a small one. One of the many small ones that are always on the Earth. They believe even if the
Old Ones don’t. It happened one night that I flew in with the breeze through a small crack along the
window frame. Juli was poised on the headboard of a wee child’s bed sprinkling her sleepy dust into the
child’s eyes. Childe’s eyes, I should say. A rather special child, I found out. At any rate, instead of falling
asleep, Childe’s eyes snapped open. Juli sees that. Doesn’t see me. Bad move that. I arc toward her, the
shapr edges of my fairysword angled for quick attack, silent attack. But the moon slicing through the
window flashes on the sword sending a warning becon. She spots it and twists up and away. Attempting to
match her twists, I nearly spirial out of control. Yet even then, I clip her before she flashes out of range.
The slice is clean. The bottom half of her right wing is nearly useless spoiling her retreat. I scrape against
the old wallpaper. A paper cut. Damn thing stings like hell. By the time I regain control, Juli is hovering
over the foot of the bed, fire flashing in her eyes.
“Mine!!” she hisses. She charges straight for me, a move son insanely stupid that I nearly fell for it. I hover
defensively, ready to knock her teeth in. But before I’m aware, she veers sharply up and away from me,
emptying the last of her dust bag before she passes. Damn stuff heads straight toward my face. I turn a
double roll, sneezing, to discharge the few stray particles I inhale. My eyelids feel heavy. A close call that.
But that’s the best she can do. She hangs back warily. I close the distance between us. Then I start circling
to make the most of my mobility advantage. When her sleep dust fails to slow me, she looks for a quick
exit.
“This block is ours”, she says desperately.
“Was,” I tell her giving her my most chilling smile. I move just high enough to make the window look
attractive. Juli goes for it.
She never comes close.
I go into an intense power dive. At the last second, she tries to fend me off with her fairy wand. Fairy
wands can be dangerious what with those sharp pointy stars on the end. But her gesture is worse than
useless. Weight and speed take me into her so hard that we both go sprawling to the carpeted floor. Her
wand flies our of her hand, across the room. I barely hear the squeek of the bed as the little Childe looks
down at our battle.
Of course I’m up before she is. In a show of contempt, I walk over to where she struggles to rise. Her left
wing flaps frantically; her right wing is a torn, useless mess. She tries to crawl, but when she realizes escape
is impossible, she turns and waits.
“Please?” Juli pleads as I stand over her. The begging is worth the scraped skin it cost me. I smile. I’ve
wondered about the shiver that humans get when someone scrapes fingernails across a blackboard. Maybe
they’re remembering fairy screams. Using the tip of my sword, I slice off Juli’s perfect toes, inadvertently
splitting her hand down the middle when she attempts to block me. Dazed from the suddenness of my act,
she barely struggles when I kick her over onto her stomach and go to work on her good wing. Of course I
don’t simply slice through it in the painless way I destroyed her other one. This time I take out a hunk of
skin around the wing blade and pop the tendons loose. I snip the points of her ears next, leaving her with
ugly, rounded stumps like those of Childe who’s watching in fascination. Juli’s nightmare screams shoud
have made the dead cringe.
Juli’s screams have become pathetic little mewling noises. I’m sick of her. I lift my sword over my head and
chop through her neck. Blood pumping from her jugular splatters one of my wings. It feels tacky, but I’ll
wear it proudly until I go home. I lift Juli’s headless body by its crumpled remaining wing and carry it up to
Childe’s bed. Beneath the bleachy-smelling pillow I find what I came for - smooth, hard, cool to the touch.
Tradition calls for dimes or quarters. I like the poetry of leaving Juli instead. Tooth in my pouch, I fly up
and touch Childe. I know - as does he - that I will be back. He must know for he believes. Yes, I shall
return. But as I fly by I take Juli’s head bu its hair. A nail working its way loose on the window frame
makes as good a pike as any, so I slam the head onto it.
Juli’s smiling face should let Barbanne’s gang know I’ve moved onto this block.
Returning to Rod, I noticed again the sights and sounds and smells of the city. Thirty years ago - long
before I was born - the streets I fly through didn’t even exits. My folks lived in the woods outside a small
community - a suburb really - which is near this city. A computer corporation spawning these satellite
communities. As the communities grew, the woods got smaller. Old-timers like my folks bitch about the
loss of our sweet, pastoral roots. But hey, this has been the way with humans and fairies for a thousand
years or more. They - we - ought to be use to it by now.
