LITTLE SILVER INSTRUMENTS

LITTLE SILVER INSTRUMENTS
by Matt Bliss

Jessica pressed her ear to the door, listening to her father’s rhythmic whistling between the wasp-like buzzing on the other side. It was good to hear him happy like this—he sounded a completely different man while at work. Although her father had made very clear that she was never to go down there, Jessica would tiptoe downstairs and shove herself to the door each night, just to listen to his joyful whistling. What Jessica never understood, however, was why her daddy kept his being a dentist a secret.

“Open wide,” she heard him say, followed by a funny little chortle that sounded like a fluttering of notes.

She imagined herself a dentist too. Only seven years old but still wearing a long white coat. Rubber gloves stretched tight over her chubby little fingers. She could practically see herself working nimble tools across ridges of teeth. When she grew up, she reasoned, she would do this too. She would become a dentist, just like her dad.

“Has anyone told you that you have a lovely smile?” He laughed again.

Jessica liked that laugh. She wondered why he had never laughed like that when she was around. Maybe she wasn’t funny. Or… maybe it was some sort of grownup laugh. Like when she heard teachers talk behind flattened hands, or the mailman when he lingered too long at Miss Holdstien’s doorstep. Only this laugh was different. It sounded from deep in her father’s belly. A contagious little sound, and Jessica often pinched her lips to stop herself from repeating it.

“Good… just about done. One more and we’ll get you back home in no time at all.” Metal chimed as it clattered against the basement floor.

He sounded so calm like this, Jessica thought. So in control. Nothing like the daytime Dad she knew. The one who would snap at her wrists when she moved too close. The narrow stare he held until the clouds passed from his sky-blue eyes. It must be hard, she thought, to keep a thing you love so much a secret. Jessica could hear that love through the door. If she focused her ears hard enough, she swore she could hear him smile.

Something thudded to the floor with heavy whump. Jessica could feel its weight against the concrete.

“SHIT!” her father shouted. His pleasant voice now a growl. A familiar warning from a wild-eyed beast. Heels clicked across concrete—he grumbled, then panted for breath.

Time to go. Jessica turned and hurried back to her room, careful to step on the outside stairs so they wouldn’t squeak. She eased her bedroom door shut and slipped beneath her covers, falling asleep only moments after tugging blankets to her chin.

That night, she dreamed of gleaming white smiles and sparkly clean teeth. Somewhere in the darkness, she heard her father whistling along with his joyful little tune.

+++

Jessica blew out her breath as the school bus screeched to a stop outside. The door collapsed, and the driver watched her a moment, chewing furiously on a wad of gum. “Well…” he said, raising his palms above him. “We can’t do this every day, darling. Are we getting on today?”

Jessica clenched her fists and released them, and climbed the four tall steps before her.

Twenty pairs of eyes all fixed on her, and the heat of it made her squirm. She sidled past, scanning from one seat to the next until stopping on a girl she didn’t recognize. She had curly red hair, more freckles than a night sky, and the most perfect smile she had ever seen.

“You can sit with me,” the girl said, tucking herself against the window.

Jessica slid into the seat and looked again at the girl’s smile. It was flawless—even for a kid her age. Porcelain white and as symmetrical as a butterfly’s wings.

The girl shoved out a hand. “I’m Samantha. It’s my first day here. My old friends called me Sam.”

Jessica grabbed her hand and gave it a quick shake. “I’m Jessica. My friends call me… well, I don’t really have any friends, but Jessica is fine.”

The boy in front of them, Michal Riggits, let out a spit-choked laugh.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you.”

Jessica smiled and looked again at the girl’s perfect teeth.

Sam noticed her gaze and held a hand over her lips. “I don’t have something in my teeth, do I?”

Jessica blushed. “No, sorry… I just think you have nice teeth. My Dad’s a dentist and I—”

Michael suddenly burst into a fit of laughter. “No, he’s not!” he said, swinging around toward the two of them. “He’s a janitor! My dad sees him at the hospital all the time. Say’s he’s weird, and a liar, just like you.” His head cocked back and forth with the last three words.

“He is too a dentist! And he’s not weird, and I’m not a liar.”

“What kind of dentist mops puke off the floor?” He laughed again. It was a mean sort of laugh, one that echoed through the shell of the bus and turned everyone toward the sound.

Jessica wrapped her arms around herself and tucked her chin to her chest.

“It’s okay,” Sam said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I believe you.” She glared daggers at Michael instead.

But Jessica jerked away, and remembered exactly why she hadn’t tried to make friends sooner.

