Creeptober 2020 Writing Challenge Day 5: Compass

“Compass”

Shirley rested her cell phone in her lap and closed her eyes; she was manifesting. 

The last four times she tried this it had been a bust, but she refused to stop believing. Something would happen, she wasn’t sure what, but she knew that it had to. This entire summer had been a letdown, and with August speeding past like it was late for a meeting, she needed to salvage these last few crucial weeks in any way possible. This year had simultaneously taken so very much from her while also significantly adding years onto her sixteen-year-old life. 

“...in the summer, when everything will be better.” Her father’s words had echoed in her head every day since her grandmother’s surgery. Shirley had prayed for summer; it couldn’t reverse the damage done, but something good had to come of it—her father was so certain the summer would bring happiness to their little family once again. But as the days grew longer, and the sun inched closer, Shirley had abandoned hope for better days. She had no ability to make new friends in this new living space and had no clue what kind of students she would encounter in her new school year. She wasn’t able to find a job that was safe enough to keep her occupied and contributing financially to her family. And her father was taking on more hours than ever before, running himself ragged and passing out every night not long after he’d arrive home from work. 

Shirley was no longer looking for hope. She was looking for a miracle. A dynamic change. A complete and total shift. And with summer proving to move by like a thief in the night, she knew this change needed to happen ASAP. But with little to do, nowhere to go and no one to be with, it was getting harder and harder to inspire that change. 

To preserve some sanity, Shirley began taking midday walks. At first they’d just be around the block, hoping that maybe she'd eventually find her dear missing cat Isosceles in a neighbor’s window. When that route became stale, she’d extend it a few more blocks each day. Soon those few blocks became miles and eventually Shirley walked anywhere from 1 to 5 miles a day, exploring parts of her new hometown that seemed hidden from anyone but her. It was in this solitude that she found some sense of calm. Sure, solitude was where she found herself every day during a lockdown, but this was different—it was in the spiritual sense. 

Once she was back home, she settled into her usual routine—cook dinner and eat while reading some graphic novels. Put her father’s meal on the stove under the microwave so he could heat it up when he got home from work. Try to muster up the energy to get some painting done. Then inevitably scroll through Netflix only to realize she had already finished the latest season of her favorite anime. Scroll through Hulu and find nothing of note. Put an old ‘90s teen movie on and scroll endlessly on her phone while it played in the background until she fell asleep. 

It was during one of these scrolling sessions that Shirley hopped down a rabbit hole unlike any she had ever been down before. Tired of the same feeds she had grown accustomed to—friends hanging out with friends, defying stay at home orders to gather, influencers she had nothing in common with, photography of beautiful place she’d likely never be able to visit, when something caught her eye: 

We fell into the abyss.
The grainy black and white video that looped just seemed so dizzying and disorienting and weird that she had to explore it. She needed to know more, there was a new thirst that she needed to quench. Video after video she saw young people her age stumbling upon ruins in the middle of the woods, abandoned areas with threatening auras, and other chilling discoveries. 

“We brought this on ourselves,” a blonde girl cried as she spoke at her screen, “we asked for death.” 

“Well, that was your first mistake,” Shirley chided the influencer out loud, as if she were there with her in the wilderness. Shirley smiled as she recalled the way her grandmother would yell at politicians and talking heads on TV. “They can’t hear you, ma,” her dad would say as he’d laugh and shake his head. Shirley realized that this lockdown really may have aged her a few decades; it was like slipping into a vortex that stole years from her and transplanted her into a future for which she wasn’t yet prepared. She felt her eyes get heavy, but she wanted more information—all these kids her age had stumbled upon something bizarre, and she wanted to know what it was. Finally, a hashtag caught her eye that begged for more exploration:

Rexpo. 

Shirley immediately got to work to educate herself. She learned soon that Rexpo is an app that lets you explore random locations based on a simulation. Think of what you really want to see and the universe will send you there. Shirley only had a baseline understanding of dabbling with the universe and its energy. She had a small crystal collection and occasionally she’d follow astrology and the phases of the moon, but the whole idea of the universe directing you based on an intention? That seemed a little unrealistic. 

She had to try it. This might just be the change she was looking for. 

Shirley rested her phone down and went to sleep: she had an adventure to go on the next day. 

Inspiration.