I love the city. The golden glow of streetlights never hidden by clouds. The sibilant whispers of human cars
driving through darkened streets. And then there’s the way acrid human fumes crawl right inside my head to
give me a buzz. Mostly, I love the people - all people - cause people mean teeth; and teeth are where the
magic is. Rod knows all about that. And he’s always happy to see me. Maybe its for the teeth I bring.
Maybe for the stories I tell about how I got them.
“Al!” he shouted when I flew into his fern glade in a neighborhood arboretum. “Where has this night taken
you?”
He nodded appreciatively when I empty my tooth pouch and laughed at the appropriate points of my story
of the fight with Juli. He showed concern, though, when I mention the strength of her sleep dust. And his
face paled when I told him of Childe. Humans - even small children - shouldn’t know too much of us. So I
don’t mention that I intend to return. Again he voiced his concurs about the sleep dust.
“Barbanne’s been gathering nightshade,” he said. “Is she perhaps working on a magic more powerful than
sleep?” He smiled at this - at me. “Time for some experiments of my own.”
He put a hand on my shoulder and walked me toward the corner of the glade he used to work on magic
more powerful than the pitiful tricks our parents contented themselves with. The setting moon lengthened
the striped shadows of the fern fronds, tattooing a pattern across the thoughtful look on Rod’s face. “Have
you time for one more task tonight, or are your folks waiting up?” He does this to check if his buttons still
work on me. He is rewarded with my frown. “Across the valley next to Leaning Rock, I saw nightshade
two evenings past. If it yet remains, bring it to me. As you return, pass by Jagged Stump and gather some
of the toadstools that sprout from its roots through the late dew.”
He talks like that sometimes. I usually do what he says, though, primarily because he has a lot more
patience for the magic side of things than I do. By the time I finished Rod’s errands, it was an hour past
Dawn. Mom and Dad were waiting up for me in our tree in the woods near the computer company.
“Your late, Alfraeo.” I hate when mom calls me by my full name, which is probably why she does it so
often.
“Lost track of time.”
Dad looks at me sternly. “Were you out with Ronnie?”
“I saw Rod a couple of times, but most of the night I was alone.” I answer truthfully, emphasizing the
preferred name, though it won’t make a difference. It never did.
“What were you doing?” mom asks. They gang up to keep me off balance.
“I was just out,” I say, but they know where I’ve been.
Dad takes a deep breath. “Teeth,” he says.
“So!?” Parents make it hard to keep cool.
Dad shakes his head in preparation for his standard spiel. “Do you know why teeth are important to
fairies?” he asks, as if this is news to anyone over the age of three. I slouch down and look at the branch,
resigned to listening to an old story once again.
“Before humans became sick with the need for order and rational thought,” my dad begins, “they lived as
equals with fairies, giving us their fond dreams so we could work magic from them. For fairy magic is the
magic of dreams.”
“Can we do the condensed version this time?” I ask, but my dad ignores me. He’s on a roll.
“Human children still dream, but when the grow, rationality comes, pushing their dreams out of their heads
to make room for the rational insanity they crave. While humans fear change, they understand exchange; so
to keep our magic alive, fairies purchase the dream-teeth of human children, in accordance with a deal made
a thousand years ago.”
“These aren’t the old days, Dad,” I tell him.
“When a fairy makes a deal, it does not change with the times.” My dad always talks like that, which is the
main reason I never do anything he asks me to.
“You weren’t stealing teeth, were you , dear?” Mom asks. I’d like to think she’s worried about me, but
more likely she just doesn’t want her friends thinking of her as the mother of the fairy who broke some
thousand-year-old deal.
“I left something,” I tell her, feeling no desire to elaborate. “Can I go to bed now?”
Dad spoke in a low, sad voice. “Tell Ronnie to be careful. Magic is not a game fairylings.”
“We’re not fairylings!!” I shout.
He nods as if he understands, but he fights back a smile.
“Then act like adults,” he says in a tone of dismissal.
On my bedbranch, I throw myself onto my dandelion-stuffed mattress, but I’m not too mad to sleep.
Next night I accidentally fly into the wrong room. I was looking for Childe but find Human adults. Human
adults are noisy, stinking sleepers, snoring loudly and letting out gusts of their reeking breath every few
seconds. Scared shitless, I try to back out the knothole I came through but the breeze I’m riding pushes too
hard for reversals. I spin away from it, slamming into the window frame in my panic.