+++

Jessica got home, curled up into a ball, and cried. She wanted her father there, to comfort her, to tell he was too a dentist, and that mean boys like Michael Riggits are just big dumb dummies who wouldn’t know the difference between a molar and a mop until the handle knocked him upside the head. But as usual, the house was empty. He wasn’t that kind of a dad anyway.

All day, she had had to listen to Michael and his goons laugh at her. They called her a liar and said terrible things. Sam, as kind hearted as her smile, had tried to help, but it wasn’t fair to her. It was Jessica’s problem—she had to handle it. So when Michael stuck his pointed chin in her face, and brought the tip of his tongue to his two crooked teeth, ready to say that word again, Jessica balled up a fist, reared back, and threw it into his face.

He staggered back in surprise. Michael touched a finger to his lip, pulled it away with a smudge of red, and wailed like cicadas in summertime. Teachers came, marching Jessica to the office and placing her in the hard plastic chair where she, simply must explain herself. When she did, they took Michael’s side. He is going through a really hard time at home right now, and he’s just lashing out. Whatever that’s supposed to mean.

It wasn’t fair, and as Jessica wiped warm tears on the sleeve of her shirt, she decided she would prove it to them all. She would show them she wasn’t a liar.

Jessica stomped down the stairs to the basement. This time aiming for the steps that squealed in defiance. She jostled the handle, and to her surprise, it opened. Jessica had been in there before. Daddy wasn’t very good at making sure he locked the door, and he trusted Jessica to listen, but who needed listening when you’re laughed at in school?

She snapped on the light, and the room came to life exactly as she remembered it. A vinyl padded chair sat in the center of the room—just like the one her own dentist had. It could recline or lay flat, turn or sit up straight—just about whatever you wanted it to do. Above it, a round lamp hung connected to a spindly arm. The kind that blinds you and makes you see spots when you close your eyes. Surrounding the chair were trays lined with gleaming silver tools.

If he weren’t a dentist, why would he have these?

Jessica climbed into the chair and laid back. “Open wide,” she remembered hearing Daddy say, and she opened her mouth, imagining the tiny little mirror moving around inside her mouth. Her cheeks pulled back in a smile, making it impossible to hold her mouth open. Most kids feared the dentist, but not Jessica. It was her calling, after all, and she would be the one holding the tools when she was old enough.

She hopped off the chair and ran her fingers over the little tools, listening to them tinker as they touched one another. She considered taking one—bringing it to school to show Michael and the others, but she could jam it in Michael’s eye and he still wouldn’t believe her.

She turned instead to Daddy’s desk in the corner. An old thing, marked with deep gouges and a bulky computer about just as old on top. Rows of shelves stood behind it, overflowing with files and papers, and a neat row of VHS tapes alongside them. He marked each one with a patient name, age, and a note. Beyond it stood a clothing rack, filled with an assortment of shirts and dresses. Different sizes and styles, and Jessica could only think they once belonged to her mother. That’s why Daddy couldn’t part with them, she reasoned. Some were her size, however, and on days when Daddy was gone, Jessica would dress up in them. Her favorite was a much too big lemon yellow dress. She would dance around the chair, whistling Daddy’s cheerful tune, spinning faster and faster until the dress proofed out like a flower blooming in spring.

Jessica plopped down on his desk and looked at the mess strewn across it. A folder lay on top, and Jessica pulled it closer to read the words written across its cover.

Sarah Riggits. Age: 36. 5/5, best one yet!

She thought about the name, and why it sounded familiar. Michael’s last name was Riggits too. She laughed loud at the thought. Michael’s own mother as one of her dad’s patients. She must have a wonderful smile, she thought while reading the handwritten comment, andthat made her think back to Sam’s perfect smile. She would say that was a five out of five smile as well.

Jessica worked a finger underneath the cover to open it, but just before peeling it back, she heard the unmistakable sound of the front door swinging open and shut.

Jessica shoved the folder under her shirt and tucked it into the back of her waistband. She hurried to the stairs, listening as Daddy’s footsteps thumped into the kitchen. Slowly, she snapped off the light and eased the basement door shut. She moved upstairs, careful to step on the outside steps like she did every night. Once she found her backpack, Jessica smuggled the folder inside. The proof she needed, to show she wasn’t a liar, and her father would never know. Jessica smiled wide, showing each and every tooth.

+++

At school the next day, Jessica could hardly contain herself. She knew Michael would turn his overbite toward her and let loose another flurry of insults. So when the teacher wasn’t looking, and Michael finally did turn to Jessica with his tongue pressed to the tip of his two crooked teeth, Jessica only smiled in return.

“Go ahead,” he said. “Smile away like a little liar. We all know what you really are.”

Sam pointed a chin between the two. “If you say that again, I’m going to have to tell.”