Shirley pressed her eyes tight as she envisioned the word written out in her mind. She not only wanted to universe to inspire her, it was a necessity at this point. She picked up her phone as she felt it vibrate. 

Your destination has been determined.

She opened up the coordinates in the map application on her phone and set out on her journey. Only five minutes away? She looked at her phone in disbelief—she had walked this path so many times in the last few months she found it hard to believe there could be anything considered inspiring on this path. And yet, she followed. She tried to look at it with fresh eyes, maybe there was something she hadn’t noticed before—something inspiring if she looked up in the sky instead of looking down like usual. But the path was familiar and the location itself was woefully boring: a small local children’s park shed walked past so many times. Yeah, there was a little free library but she’d already scoured it so many times she knew there was nothing of note. She opened the little door once again for good measure, but it was the same books as the last time she checked. No inspiration was to be found here. 

Shirley widened her range of distance. Maybe inspiration was too  broad of a term—after all, people can be inspired by anything, right? Maybe she needed something less subjective and more—specific. Specific to her. She closed her eyes and set another intention. 

Isoocles. 

Her destination was determined. She set out hoping that this would be worth something—even just a triangular street sign would at least mean that someone out there was listening and paying attention. She began forward on her trail—this time it was taking her a bit off the beaten path. She grew hopeful, though she tried her best to temper her excitement. She found herself in a wooded area she hadn’t encountered before and in place of excitement grew fear. There was a small creek running through the woods and she braced herself for an unpleasant surprise. When she finally reached the intended location, she studied the creek. It was calm, nothing of note in it. She picked up a rock and skimmed the water. Continued to look under branches. Nada.

Shirley gave up and headed home. 

That night she spent countless hours diving into more and more videos of experiences other users were having while rexpoing. She felt so detached from everyone and everything already, and this was just another thing to add to that list. It felt as though everyone was having experiences without her, everyone was making connections and having sparks—even if some of those were unsettling experiences. She was fed up. She was lonely. She was getting angry.

Tomorrow, she was going to manifest something dark.

Creeptober 2020 Writing Challenge Day 4: Highway

Day 4: Highway

Part 2

“When did my life become a David Lynch movie?” I thought to myself, strenuously blinking as though that was going to make the night somehow less dark. I inched myself closer to the steering wheel, draping my shoulders across it. “Yes, because if I could only just go through the windshield, then that would certainly improve visibility.” My brain should be a standup comic. If she didn’t need my dumb mouth and fragile body to translate her words to a crowd, she’d have her own Netflix special premiering this spring.

Netflix. TV. Couch. Ahhh how far out of reach those things seem right now. I’d trade anything to throw my legs across my not-super-comfy-but-cozy-enough-for-me, love-seat-masquerading-as-a-sofa- couch. To kick back, toss a two-sizes-too-small throw across my legs, jam a few flattened pillows under my head and let my mind be corrupted by trashy TV and romance movies. Who would ever think that there’d be a time where I’d actually be yearning for my boring Friday nights? 

“Why the hell is this stop sign here anyway? There’s no cross-road to let other cars drive past. There is no pedestrian walkway. There’s just more… road. A winding, seemingly endless stretch of road. What do I need to stop for?” My mind is racing as if an answer needs to be presented to me before the non-existent timer chimes. 

So I do. 

I stop.

And I stop.

And I stay stopped. 

“Do you only do what you're told?” A voice whispered in my ear, but there was no one else in the car with me. 

“Oh Hell no. Not some omniscient narrator bullshit. Not right now.” I think as I step on the gas, burning rubber as I drive like hell away from the stop sign. 

I keep pressing on trying not to think too much. I’m keeping my focus on one thing and one thing only: home. If I can get to safety I can forget about everything that happened this week. Everything I witnessed. Everything I took part in. I don’t care if it takes years and years of therapy and work to wipe my brain of what happened, I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. But now, right now, getting home is the only thing I need to have on my mind. It’s the only way out of Hell.

I turned on the radio but it was just static again. I punched the dial like a bully from the 1950s; I knew it wouldn’t do anything, but I needed to show it who was boss. Music would make this trip more manageable. Hell, I’d take the rantings of a conspiracy theory lunatic on a late-night radio show for grifters if it meant I could turn off the rational parts of my brain for a couple of hours. The silence made me all too attuned to the outside noises on this drive, my windows open because like everything else in this car, the air conditioning was busted. It was just breezy enough outside to be effective without being overwhelmingly loud, I tried to allow the outside air to serve as white noise but instead, I found myself distracted by the occasional chirp of cicadas and clicks of bats. And then another, strangely familiar sound… footsteps. 