The strength of my fear, more than anything, puts the idea into my head. Adult humans hold power over us
but haven’t the foggiest idea that we exist. Over the years, we’ve been confined to half-truths, half-myths,
that allows them to tear apart our world. We take it as a matter of life, but sitting in that reeking room,
trying to catch enough breath to make my escape, I wondered about the source of that power. Perhaps if
fairy magic comes from the dreams of human children, how much more powerful must be the magic the
adults are holding back. The adult human dreams must be powerful - and they have ignored us into near
extinction. I take three deep breaths and coast low along the wall toward the bed with the sleeping adult
forms. When someone’s breathing becomes irregular, I almost panic. The sounds return to normal.
This close to them, I have to breathe into the crook of my arm to keep from passing out. They are far uglier
than their children, who never struck me as great beauties anyway. Well Childe is rather different. But even
he is not to pretty to look at. The woman lies on her stomach, her pot-holed face scrunched against the
pillow, her mouth cracked open and leaking a string of spit. The man is on his back, all of his hideous face
clearly exposed for the world to see. Between his mouth and nose he has a parch of dark, bristly hair, some
evil growth spreading along his cheeks, chin, and neck. He growls deep breaths through his wide mouth.
His mouth.
Beyond his cracked, flaking, dead-fish lips are the largest teeth I have ever seen. Swimming in slimy pink
gums, they are the teeth of legends. Enormous things. Long, smooth, shining white in the wonderful light
of the night. I want to bow my head in their presence, worship their rough enamel edges. I am drawn to
touch them - but forced back when he expels a breath.
The teeth.
I must have one. Only one. I know those wonderful, gargantuan icons are a wonderful source of power far
beyond the crude tinkering of even the darkest fairy magic. The power to be ground from teeth such as
these is the nightmare force wielded by the fairies of old. Its the power to shape and control and destroy. To
be Gods of Fairy.
I hover just beyond his breathing range and plan how to get this power. I have some of the new formula
sleepdust Rod has given me to test. It is as powerful as such dust can be made. Or so he says. I smile at
the boast thinking what he might do with the teeth I see before me. The dust will be useful. I test the timing
of each breath. Long and steady. Deep and long. A rush of air stinging my eyes, I dive to empty half my
pouch as he breathes in. He gags a bit; but then his breathing is even deeper, more steady than before. The
woman is simply a matter of a sprinkle on the pillow before her face. The small, dark hairs sticking from her
nostrils will not be a fine enough screen to filter out my dust. While they breathe of my magic, I tear off a
small piece of their bedsheet and tie it around my mouth and nose. Its flowery smell is cloying, artificial, but
much better than trying to work with the stench of the man’s breath in my nose.
Human gums are soft, easy to slice with either fairy sword or fairy stick. As with most soft things, they are
quite sensitive. The man’s face twitched when I had barely started to work. His lips close, threatening to
trap me if I’m not careful. I sprinkle more dust down his throat. This makes him cough, which shoots me to
the ceiling. Sprinkling the dust directly onto the gums, causes it to flash and sizzle when it hits the blood
already flowing through his mouth. But it calms his involuntary twitches.
Now to the serious business of extracting a tooth in love with its home. I slice and dig around the one I
have chosen. Soon the upper end of the root is visible. The work is bloody and exhaustive. Once I’d
cleared the gum from around the roots, I expected the tooth to just pop out when I pulled. Even when I
jump up and down on it, the tooth barely moves. Finally I try it from beneath, fluttering halfway down his
throat for room to work up speed. I fly into the tooth hard, hitting it with nearly enough force to pop my
shoulder from its socket. A final gush of human blood washes over me as the tooth shoots clear of the
man’s mouth. He lets out a low groan, while the tooth describes a slow arc and lands on the cheek of the
female. It leaves a dark streak past the corner of her mouth and down her chin. Her eyelids flutter open.
She mutters something but since he’s snoring again, she closes her eyes.
I move down to claim my prize. From tip to tip, the tooth is more than half as big as I am. I can stuff two,
sometimes three children’s teeth into my pouch. This one will never fit. I loosen a strap making an
impromptu sling. Initial lift is a strain, but once airborne, I can handle the load. I float to the window but
can’t squeeze through the knothole with my load. Damn! I unstrap it, force it through the hole in front of
me, then strap it on again when I get outside. The last sound I hear from the adult human room is another
groan from the man. The sleep dust is beginning to wear off.
