Pasticcio

Dentures (#NoPearlyWhitesHere)

My grandmother has a weird obsession with teeth.

She used to be an orthodontist back in the day and worked at the local dentist's office. Her passion had made her work well beyond the retirement age; no matter how many times her colleagues had tried to talk her into quitting, she wouldn't budge. She loved teeth too much. Only once the patients started to complain—she began to treat them with asperity—was she fired, her spot given to someone else. Now, she's too old to leave the house.

"...And this is when your mother lost her first tooth," Grandma said, pointing to the picture in the album with a bony finger. I nodded, feigning interest. I hate teeth, especially the crooked, dirty-looking ones. As Grandma always says, you can tell a lot about a person just by their teeth. That's why I wore braces for the best part of my childhood and brush my pearly whites thrice a day.

"Grandma, as much as I want to stay...I have to go home. I have a math test tomorrow."

She gives me a pained look and I smile sheepishly.

"That's okay, dearie," she mutters, her face falling. Grandma closes the album and places it on the coffee table.

I feel a twinge of remorse. "Alright, ten more minutes." She grins, revealing her pink, slimy gums.

"I have to show you something." With the help of her cane, she stands up and hobbles away—I trail behind her, my eyes wandering around the different rooms. The antique furniture looks polished, an oddity considering that she can barely move around on her own. Maybe she has a cleaning lady. We reach her bedroom, and I stand by the floor-length mirror while she continues on to her closet. She places a hand on its handle and pulls the door open.

I almost throw up.

There are dozens, hundreds of dentures, piled up onto one another on wooden shelves. The sight is so unnerving, I feel faint—before my knees buckle underneath me, Grandma rushes over and loops her arm around mine. We slowly walk towards the open closet, to the teeth. The smell of toothpaste hits my nostrils and the nausea returns.

"These are my babies...beautiful aren't they?" She reaches out with a shaky arm to carefully pluck one off the shelf and bring it right to my nose. The teeth look so...real. Could they be? No, that would be ridiculous.

"This one used to belong to Brando, do you remember him?"

He had disappeared over a year ago.

I nod. Dread gnaws at my insides.

"Wonderful." She puts them back and turns to me. Her knuckles whiten as she grips her cane. "But not as wonderful as yours, Abigail."

Suddenly, someone clamps a hand over my mouth and wraps an arm around my mid-section. I try to scream, but nothing comes out; as the chloroform enters my system, my head starts to swim and my eyelids grow heavy.

The last thing I see is my grandmother standing over me, a pair of forceps in her hand. 

A/N:

Hey, guys! This is my entry for the #NoPearlyWhitesChallenge! The word count is 496.

It was a bit of a struggle cutting it down—I had a lot of foreshadowing and innuendos, but unfortunately those had to be cut out to accommodate the <500-word count. I hope y'all enjoyed it and don't forget to vote!

Update: I won! 🏆