“How?” 

I was puzzled, I was driving no less than 65 MPH yet clear as day I could hear the taps of someone jogging beside me. No, not someone, someones. 

Against my better judgment, I jerked my head to the right to discover a group of four people sprinting next to me. They were barely breaking a sweat but keeping pace with my vehicle. 

“WHAT THE HELL?!” I gasped as I slammed on the brakes, jerking my body forward and thrusting my entire head and upper body into the steering wheel. A car that wasn’t a pile of junk on wheels would have deployed the airbags at this point, but I’d be shocked to find out this car ever even had them to begin with. 

“Thanks for stopping, no one ever does,” one of the joggers commented, though none seemed to move their mouths to speak. 

“Who are you?” I asked, stunned.

“We just need a ride,” another answered. 

“To where?” 

“We’re really glad you stopped for us again.” 

I looked ahead and noticed a stop sign. The same stop sign as before. I was in the same place as before despite what felt like an hour’s worth of driving. I fought the urge to slam on the gas once more, fearing it would take me even further back in my travels. 

“I asked: to where? Answer me!” I demanded of them. 

“Why don’t you tell us?” Another answered and, again, I still couldn’t make out who was speaking. 

“How can I tell you where you’re going?! You need to tell me!!” I was growing more impatient by the second. 

“Do you only do as you're told?” 

There it was again. They all stepped closer and outstretched their arms, pulling at the handles of my door. 

“NO! NOT AGAIN!!” I yelped and sped off.

Home. Home. Home. I’m going to get home. 

I drove. And I drove. And I drove. The highway seemed to stretch on forever. But I could tell by the time on the radio that I was making progress. Soon this would all be over. 

Then I saw it in the distance, a light. A beacon of hope. Something to tell me everything was going to be alright. 

A sign.

A sign.

No. Not that sign. It couldn’t be. 

A stop sign. 

That stop sign. 

I gently pressed on the brakes and came to a full stop. There were more of them now and their requests were still the same. They wanted me to take them somewhere, but they’d never say where. 

It had been this way for the last five years. It will be this way for the rest of time. 

“Do you only do as you're told?” 

I do. I let them drag me to hell with them and never said a word. Then once I was free, I made the mistake that damned me forever. 

I stopped. I let them in. And now, no matter what I do and how far I drive, I’ll always be on this road. And I can never forget.

Maybe the stop sign is just there for me to… stop.

Creeptober 2020 Writing Challenge Day 3: Lost Souls

Day 3: Lost Souls

Part 1

All who wander are not lost.

Except for this group of miscreants walking on the side of the road. They are DEFINITELY lost.

If you encounter them on your travels do not slow down. Do not come to a full stop. Do not roll down your windows and wave. Do not make eye contact.

And, for the love of God, do not EVER let them in.

You see, those who die aimless are doomed to live eternally as such. It may sound sad but don’t give them too much of your pity: all they ever had to do was make a choice.

But they refused. They floated from place to place and moment to moment as if nothing ever mattered. And to them, it didn’t, and as such, they didn’t matter—not then, not now, not ever. For many, it’s in death that they realize the err of their ways. They grasp for meaning now as if they didn’t have their lifetimes—no matter how long or tragically short they may have been—to figure that out.

This is why you pass them by. Because their quest for meaning has become savage. They’re looking for a ride to their next destination and this time they’ve actually made up their minds.

You don’t want to take them there.

Not if you want to return.

Creeptober 2020 Writing Challenge Day 2: Crescent Moon

“CRESCENT MOON”

“And what significance does this tattoo have to you?” He asked as he ran his finger across the crescent moon with a woman’s face in it that adorned Luna’s forearm.

“Uh, my name is Luna.” Luna replied, yanking her arm away.

“Beautiful. And, to you, what does it mean to have such a powerful, womanly name?” He replied, unfazed.

“Look my guy, I’d probably get this tattoo if my name was Mildred. Moons are cool and the chick’s face is hot. It’s not that complicated.” 

“So you’re saying this tattoo means nothing to you?”

“Not really. None of them do. I see art I like, I put it on my body. That’s about it.” 