The cool fresh night air fills me with strength. I leap from the window sill dipping only slightly before my
wings catch enough air to lift me. I am anxious to get to Rod, to show him the tooth, tell him of my theory,
and see what magic he can create. As I head directly toward the arboretum, I see something and damn
myself again;.
Barbanne’s gang was the last thing on my mind until then. I can’t make it past them, I realize. Three of
them make a half hearted effort to keep hidden. The largest is Petra so the other two must be Vicki and
Vicky. If I make an obvious run for it, they’ll be on me in an instance unless I drop my prize. My best
chance is to act unalarmed until I come to a place to make a break. I steer slightly away from their hiding
place in the hedge, letting them trail me. I don’t risk looking back but I feel them closing in. I have three
options. Straight ahead is a small corner of a wooded area I could follow back to my parent’s tree. To the
left is another human yard with its scattering of sickly plants. To the right is an open lot with tall grass,
bleached smooth by the moon’s light. The trio behind me expect a move into the woods, where they can use
the increased cover to circle around and come at me from several sides at once. Instead, when I reach the
end of the hedge row, I put on a burst of speed and veer right at a sharp angle. I hear squeals of surprise,
followed by a couple of crisply barked orders. They’re confident - and rightly so - that I can’t escape in the
open area.
Of course, the area is not as open as it seems. I dive low, using tall grass and leafy weeds as a screen.
Someone tries to follow, cursing through unexpected interference. Petra flies high and hovers looking for
movement below. I won’t be able to dodge them for long. Instead of running, I look for a place to lie low.
Spotting a small ditch, leveled out from above by a clump of cowslip, I land breathing through my mouth
and hoping one of them doesn’t stumble over me in a clumsy search. I hear the fluttering of wings to the left
but that fades quick. With its disappearance I unstrap the tooth and dig. Using any weapons will flash in the
moonlight so I use my fingers. I work quickly but the hole must be large and deep enough to cover the
tooth competely. By the time I finish I can hear others joining in on the search. I arrange flattened grass to
cover the hiding spot but stop when I hear an excited shout. I freeze, certain I’ve been spotted. The startled
squeal of a field mouse seconds later shows it to be a case of mistaken identity. I mark my spot with a faint
X.
I must leave before they find me. They likely won’t suspect but if they do, I want them looking far away.
Without the weight of the tooth, I might have a chance - if I don’t fly into one of them. I come up fast but
see Vicky. I veer from her and spot the other two, angling in from positions between me and the woods.
Already cut off, I do something unexpected. I reverse direction, dropping low again in the hope I can get by
Vicki. She’s too good, though, and dives to cut me off. My fairy sword held out, I try to bluff her into
enough of a flinch to let me by. No go though. Ducking under my swing, she grabs my legs as I fly by. We
cartwheel through the air out of control. We scrape over grasses and come up hard against the smooth side
of a rock jutting from the ground. Vicki hits first, cushioning the blow for me and letting a surprised
“Peep!” before we fall to the ground. When I stumble to my feet, she doesn’t try to stop me. The other two
are on me before I can take off, though. Vicky II grabs my arms from behind, pushing my wings against my
back. Petra stands in front of me, a vicious, stupid smile on her face.
“Whatcha doin’ in our neck of the woods?” she asks.
“We’re not in the woods, a**h*le,” I tell her (Childe not tell bad wordies in ‘tory that Alfrao use. Me
nice). She kicks me in the balls. Vicky II giggles in my ear.
“Any other smart things you gotta say?” Petra asks.
“I’ll take over,” says a voice sweet as honey. Barbanne floats down and lands next to Petra. If I had any
breath left, one look at her would take it away. Her gown shimmers silver. Her dark hair lit with fireflies
surrounds her face making her even more beautiful. Full lips smile invitingly.
“How are you, Al?”
Even if I could think of a response, I couldn’t get it out through the pain of Petra’s shot to my nuts.
“I asked a question,” Barbanne says, her voice like distant, tinkling bells. “It’s rude not to answer.” She
slams an open palm into my nose. I smell the gush of my own blood.
I don’t remember much of anything she says afterward, but I remember most of the blows she used to work
me over. She boxes my ears and blackens my eyes, slamming a knee into my groin whenever she is
disappointed by my lack of reaction. Elbo smashes to the ribs snap things inside me. Fairy stick chops to
the shins send messages of agony intense enough to cut through all the other pain. When Vicky II stops
holding me, I don’t have the strength to stand on my own. I slump to the ground, vaguely aware of
Barbanne’s kicks to my body.
