Author Topic: Toothie (Chapters 1-5) HORROR (Adult Language)  (Read 2667 times)


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Toothie (Chapters 1-5) HORROR (Adult Language)
« on: May 06, 2008, 06:06:21 AM »
Chapter One

Greg struggled with the straps that bound him to his bed.
"Suicide watch!" He screamed at the small barred window in his cell door, "Damn you fools!"

He thought of the creature he was trying to save these people from. He had named it Toothie. It was born from the dark sticky place in his soul and in recent weeks it had ravaged his mind.

Now the wall that existed between his imagination and reality was getting thin and he knew it was only a matter of time before Toothie broke through and into reality.

Toothie had become strong in recent days and he would be damned if he was going to be responsible for the death of innocent people. He had come to know the depths of evil this creature possesesed and he shuddered at the thought of the havac Toothie was capable of.

"You cannot stop me!" The chorus of voices said as the ghastly visage of Toothie fanged face filled his mind. He saw the saliva dripping from hundreds of sharp glistening teeth and a shiver ran down his spine. The face had no eyes and the black skin dripped from it's grinning skull.

"That is what you think!" He screamed at the snarling face within his mind.

He steeled his resolve and reached for the shard of glass he had hidden under his mattress. His fingers close around the sharp edges and the pain pushed back against his imagination. Toothie screamed.

He closed his hand tighter around the broken glass and reveled in the pain. He felt the sticky warm blood run over his fingers and smiled at Toothie.

"You don't have the guts!" Toothie jeered, "I know you can't do it!"

"Fuck you Toothie," he said working the peice of glass back and forth over one of the straps shredding material and skin. The strap gave way and he sat up right in his bed. He grabbed the piece of glass with his other hand and had it poised over his opposite wrist.

"Damn you to Hell Toothie!" He screamed and sliced through the soft skin. Blood spurted from the wound as he laid back down on his bed with a sigh of satisfaction.

As his vision began to dim he heard Toothie's dark laughter. It was then that the realization gripped his soul. These past few days Toothie had been goading him to do just what he had done. He cursed himself as he knew without a doubt, he had just let the creature free into the world.

"I will make you proud," Toothie said as Greg slipped into death.

Later that day as the maitenance man scrubbed at the blood stains on the bed he idly stared at and wondered where the black inky substance came from that covered the cell room floor.

Chapter 2
The Puppet

Donovan Thomas opened the door to the "operating room" and paused in the door way as his body shivered.  The clacking of his teeth came to his ears way too loud as it bounced off deserted walls.

It was just after midnight in the subfloors of the Royal London Hospital and he cursed the late August cold that seeped through the buildings old stucco walls.

The cold basement floor was freezing and the dark room before him holding the cadaver even more so.

He lit the latern he carried and it's feeble light pushed against the oppresive darkness of the room.  The blackness was so thick once he got to the table where the body laid the light could not push the darkness back to the walls beyond.

Donovan thought it was as if he were in a spot lite about to operate on a stage.  He had just seen a production titled Stange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr Hyde two nights before in a dark London theater and the flashback sent an involuntary shiver down his spine.

Donovan looked down at the pale body laying before him. He thought back to the day two weeks before when he had accepted the offer from the city Coroner Dr. Maxie to help out.  It was a violent time in London with anti semitic feelings and roving gangs, it was no woder there were plenty of bodies turning up. He was glad to take a job or two to help out the city coroner.

Beside that  it was great practice. He was a promising student at University and having a body before him instead of a text book with illustration was invaluable experience.   The debate over operating on cadavers raged on in the government so it was taboo to use dead bodies for study.

"Hiya Donovan," the sudden interuption to his thoughts and the silence within the room nearly caused him to jump out of his skin.  

"Jeez Willy," Donovan snapped, "you nearly made me drop my lantern!"
"Thats okay Donnyboy," Willy answered back with a jovial smile, " I have me own!"

"Quiet down," Donovan whispered urgently ,"you know we aren't supposed to be here."