“Well, why not pretend it means something to make for a better story?” 

“And what would I stand to gain from that?”

“Everyone wants a story.” 

“No, I’m quite content keeping silent, thanks.”

“But you’re talking to me now.” 

“My point remains.” 

Luna smiled to herself before returning to her drink. 

“It’s stupid.”

Luna didn’t want to engage any more than she already had but she could sense that he wasn’t going to leave until he got some kind of response from her. Still, she sipped her martini and hoped he’d finally get the hint. 

He did not. 

“Attention whore.” He grunted as he threw some bills on the bar. A lousy tipper, what a surprise. Luna knew better, she really did. But she couldn’t help herself. 

“Pardon?” 

“You sit here by yourself, all these tattoos, your short skirt, and then you act like you’re better than anyone who tries to talk to you.”

“I’m sitting here. By myself. Minding my own business. You decided to come over here and bother me. What’s on my body is none of your concern. You want my attention because you think these are signals for you to give me that. They’re not. They’re for me. Period.”

He scoffed and finally backed away. Luna was used to telling off creeps who thought her tattoos gave them access to parts of her life that she had never granted them, but everyone has their limits. She pulled out her phone and began scrolling through her Instagram feed.

“What a jerk,” she heard the bartender say under her breath as she counted the bills he left behind. Luna finished the rest of her drink and left a $20 on the bar. Just because he was a jerk didn’t mean anyone else had to suffer. As Luna slung her purse over her shoulder, she felt a familiar tingle. She raised her coffin tip nails to her forearm and delicately scratched at her crescent moon.

“Oh, of course.” She replied as the moon gave her a wink.

Luna could sense him. It had been a few minutes since he left the bar but he hadn’t gone far. She entered and exited one dimly-lit establishment after another, each bar on the block only being different shades of cool but none with enough character to distinguish itself from the others. Finally, she found him, perched over another young woman’s stool in the same way he stood over hers.

Luna stood back and surveyed. She needed to play this just right.

His next conquest gently nudged past him and headed towards the ladies’ room. She gave him a coy giggle as she walked off. Luna couldn’t tell if she was just too nice for her own good or if it was just rough enough of a night for her that he seemed like a good option. Could her senses be off and he actually was charming?

“Oh, honey, you know I’m never wrong,” the moon sharply responded.

Sure enough, Luna’s eyes landed back on him as he slipped something out of his pants pocket. He opened the small lid and shook a tiny vial three times over her drink before deftly placing it back in his pocket right as she returned. She didn’t yet take another sip, which gave Luna just enough time to make her move as they commenced their small talk and tipsy flirtation.

“Box cutter,” the moon said.

“You sure?” Luna replied.

“Box cutter.”

Luna could see that she was holding the drink in her hand. Not quite ready to sip, but using it as a prop while she laughed at his barely astute observations and banal humor. Luna retrieved the box cutter from the bottom of her purse. She pulled it out, closed her eyes, and winced as she carefully outlined the crescent moon shape. With a violent tug, she held the bloody tattoo in her hand as she stormed towards the two.

“What the?!” He gasped as Luna slammed the bloody piece of skin down on the bar in front of him. The woman shrieked in fright, her drink flying across the bar.

“Run,” the moon commanded the woman from the bar top.

In the melee of screams and frantic exits, he looked Luna dead in the eyes with a fear she had grown to love. She scooped up her moon and rubbed at the piece of tattooed flesh until she could feel it reattaching itself to her forearm.

“What?” Luna responded, “now you have a story.”

She could hear him gagging as she walked away.

Creeptober 2020 Writing Challenge Day 1: Teeth

TEETH

I was having trouble sleeping. I spent most of the night tossing and turning, twisting my bed sheets into knots, and kicking frantically at my bed posts. Sweat beads were multiplying across my back despite the cool air trickling in from the open window. Finally, just as my eyelids shuttered, the shriek of my alarm stunned me and woke me from my brief and unpleasant slumber. I could hear my mother’s footsteps shuffling around in the hallway and knew that it was only a matter of minutes before she’d barge into my room and shake me awake, knowing full well that I was no longer sleeping but prolonging my time in the comfort of my bed. The rigmarole of my morning routine was the least favorite part of my day, even if it was something I grew to count on. 

But today would not be like all the others. Today I was on a mission. 

