Chattering Teeth
By
George Larson
What was it? What could it be? The small package was addressed to the occupant, so I suspected the contents had something to do with the advertising gimmicks that most of us received throughout the year. Pure Kitch. A pocket calendar, personally engraved pencils, a hokey keychain, maybe a pen or something similar. All reminders from our tax preparer or dentist or whoever. I was a valued client. Yes, that must be it, although occupant was not my name. But maybe occupant was sufficiently impersonable and drab as I felt. It fitted me, perhaps to be a recluse in my waning years.
I had gathered up all the mail and walked back inside the house. Except Sundays, this was my daily routine, one of several fixed actions to fill in my day now that I was retired and living alone. Funny how we all have our established patterns of actions. I had not thought much of these more-or-less daily chores until I had too much time on my hands. Frankly, I did not have an ounce of joie de vivre left. Idle hands are the devil’s workshop as the bible said. And it was true in my case.
There was not much mail even though we lived in a consumer-based society. Just the usual advertising flyers, a couple of bills I’d hold off paying until the last minute, and the small box. It was all the detritus of living life in the twenty-first century. But the box was different. It was wrapped in brown paper with its sides glued tightly against the box itself. String encircled it to ensure nothing would inadvertently fall out during delivery. I held it up to my ear and shook it gently, determining if I could hear anything which might disclose the identity of its contents. There were no sounds. So, a clock or bomblet was out of the question in my sketchy opinion. It seemed safe enough. I was awaiting a full set of dentures to replace the broken ones. Maybe they had finally arrived.
I placed the unopened box on the kitchen table and looked closely at the address and other details hoping to find out who sent it. Galaxy Toy Co. in New York City was shown as the return address. A toy? This was a joke. It had to be since I never ordered such a thing. If it were a gift or gratuity they would be out of luck. I was much too old to be suckered into a swindle, if that is what this was about.
I was in no hurry to open the package, but I was downright curious just the same. Who would send me a toy and why?
#
I went to bed promptly after the 10 PM news and slept fitfully throughout the night. That was unusual since I was a heavy sleeper, at least according to my late dear wife. But the receipt and thoughts of the package had invaded my mind, and now my subconscious too. I could not wait to unwrap the damn thing and see what was inside.
After finishing my second cup of coffee, I gingerly unwrapped the package. Whoever prepared it for shipping spent a great deal of time making sure the contents were safe. They certainly were secure enough because it took me several minutes to untie it and remove the three sheets of surrounding paper. Maybe these were my replacement dentures. My eating soft food was getting old. Lack of dentures also hindered my speech; it sounded like I had a mouthful of marbles. But the box did not look right. It was hand-wrapped and looked unusual. Once removed, the unpacking of the inside was easy. I just opened the top of the box and let the object fall onto the table.
Oh my God! I could not believe what I was looking at, a chattering set of teeth. It was almost identical to the one I played with as a kid. I laughed at myself remembering all the good times I had playing with it and showing it off to my friends and parents. It had dark red gums and pearly white teeth, just as I remember. The Chattering Teeth had a pair of stubby legs and a key to wind it up and set it in motion. On top of its head, were a pair of googly eyes with white irises and coal black pupils. The Teeth were given as gag gifts between adults, but it was the children who were really enthralled with them. I was pleased with my gift and could not wait to wind it up and to see it dash across the table. My dentist would get an earful for playing a practical joke, but it was funny and there was more.
At the bottom of the box there were printed instructions which read:
Please accept this gift in the spirit in which it is given. Treat the set of Chattering Teeth with respect and care. For who knows what the future holds.
Respectfully, Your friends at the Galaxy Toy Co.
Those were not the words I expected to read. The text was ominous, almost eerie in nature. I quickly shrugged off the instructions and began winding up the teeth until the key stopped. I then released the switch and watched it skitter across the table while all the while making a yakety-yak sound. I enjoyed the scene as it wended its way, stopping just short of the end of the table and then turning itself around, moving in the opposite direction. It was amazing to see its intricate movements.
They were not my replacement dentures but something amusing, nonetheless. I could wait a little while longer to confront my dentist, as now I had something to play with while biding my time.
#
The days droned on, nothing of interest to spend my time, except the Chattering Teeth. The Teeth were now becoming the point of interest in my dull life, an obsession. I often took them out of the box. It was now time to play. I was amazed at how the Teeth maneuvered its way around the living room floor. It had a sixth sense in avoiding the legs of the chairs and TV stand. It was now making more noise as though speaking a new language. Its garbled sounds were becoming more distinct with every passing day. And that is when it happened.
Suddenly, the Teeth spoke to me in a tinny, mechanical voice which I clearly understood but confounded by what it said.
“Yakety-yak. Don’t look back. Take out the papers and the trash. Or you don’t get no spendin’ cash. If you don’t scrub that kitchen floor. You ain’t gonna rock ‘n’ roll no more. Yakety yak (don’t look back).”
I did look back and remembered the Coasters 1957 number one hit on the charts: Yakety yak.