He wiggled his fingers, letting out a ghostly sound before turning back to his own desk.

“I believe you,” Sam said. “And I think if you want to be a dentist someday too, you’ll make a great one.” She smiled, revealing those perfect teeth once again.

“Thank you, Sam.”

“I doubt he’s ever even gone to a dentist with teeth like that,” Sam snickered.

Jessica scanned the class for watching eyes and reached inside her bag. “Want to know something funny?” she asked, removing the folder from her bag like a blade from its sheath. “I found this in my dad’s files.”

She slipped it over to Sam’s desk and tapped a chubby finger on the name. “I think it’s Michael’s Mom.”

Sam’s eyes went wide and she let out a single note laugh.

“All this time he made fun of me, but really my dad is his mom’s dentist!”

The girls giggled behind flattened fingers, and Michael snapped his head back to the sound.

Jessica watched as Sam turned open the folder, and her perfect smile suddenly faltered.

Sam took one gasping breath and screamed.

The class spun round and watched as she continued to shriek. She sprang up, shaking, swatting at herself as if covered in ants. The folder fell to the floor and photos spilled out from inside. Square images, dancing through the space like leaves in the wind before falling flat.

Michael screamed next. Tears welled in his eyes and his bottom lip quivered. Then, a word worse than liar leaked out. “Mommy…”

One by one, the sound of terror spread through the class until the entire room was sick with it. Jessica looked down and recoiled from what she saw.

There were dozens of them.

Photos of a woman with marbled gray skin. Her face was slack and twisted. Her eyes were milky white. In some photos, she wore the clothes that hung on her father’s rack. The same lemon yellow dress she had danced in, spinning faster and faster until the ruffles bloomed, now draped over this woman’s cold splotchy flesh. In other photos, she wore nothing at all, with her limp body posed in lurid ways. In those, Jessica’s own father was right there with her. Holding her, and using the little silver instruments.

Jessica knew then—her father wasn’t a dentist—he was a monster.

+++

The patient looked up at Jessica and twisted his face in recognition. He wasn’t the first person to recognize her. There were plenty before him who knew her face from newspapers. The girl who didn’t know… and each time they wanted to bring up that painful past in horrific details.

She pulled on her gloves and smiled at the satisfying snap of latex. She loved that sound. Just hearing it sent a special little thrill through her nervous system, equal to the purist dopamine rush money could buy. Not only that, but it told both her and the patient of what’s coming next.

“Let’s take a look,” she said and adjusted the light until her patient squinted and turned toward her.

“Wait… aren’t you—”

Jessica shoved the tiny silver mirror deeper in his mouth to silence him.

“Eww arrr,” he said, keeping his mouth open and tongue pressed back.

“You haven’t been flossing, it seems.” She removed the tool and held her unwavering smile above him. “You have some cavities, too. Lower right second and third molars.”

The man watched as she reached behind him, pressing her face close to his and squeaking knobs in back of the chair.

“I remember you,” he said, trying to lift himself from the chair, but Jessica lowered him back with two fingers to his chest.

She reached for the cylindrical steel drill beside her and revved it beside him like a sports car at a stoplight.

“Yeah,” the patient said. “From the news a while back. Your dad was that janitor at the hospital… the one who took the bodies home and—”

“Open wide,” she said, followed by a funny little laugh that sounded like the tinkering of metal.

“You were the one,” He flinched away with eyes wide enough to park planes in. “You’re the reason he got caught. Christ, all those people… all those years and women and kids even… All those pictures you found and took to school, all because you thought he was a—”

“A dentist, just—like—me.” Jessica pressed the plastic mask on top of his nose and mouth, and couldn’t hear him over the bitter hiss of gas leaking out. “It wasn’t all that bad, you know. Had it never happened, I never would have followed my passion to become a real dentist.” She still held the smile as his eyes rolled back and his body went slack.

She reclined the man back and danced around him, spinning until her long white coat bloomed like a flower in spring. Then she plucked a gleaming silver tool from its tray, and her nimble fingers worked the sharpened edge beneath each button along his shirt. She sliced them free, sending the little plastic pieces pinging across the room and his shirt peeled open, exposing soft flesh.

“Open wide,” she said, and laughed from somewhere deep in her belly. And somewhere in the darkness behind her, she heard her father whistle his joyful little tune.

Fiction © Copyright Matt Bliss
Image by Piotr Zajda from Pixabay

Matt Bliss is a construction worker turned speculative fiction writer from Las Vegas, Nevada. His short fiction has appeared in MetaStella, Cosmic Horror Monthly, and Scare Street’s Night Terrors among other published and forthcoming works. You can find him and links to his work on Twitter at @MattJBliss.