Suddenly, I remembered just why I felt so clammy, anxious, and sleep-deprived. I threw the ball of sheets that were barely covering my mid-section to the side and sprung out of bed like one of my mattress springs had broken through the covering and poked me in the behind. On my toes, I braced myself before gently peeling the damp pillow off the mattress and peering at what was left behind. 

There sat one small incisor, in the same spot I had placed it the night before. 

I grimaced and quickly covered it back up with the pillow just as my mother approached my room. 

“Oh!” She exclaimed, startled by my frantic appearance, “you’re already up! Are you okay? You look… off.” 

I shrugged off her concerns and tugged at my nightgown, peeling it from my back. 

“I’m OK,” I replied. 

“Good. Well, get yourself dressed. Since you’re up, I can make a bigger breakfast for us.” Mom said before turning and walking towards the kitchen. 

But I was not OK. So not OK, in fact, that I had willingly given up the golden opportunity to say I wasn’t feeling well and gain a sick day out of my experience. But I wasn’t ill, at least not physically. I was just… disheartened. I had lost my tooth the night before and, unbeknownst to my mother, I had placed the tooth under my pillow for the tooth fairy to make her rounds. Normally I would tell my mom as soon I lost a tooth, but Michelle from school has been spreading an awful rumor that the tooth fairy doesn’t exist. I told her that if she doesn’t, how does she always know when I’ve lost a tooth? Michelle just laughed and dared me to hide my tooth... without telling ANYONE about it first. So I did just that. 

But I refuse to believe that the tooth fairy isn’t real. Maybe she was just busy last night and didn’t have enough time to stop by to enact our usual trade agreement. Or, more likely the case, she saw that I wasn’t sleeping for most of the night and refused to come in. This was on me. I quickly grabbed my tooth before my mom returned to check in on my morning routine progress and hid it in a small jewelry box on top of my dresser. Tonight I wouldn’t be so nervous. Tonight I would place the tooth back under my pillow, sleep throughout the night and wake to four shiny quarters under my pillow, as is our unspoken agreement. And I’ll bring that dollar’s worth of change into school and make Michelle into the fool I know her to be, even if no one else thinks of her that way. 

I rushed my way through the school day, moving at hyper-speed as though that could speed up time itself. My eyes darted to any time piece that came across my field of vision; the clock on the wall in my classroom, the time on the radio in mom’s car, the numbers on the microwave, the timestamp on the television, my eyes twitching, my legs jerking, waiting impatiently for my 10:00 PM bedtime. At 9:59 I sprang to my feet from the living room floor and sprinted to my bedroom. 

“Since when are you so eager to get to bed?” My mom inquired as I reached my bedroom door. 

“Um… sleepy today.” I said, bounding inside before she could respond.

After making sure the coast was clear, I reached my arm up to the top of the dresser and pulled down the jewelry box. Time to try again. I made sure one last time that my mom wasn’t coming, and gently opened the lid. To be expected, there lay my tiny incisor. 

...but it wasn’t alone.

Next to it was yet another incisor. Confused, I closed the lid back on the box. Where did this second tooth come from? I opened it and peeked in once more, in case my eyes were deceiving me but sure enough, there were two baby teeth where there was just one before. The pieces started to assemble in my mind. The tooth fairy must have realized she missed my house the night before and was gifting me a second tooth to place under my pillow, upping my total profit from one dollar to two. Her generosity knows no bounds. I placed both teeth under my pillow and jumped under the covers, falling asleep without any fuss. The next morning I woke up before my alarm and, without hesitation, tossed my pillow to the floor to unearth the goodies that lay under it. 

There was no prize to be found. No monetary rewards. Not even an IOU. 

Just teeth. 

Three baby teeth. 

I nervously scooped the teeth into the palm of my hand and threw them back into the jewelry box. Was this a prank? How could anyone even know of my plan? Maybe my mom saw the missing tooth and figured out what I was doing but--where were the other teeth coming from? I had no siblings, was my mother hoarding teeth from neighborhood children for this very moment? Could it be that my mom was actually the tooth fairy herself, and by not telling her of my newly missing tooth I had angered her? Was this a warning? 

I needed to right my wrongs and ran into the living room to display my mouth.

“MOM I LOST ANOTHER TOOTH!” I yelped. 

She cupped my face in her hands and laughed gently. 