It had somehow reached back into my memory and plucked out a tune with which I was familiar. If it could do that, what else was it capable of? I was now frightened to the very core of my being. I placed the Teeth back in the box and put the top on.
The next few days were a cacophony of discord around the house. The devious object talked incessantly about things I had in my mind for a long time. Some were very unpleasant thoughts, others not so much. Regardless, it was becoming a chatterbox. The only time it shut up was when I put it back in its box.
#
The next morning, I called my dentist and accused him of sending the Teeth to my home. Not the dentures, but the magical, mystical ones that were now playing havoc with my life. He averred he had done no such thing and flat-out told me I must have Alzheimer’s or other disease of the mind. He put me on hold and when he reconnected, he said my new dentures would arrive in another three days. Before he hung up, he told me to find a new dentist. He certainly had lots of chutzpa for a young man who was still wet behind the ears. Youth, damn them to Hell!
#
That evening, I caught the Teeth poking its head out of the box, slyly surveilling the kitchen with its googly eyes. What was it up to? What more tricks did it have up its sleeve? The time was right to act. And I did. I pulled it from its box and stomped on it, breaking it into hundreds of shards of plastic. The inanimate object was dead, an oxymoron if there ever was one. I swept up the remains and deposited them in the trash can. Good riddance and goodbye. I was now a free man.
I slept long and soundly, only to be awakened by the loud singing coming from the kitchen: Yakety yak – don’t look back.
Oh Lord, please, please say it is not so. But it was. The chatterbox was running back and forth on the linoleum floor like it did not have a care in the world. It did not, singing and talking to its heart content. Much of what was spoken was pure babble, other times its sing-song routine reflected intelligence and cogent thought. It had reconstructed itself overnight. How could that be?
But my cares were growing exponentially. When it stopped moving, it stared directly into my eyes. I could see the hatred and feel the growing tension between us. One of us would die.
I thought I was going bat-shit crazy, thinking it was alive. It could not be, could it? What if I were simply imagining things. Toys were now high-tech items with a variety of chips in them allowing them to speak, walk and God knows whatever else. Think Chatty Cathy. Yes, that was the answer. So, I ignored it for now, out of sight, out of mind. Right?
#
I waited patiently on the stoop of my front porch for the mail carrier to arrive. If my dentist were correct, I would be getting my new dentures today. He did and I was happy to have finished that bit of drama. I ran into the house, anxious to open the box and try on my new full set of teeth. I fitted the top row and then the bottom. They were a perfect fit, and I was pleased with the craftsmanship. Now I could smile again, feeling almost normal for a change.
When the chatterbox noticed my new choppers, it became subdued, so much so that it jumped back into its box. That was odd but it was fine by me because I had had enough of its abusive attitude. Before it slunk all the way down in the box, it gave a last look at me and saw me grinning from ear to ear showing off my brand-new, custom-made set of teeth. Well, it was more of a shit eating grin to tell the truth. The little demon was jealous!
Before I shut off the bedroom night light, I fixed a glass of Polident denture cleaner and plopped my new teeth in it. They would be clean by morning. I turned off the light and snoozed.
Sometime early in the night, I heard a clacking sound in the dark, close to my bed. Getting louder by the minute, it brought me out of my stupor, and I was now wide awake. What was happening?
I switched on the light and to my horror I saw the Teeth sitting at the end of my bed. I immediately sat up and as I did, I could see it change before my eyes. It now opened its maw wide, extending its mouth as it did so. Its teeth were sharp and its canines longer. It held a maniacal sneer, as best I can describe. Drool fell from its gaping mouth.
It was a sight of sheer terror. It quickly hopped onto the nightstand and pushed over my glass holding my dentures, spilling them to the floor.
Next, it ran up my chest and jumped into my slackened jaw. It pried it open with the full, strong spring mechanism in its workings. It was now permanently part of my mouth, part of me. The small key stuck out at an angle between my lips. It shot tendrils up into my cerebral cortex and I was now at its mercy, a slave to the thing. I was now merely a vessel for the Chattering Teeth. I passed out from the terror and trauma inflicted on me.
#
I am feeling much better now. My mood has changed for the better and I am smiling. It is not a natural smile but an overly wide grin. I now talked too much, mostly nonsense but that was OK. A chatterbox if you will. It did not make any difference overall. I was finally happy and would be for the rest of my natural life.
Yakety yak, don’t look back!
George Larson retired as a special agent from the Diplomatic Security Service, US Department of State. He has written eight novels (Dick Avery Adventure Stories) in addition to fifteen short horror stories. He holds a BA degree in English (Nom Cum Laude).
By
George Larson
What was it? What could it be? The small package was addressed to the occupant, so I suspected the contents had something to do with the advertising gimmicks that most of us received throughout the year. Pure Kitch. A pocket calendar, personally engraved pencils, a hokey keychain, maybe a pen or something similar. All reminders from our tax preparer or dentist or whoever. I was a valued client. Yes, that must be it, although occupant was not my name. But maybe occupant was sufficiently impersonable and drab as I felt. It fitted me, perhaps to be a recluse in my waning years.