"Ah Donnyboy," the young scribe chuckled while he made his was over to a desk and lit his own latern, " you know this part of the hospital has been deserted for years."

Donovan was suddenly relieved at the the added light to the ambience of the room.
He sighed and turned his attention back to the body and began looking it over.

"How this one die then?"  Willy asked unrolling a peice of parchment next to his latern on a table before him.  

"Suicide."  Donovan answered dryly studying the gaping wound to the right wrist.

"Right," Willy answered ink quill at the ready.  He paused a moment before he wrote, "what is the date again?"

"Party too much at the Ten Bells earlier did we?" Donovan asked with a knowing smile. "August 31st."

"Victims name?" Willy asked with a playful smile on his face.

"Gregory something," Donovan answered waving his hand dismissively, "but it does not matter much.  Guy was insane, had no next of kin."

Donovan started readying his intruments for the autopsy.  He pulled a knife from a drawer he had spent time sharpening earlier that day.

"Ready?"  He looked over at Willy who nodded back quill freshly dipped in ink, "making first inscision now."

Donovan paused before he made his first cut.  He had glimpsed dark liquid on the victims arm and diverted his attention to the suicide wound.  He thought is was blood at first but this was black as ink.  And it was beginning to pour out of the wound.

"Something is night right here," Donovan said panic ruling his tone, "something weird is happening."

"Stop goofing." Willy responded.

Donovan then looked to the victims face and gasped as the eyes fluttered open to reveal the same black inky substance dripping from the sockets.

"What the-" was all Donovan managed to get out before the body before him  had seized the knife and neatly cut his throat.  Donovan dropped to his knees deperately grabbing at the gaping wound with trembling hands .

Willy jumped over his desk with a blood curdling scream only to meet the same fate less than a minute later.

Greg's mind stubbornly tried to grasp what was going on.  It was as if he were in a dark dream.  His mind was very sluggish and he even fumbled with language to relay what he was experiencing to himself.  

He tried to grasp on to his last memory.

"Where was I?"  The question slowly solidified itself in his mind, "What has happened?"

"I have given you life father," Greg heard within his head and his last moments in the hospital above came rushing back as the dark dripping face appeared within his mind's eye."


Chapter 3
The Puppeteer

Greg's mind was still disconnected and sluggish.

Cold. Dark. Confusion.

He was having problems forming thoughts.

"It is because your body is dead," Toothie's voice gurgled in his throat like one whose lungs were filled with mucus, "your synaptic fire is weak."

It took a moment for this to soak in. Greg felt emotionally detached. His body felt cold and uncomfortable to him.  Like his soul was wearing a poorly tailored suit.
The adjective finally came to him stubbornly. His body felt saggy. And his soul was crying for escape/.

"I have found I have use for you," Toothie continued on, "see when you gave me life you failed to give me sight."

It was only then Greg felt the cold dark ooze running down his cheek.  He touch a finger to his cheek and it came away covered in the black inky substance.

Then he felt the thrust of Toothie into his dead body. He felt the icy touch on his soul.  A touch that was purely simple minded in it's purpose to do evil. It was as if every dark feeling and dark emotion he ever had in his life had manifested itself into this dark inky creature.

He also felt something else that rattled him to his very core where his soul still feebly burned with the last embers of life.  The raw power that Toothie possessed.

Then suddenly Toothie was present within his mind and it was as if someone turned on a light.  His brain focus and leapt to life.  His thoughts sharpened and his mind cleared.

"Now Father we are one," As Toothie spoke Greg felt a breath of cold air feel his lungs. It was stale and tasted foul and he wretched black ink.

 "Father and Son together again."

Greg struggled against Toothie's hold but he knew it was futile. He knew it because Toothie knew it. He could feel the dark creature's mind within his. The evil blackness that coursed through his cold body was powerful and hungry.  Hungry to do evilness.  And he was too weak and absolutely powerless to do anything.

He cursed himself as THEY walked over to the two bodies that lay on the floor.  