“Look at you, growing up so fast. Did it just happen? Better put it under your pillow tonight. You’ve been such a good little girl I’m sure you’ll get quite the reward.” 

The guilt ravaged my insides. I wanted so badly to let her know of my plan, but if she were the tooth fairy, surely she would have already known. I ran to the bathroom and dry heaved into the sink while trying to keep my composure before my mother took notice. The school day dragged and the evening seemed to be never-ending. I hastily swallowed down my mashed potatoes and peas at dinner and anxiously finished my homework before 8:00, where I rocked back and forth in front of the TV while my mom watched her court drama. I felt a kinship with the guilty party who awaited his judgment. I couldn’t make it all the way through, and at 8:45 I declared that I was tired and made my way to bed. 

“You’re tired already?” Mom inquired. “Oh,” she continued, “that’s right--you want to get a good sleep so the tooth fairy can come. Ok, sweetheart. Sweet dreams.” 

Her voice sounded so soothing but I couldn’t help but feel as though she knew something was up. I opened up the jewelry box once again. I’d have to be careful to only place one of the teeth so as to not arouse any suspicion. Maybe, if I were lucky, there’d only be one in the box, just the way it was when I first put it there, like an atonement for my sins. 

I would not be so lucky. 

Tears welled up in the corners of my eyes as I stared down at the one… two… three… four teeth nestled together on the cushioned inside of the box. I picked up one between my fingers--what I believed to be the original--and placed it under my pillow. I’d deal with the others in time but, for now, I’d try my hardest to achieve normalcy once again. 

The next morning, sure enough, not four shiny quarters but instead two whole dollar bills were tucked under my pillow. 

It didn’t matter. I couldn’t sleep. I saw my mother enter my room and place them there. There was no tooth fairy. I was two dollars richer but the problem wasn’t solved. In my jewelry box were four more teeth. My mother noticed my disdain despite my recently amassed riches. Thinking on my feet for the first time, I informed her that I wasn’t feeling well. She obliged and let me spend the day at home, which gave her a rare day off as well. I jumped into my coziest pair of jammies and plopped myself in front of the TV for The Price is Right and the morning judge shows when it dawned on me: the teeth only seemed to multiply while I was sleeping or at school and my mother at work. With us both home, whoever was behind this couldn’t hide for that long. 

I laid in bed for as long as I could, sometimes closing my eyes to see if it would trick whoever it was into thinking I was unconscious and vulnerable to their mischief. Nothing. I made sure all the doors were locked and windows closed tight so no one would get inside. Any time I was away from my room I followed closely at my mom’s heels, tracking all her steps. I’d peek inside the jewelry box periodically, only to find the same amount of teeth nestled away in their bejeweled prison.  At least they were no longer multiplying so I thought that just maybe it had finally ended. 

That was, until dinner time. 

“Can you set the table, honey?” My mom called from the kitchen. 

Setting the table was a badge of honor. Even if it was just the two of us eating dinner, my mother still took great pride in the presentation of a meal. When she had the time to cook something from scratch instead of grabbing takeout or defrosting something quick, dinner was an event. I pulled one of the dining room chairs over to the cabinet and opened up the top door where the good plates were. But opening the door led to an avalanche of sand that knocked me off the chair and onto the floor.

“What the-” my mom exclaimed. She picked up the sand and let it flow through her fingers, but it wasn’t like the sand from my sand art projects. It was much rougher than that. Like bone particles. 

I ran to the bedroom only to find my door unable to budge. I slammed my shoulder forcibly into it to see what was causing the obstruction: more sand. Bone fragments. Enamel. 

Mom stood in the doorway and looked at me with fright in her eyes. But she wasn’t staring at the hill of ground up teeth I was perched upon. She was looking at me. At my face. My mouth. I could feel the warmth and taste the salt. I opened my mouth and noticed the stream of red pouring out. As my mother sobbed and shrieked I waded my way over to the dresser and pulled the jewelry box down, opening it up to reveal a full set of adult teeth where the baby ones had been before. 

I placed them in my mouth. The bleeding stopped. The desert of teeth cleared up before our eyes. It was all over. 

We’d never talk about this again. What was there to say? 

All I know is that Michelle was wrong. Maybe the tooth fairy didn’t exist, but something sure did. And whatever it was, it made sure that it would never visit me again.