She lets up for a while. After a brief gray period, the shape of her face - pale, unbelievably lovely with its
small freckles - swims into focus above me. I can’t decipher her words, but there is no mistaking her sweet,
murderous smile. Finally she holds up her fairy stick and says, “Juli.”
I know what’s coming next. The four of them stand in a semicircle, waiting for me to show fear. I try to
spit at them. Slimy, heavy blood dribbles down my chin.
Barbanne laughs, touching the cool, rough edge of her star to my neck. “I’m going to enjoy this,” she says.
She lifts the stick above her head. Golden flecks of light glitter in her black, black eyes. I tell myself I won’t
flinch, but when her arms start forward, I cringe anyway. I close my eyes, the muscles in my neck bracing
for the blow.
Nothing happens.
When I look again, Barbanne still stands over me. Surprise and confusion have replaced her smirk. Petra
and Vicki and Vicky II are looking behind her.
“What is the meaning of this?” says a deep, stern voice. Barbanne turns toward the sound, but I don’t need
to look to know who it is.
“Your parents have not taught you this”, says my dad. I experience a moment of pride and embarrassment
and satisfaction all rolled into one. Barbanne’s gang has no better idea of how to react to my dad than I do.
“Go to your trees. Tell your parents I will come to see them.”
The last thought I have before everything goes black is amazement that they do what he says.
I wake up here, though I don’t know where ‘here’ is. Yet. Things are.... different. No glow of streetlights
at night. Only the cold, silver points of thousands of stars. The soothing whisper of cars has been replaced
by the sudden, sharp questions of owls. The odor of pines, as overpowering as the city’s fumes, provides no
buzz. Wherever my parents have brought me, it’s far from my own turf.
“You’re here to get better, Alfraeo,” Mom tells me whenever I question her.
“Away from bad influences,” Dad likes to add.
I spend most of my time lying on a bedbranch, my wounds slowly healing. Doctors come to check on me
periodically, changing bandages, probing internal damage with skilled fingers. Counselors also probe. They
want the contents of my head and are far less skilled than the physicians’. I’ve decided the best way to get
out is to lie low and do whatever they ask.
There’re others like me, I guess. Every evening, just after sunset, two orderlies help me down to a ring of
rocks in a clearing. There is something magical about the ring; once inside, we can’t leave unless escorted.
I’ve tried only covert probing with feet and elbows, but others have crashed against it so viciously they had
to be restrained and taken away.
We come to the ring for group sessions. I gotta sit and listen to others complain about their stupid lives.
They talk about the things they’ve done s if they were mistakes; and, I suppose if I were as idiotic as they
are, I might not want to take credit for my past, either. There’s a boy with a shaven head that likes to go
into detail about the sexual acts he’s performed to be included in different gangs. A perfectly
normal-looking girl tells of how she tried to fly into a lawn mower when her parents wouldn’t let her take
part in some May Day festival. The ‘group leaders’ - counselors who’re suppose to be young, but use
language ten years out of date - encourage us to “share and care”. Pretty pathetic, right.
They want me to share what I’ve been through, but so far I’ve held out. I’m not ashamed of what I’ve
done, but pride won’t be welcome here. Still, once my wounds have healed, I’ll have to speak up. They
expect confession and remorse, so I’ll give it to them in order to get out of here.
Its later now and for some reason I’m hearing the human called “Childe”. He is ‘different’ from the rest of
the humans. And he’s giving me strength to resist. Mom and dad say we aren’t going back to the city.
We’re to live in these woods, still a couple of generations from human encroachment by their estimates.
They think the forest has some kind of magic healing effect on me, that pine trees and owls will make me
into their ideal fairy son. They say there’s nothing in the city for us. But Childe calls. And he’s given me
strength to resist. I can move in the circle now and they don’t know that. Each day as I get better and
Childe calls, I find I can do more. Soon, very soon, I’ll find a way past the pathetic circle magic of nature
and go back home. The prize I buried should still be there and Childe has helped me even more. But its the
buried prize and the knowledge that there are plenty more where that came from. Thousand-year old deals
and fluttering through forests may be enough for my mom and dad, but I have my sights on something
bigger. Childe’s shown me the way. I’ll find that ‘something’ soon.
Something I can only find in the city.
Something with TEETH.
*Big peoples better watch out. Toofh Fairy Alfraeo here now n he be looking for BIG toofhs. Bye, bye.
Happy dreamies*
Childe