He watched as Toothie controlling Gregs body like one would pull the strings on a marionette.  The movements sluggish at first but gradually more dexterous with purpose.

Soon they were dressed and before 1am  in the morning they were stepping into the dark Victorian London night.  

Greg felt Toothies excitement, Toothie's contempt.  And he was powerless to do anything but watch on this dark London night as the black creature he had given birth to began a reign of terror that would heard about around the world. And he had to watch as the dark deeds were done with his own hands.

Greg cursed his existance.

Chapter 4

The cold rain let up briefly as she stumbled on the wet cobblestones onto Buck's Row. Her head swam from the effect of several glasses of gin she consumed that day but she was thankful for the warm feeling she felt inside. As the cold dampness began to stick to her skin, she was ready to find sleep after this long miserable day.

It was getting late and she knew she had to ply her trade once more to come up with the doss money to get back to the warmth of her bed at the work house. That is why she was here on Buck's Row. Just past the Essex Warehouse and the cap factory lived one of her "repeat" customers. She only knew his first name, Jack.

The dingy street was narrow and framed by two story cottages on one side and warehouses on the other.  The faint gloomy light from an old gas powered lamp on one end of the street reflected feebly off of the wet cobblestones beneath her feet. Water ran in rivulets down the narrow street.

A gust of wind blew wet stinging droplets of cold rain into her face and she pulled the collar of her wool petticoat up around her ears. She squinted her eyes towards the sky and marveled at the red glow illuminating the clouds above. Despite knowing the light came from the wharf fire she had just discussed moments before with a friend, she thought it ominous looking all the same.

A shiver ran down her spine and she thought despite her inebriated state this alleyway felt unexplainably evil this night.  She was used to the mean streets of East End London and the dark life of Whitechapel was all she had ever known. She had been to Buck's Row several times before but never had she felt this unnerved.

She saw a figure walking towards her silhouetted by the gas lamp. She thought she recognized him as the person she was here to see.

"Jack," she breathed to her self relieved, "Thank God."

She would do her business and collect her doss money. Then she would dispatch this uneasiness in her warm bed back at the Lambeth Workhouse.

The figure approached and when he got within earshot she called out.

"Jack is that you?"

She could not see the face due to the gas lamp illuminating the figure from behind. She halted in her tracks when the figure did not respond and quickened his pace towards her.  She took a few steps backwards and the steel heel of her boot caught on a stone and sent her reeling to the wet street with a thud landing hard on her left hip.

She tried to cry out but it was too late. The man was upon her. A surprisingly chilly hand had grasped her by the neck and she could not breathe nor utter a sound.

"It is not Jack my love," the eery gurgling voice came to her ears, "our name is Toothie."

Her eyes opened wide with fear as she spied the long sharp knife's silhouette against the red tinged sky. Sharp fiery explosions of pain bloomed about her abdomen in time with the frantic jabbing motion of the weapon.

As her vision began to dim she caught a glimpse of the stranger's eyes. So odd, those eyes, she thought to herself as death began to detach her from her pain and her soul began to float from her body.
So black.
Dripping like ink.

Then with one final slash of the knife Toothie cut through her throat and dispatched Mary Ann "Polly" Nichols from this world.

Chapter 5
Dead Vision

When Greg was alive he would have made the walk home in twenty minutes from Buck's Row, where Toothie killed the short brown haired prostitute. This night It took them two and a half hours.

Greg sat at the end of his bed and looked into the mirror opposite him in his small apartment off of Hope Street in East End London.

The gray morning light had touched his face only moments ago and Toothie left him. He watched as the thick ink dripping from the sockets dried up leaving behind the dead eyes that stared back at him now.

His urge to blink was overwhelming but his dead nerve endings and facial muscles did not allow him the ability. All he was left with was dull bleary vision. From what he could make out in the mirror he was almost thankful the lifeless lids could not respond.

He was also thankful that his mind still remained sharp. Obviously residual power left behind by Toothie was the reason.  But his thankfulness was to be short lived. He was already beginning to experience the sluggishness to his thoughts he had the night before.

