Tooth, the Whole Tooth and Nothing but the Tooth

1: The Visitor

I was given this tooth for my birthday. I was kind of speechless when it was placed in my hand. I mean, weird, or what? I thought it was pretty cool, though. A dinosaur tooth. Wow. I was holding in my hand something that had been around for about two and a half million years or so. Weird, but cool.

The card that came with it proclaimed it to be a Mastodon tooth, hailing from the Pleistocene era, Florida, USA. It was given pride of place on my bookshelf. This two inch long, blackish-brownish-off-whiteish tooth.

Of course, I forgot about it after a while, at least until that knock on the door.

What do you do in the middle of the night, when there's this great hammering on the front door? Well, yes, of course you answer it. That isn't exactly what I meant. You don't just go to the door, open it and invite whoever might be lurking on the other side in for a nice cup of tea, do you?

Especially if they make as much noise as whoever this was. I could vaguely see, through the blurriness of two o'clock in the morning and the frosted glass, a rather large shape outside. Now, forgive me if I'm wrong, but these are not the best circumstances in which to have visitors, as far as I'm concerned.

I stood there for a while, in just my jim-jams, staring at the front door. My head could not quite get around the size of whatever was out there. The whatever-was-out-there knocked on the door again. I was quite surprised that the door stayed on its hinges, actually. I was glad whatever-was-out-there had the sense not to knock on the glass, as there wouldn't have been any if it had. This thought prompted me into action (or that yawning-head-scratching lethargy that passes for action in the middle of the night). The fact that the thing outside had not hit the glass yet was probably just a coincidence.

I opened the door, very slightly.

Outside was very dark - darker than I would have guessed at that time of the morning. Then I realised why. The hulking creature outside my front door was blocking out the street lights. It also smelled. I remember that fact very clearly. It smelled bad. I was just about to say something (I'm not sure what, because I didn't get much chance), when the thing pushed the door open and squeezed inside. When I say squeezed, that's exactly what I mean, in case you thought I might be exaggerating. The thing (I still hadn't had time to figure out what it was) only just made it through the door without taking the door with it. I was rather grateful for this, it's not too warm at night without a front door.

The creature stood in my hallway. I stood in the entrance to my kitchen (I had retreated a little by then - there was not much room left in my hallway, you see). I leaned over to look around the thing, to see if I could, perhaps, make my escape past it and through the still open front door. Ha. Some hope. I couldn't even see my front door. The thing in my hall looked around too. It must have guessed my plan, and kicked the door closed with its hind leg (I should probably point out that it stood on four legs).

Oh, well, I thought. I suppose two o'clock a.m. is as good a time as any to be eaten by a large hairy elephant. I frowned at this point. I'm not very good if I haven't had a decent night's sleep, so I was quite surprised to find that I had figured out what this thing was (though what else would come calling at that unearthly hour?).

"Well, aren't you going to offer me a cup of tea?" asked the elephant.

It was at this point I realised that I was dreaming. Elephants don't drink tea.

"I suppose you had better come in then," I answered, ignoring the fact that it was already in.

I turned and stepped into the kitchen. If the elephant wanted tea, I thought, the elephant could have tea.

I wondered if I would remember this dream when I woke up.

The elephant followed me. Unfortunately, this time it didn't quite manage to get through the door unscathed. Well, to be accurate, it was the door frame that didn't manage to let the elephant through, which I was sure the frame regretted (if elephants drank tea, I guessed that door frames might feel regret).

"Sugar?" I asked, filling the kettle.

"Two please," the elephant replied.

"Milk?"

"Yes, please."

It was a very polite elephant.

I made the tea and sat down at the kitchen table, which had been pushed aside by the elephant's bulk, and was leaning slightly, being caught between a wall and a particularly large animal. I passed the elephant its tea, which it placed on the floor in front of it (I'd always marvelled at how nimble an elephant's trunk was - well, OK I didn't, but they are).

"Do you have any biscuits?" the elephant asked.

How silly of me not to remember the biscuits.

"Hob-nobs?" I suggested.

"Lovely," the elephant replied.

Such a polite elephant.

I reached over to the worktop and passed my guest the biscuit tin. It prised off the lid and emptied the tin down its throat. It then lifted its mug of tea (a cup would hardly do for an animal of this size, credit me with some intelligence), and drained it in one go.

The elephant belched.

"Oh, pardon me," it said.

See what I mean?

I took a sip of my tea, and waited for the elephant to speak. I really had no idea where this dream was going, so I thought I'd best let the elephant tell me.

"I hope you don't mind me just barging in like this," the elephant said. "It's just that I don't want to be seen."

I blinked. This was an elephant, after all. I would have thought that not being seen would have been rather difficult. I decided not to say anything, though, and just shook my head.

"Thank you," it said. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Beryl. I'm so pleased to meet you." The elephant, Beryl, held out her trunk, presumably for me to shake in the absence of a hand. I shook it. It was the first time I've ever shaken an elephant by the trunk, so I didn't really know what to expect. It wasn't that bad really.

"I'm Shaun," I said.

"Erm, this is a little embarrassing, and I'm sorry to bother you at such a late hour," Beryl said.

"Oh, don't apologise, I wasn't really asleep, anyway," I lied, yawning.

"You're too kind, if a little unconvincing. It's taken me a lot of time and effort to get here, you know. I've searched and searched, and travelled half way across the world to get here. I would appreciate your help. I know that you're probably not used to being visited by the likes of myself, but I've tried the secretive approach before, and it has gotten me nowhere. All I can do now is be up front about things." Beryl was getting quite agitated during this, and the kitchen table was beginning to splinter, not having been built to be squashed between a large hairy elephant and a brick wall.

I stood up and backed off a little. An agitated elephant is not a pretty sight.

"How about another cup of tea," I asked, nervously. It always worked for me.

"I'm sorry," Beryl said, calming down. "It's just that it's taken me so long, I get a bit angry at times. I don't mean to lose my temper, honest."

Now, I've seen films. I know the difference between an angry elephant and a mildly upset one. I told her that it was fine and I could quite understand, which, of course it wasn't and I couldn't.

"Another cup of tea would be lovely," said Beryl handing me her mug.

As I made the tea, I commented on how warm she must be with all that hair (I couldn't remember seeing a hairy elephant before).

"Yes, I am rather," she answered. "I tried shaving it off a couple of thousand years ago, but it itched when it was growing back, so I left it."