The last coherent thought that morning was to take away the reason Toothie had brought him back to life.

He still held the ghastly knife caked with blood in his hand.

With all his might he lifted the knife to his left eye. He marveled at how heavy the knife seemed. But, he was determined that Toothie would not use him as an evil instrument of death any longer.

He was shocked when the dead hand that gripped the knife suddenly turned to gooey ink and the knife dropped through and onto the dingy mattress. He watched in awe as his hand reformed back into its former gray skinned dead self.

Somehow he knew Toothie was not to let him go.

His mind then shut down and his dead body slumped over onto the bed.  He was now hovering over his cadaver.  His soul felt a glimmer of hope and tried the slip it's earthy bounds.

Greg winced in pain and he saw the black inky chain cutting across and into  his soul. He was property of Toothie and would not be free. He cursed as his soul settled back down into his dead body and into a strange dream laden sleep.

He saw himself one year earlier, when he was still considered sane. He recognized the dream  was his winter trip to Egypt. He saw his visit to the Pyramid of Khufu as if he were a fly on the wall.

Then he saw himself enter one of the freshly opened chambers of the Pyramid. His mind no longer remembered these events but saw them as if he were observing them for the first time.

His vision slewed and suddenly he was riding atop a giant spore. Right into his own mouth.

Suddenly he awoke. It was night once again, and Toothie was back within his mind.

"Good evening Father," Toothie's voice gurgled.
« Last Edit: April 18, 2011, 03:39:19 PM by Maimi »

Offline Ninny

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Re: Toothie (Chapters 1-5) HORROR
« Reply #1 on: May 10, 2008, 05:06:08 PM »
Yurgghhh!!  Sent a shiver down my spine.  "Toothies voice gurgled"  Yurgghh creepy.
ps little woder! But then looking at it now..I think that should be a word!! ;D ;D
Thanks never fail to deliver!!
I'll read the rest tomoz..

God...ess Ninny ;D

Offline ma100

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Re: Toothie (Chapters 1-5) HORROR
« Reply #2 on: May 11, 2008, 07:01:40 AM »
I have got to admit Lee. Toothie has always
been my favourite. It was nice to read again
on a sunny Sunday morning instead of midnight
on my own with the wind whistling round the
house hehe. ;D
take care


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Re: Toothie (Chapters 1-5) HORROR
« Reply #3 on: May 11, 2008, 02:12:57 PM »
I am loving your many looks.

I too enjoyed TOOTHIE, but you are supposed to read it on a dark and windy night,
That is when it is most fun! This was probably my most favorite work to write, the
monster is like an old friend, and I too feel nostalgic when I pick it back up and read
it again. Thank you Ma for checking it out a second time. You are a great friend and
I really miss talking to ya. ;D


Offline ma100

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Re: Toothie (Chapters 1-5) HORROR
« Reply #4 on: May 11, 2008, 02:27:32 PM »
Hmm!!  >:( You never write. You never phone. Is a text to
much to ask *Ma slaps Lee round head.* A little bird even
told me you launched me into outta' space. ::);D

It was great to read it again mate as I said I have a soft
spot for Toothie.
take care

Offline thatLous

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Re: Toothie (Chapters 1-5) HORROR
« Reply #5 on: May 11, 2008, 03:00:05 PM »

I didn't do it.

Ooh-- you mentioned Jekyll and Hyde in here! I love you, Lee, you and your crazy head. This was certainly a pleasure to read ;D A brill start, man, wonderful! I love dualities!

A minor something, though:

"Something is not right here," Donovan said panic ruling his tone, "something weird is happening."


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Re: Toothie (Chapters 1-5) HORROR
« Reply #6 on: May 12, 2008, 02:38:24 AM »
Thanks Louie.
Something is NOT right here...


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Re: Toothie (Chapters 1-5) HORROR
« Reply #7 on: May 12, 2008, 02:40:52 AM »
I did launch you into outter space, but look at the cool as@ avatar that resulted from the incident. You cannot hate me for that, can you?

Ma, you rock....