I had gathered up all the mail and walked back inside the house. Except Sundays, this was my daily routine, one of several fixed actions to fill in my day now that I was retired and living alone. Funny how we all have our established patterns of actions. I had not thought much of these more-or-less daily chores until I had too much time on my hands. Frankly, I did not have an ounce of joie de vivre left. Idle hands are the devil’s workshop as the bible said. And it was true in my case.
There was not much mail even though we lived in a consumer-based society. Just the usual advertising flyers, a couple of bills I’d hold off paying until the last minute, and the small box. It was all the detritus of living life in the twenty-first century. But the box was different. It was wrapped in brown paper with its sides glued tightly against the box itself. String encircled it to ensure nothing would inadvertently fall out during delivery. I held it up to my ear and shook it gently, determining if I could hear anything which might disclose the identity of its contents. There were no sounds. So, a clock or bomblet was out of the question in my sketchy opinion. It seemed safe enough. I was awaiting a full set of dentures to replace the broken ones. Maybe they had finally arrived.
I placed the unopened box on the kitchen table and looked closely at the address and other details hoping to find out who sent it. Galaxy Toy Co. in New York City was shown as the return address. A toy? This was a joke. It had to be since I never ordered such a thing. If it were a gift or gratuity they would be out of luck. I was much too old to be suckered into a swindle, if that is what this was about.
I was in no hurry to open the package, but I was downright curious just the same. Who would send me a toy and why?
#
I went to bed promptly after the 10 PM news and slept fitfully throughout the night. That was unusual since I was a heavy sleeper, at least according to my late dear wife. But the receipt and thoughts of the package had invaded my mind, and now my subconscious too. I could not wait to unwrap the damn thing and see what was inside.
After finishing my second cup of coffee, I gingerly unwrapped the package. Whoever prepared it for shipping spent a great deal of time making sure the contents were safe. They certainly were secure enough because it took me several minutes to untie it and remove the three sheets of surrounding paper. Maybe these were my replacement dentures. My eating soft food was getting old. Lack of dentures also hindered my speech; it sounded like I had a mouthful of marbles. But the box did not look right. It was hand-wrapped and looked unusual. Once removed, the unpacking of the inside was easy. I just opened the top of the box and let the object fall onto the table.
Oh my God! I could not believe what I was looking at, a chattering set of teeth. It was almost identical to the one I played with as a kid. I laughed at myself remembering all the good times I had playing with it and showing it off to my friends and parents. It had dark red gums and pearly white teeth, just as I remember. The Chattering Teeth had a pair of stubby legs and a key to wind it up and set it in motion. On top of its head, were a pair of googly eyes with white irises and coal black pupils. The Teeth were given as gag gifts between adults, but it was the children who were really enthralled with them. I was pleased with my gift and could not wait to wind it up and to see it dash across the table. My dentist would get an earful for playing a practical joke, but it was funny and there was more.
At the bottom of the box there were printed instructions which read:
Please accept this gift in the spirit in which it is given. Treat the set of Chattering Teeth with respect and care. For who knows what the future holds.
Respectfully, Your friends at the Galaxy Toy Co.
Those were not the words I expected to read. The text was ominous, almost eerie in nature. I quickly shrugged off the instructions and began winding up the teeth until the key stopped. I then released the switch and watched it skitter across the table while all the while making a yakety-yak sound. I enjoyed the scene as it wended its way, stopping just short of the end of the table and then turning itself around, moving in the opposite direction. It was amazing to see its intricate movements.
They were not my replacement dentures but something amusing, nonetheless. I could wait a little while longer to confront my dentist, as now I had something to play with while biding my time.
#
The days droned on, nothing of interest to spend my time, except the Chattering Teeth. The Teeth were now becoming the point of interest in my dull life, an obsession. I often took them out of the box. It was now time to play. I was amazed at how the Teeth maneuvered its way around the living room floor. It had a sixth sense in avoiding the legs of the chairs and TV stand. It was now making more noise as though speaking a new language. Its garbled sounds were becoming more distinct with every passing day. And that is when it happened.
Suddenly, the Teeth spoke to me in a tinny, mechanical voice which I clearly understood but confounded by what it said.
“Yakety-yak. Don’t look back. Take out the papers and the trash. Or you don’t get no spendin’ cash. If you don’t scrub that kitchen floor. You ain’t gonna rock ‘n’ roll no more. Yakety yak (don’t look back).”
I did look back and remembered the Coasters 1957 number one hit on the charts: Yakety yak.
It had somehow reached back into my memory and plucked out a tune with which I was familiar. If it could do that, what else was it capable of? I was now frightened to the very core of my being. I placed the Teeth back in the box and put the top on.
The next few days were a cacophony of discord around the house. The devious object talked incessantly about things I had in my mind for a long time. Some were very unpleasant thoughts, others not so much. Regardless, it was becoming a chatterbox. The only time it shut up was when I put it back in its box.
#
The next morning, I called my dentist and accused him of sending the Teeth to my home. Not the dentures, but the magical, mystical ones that were now playing havoc with my life. He averred he had done no such thing and flat-out told me I must have Alzheimer’s or other disease of the mind. He put me on hold and when he reconnected, he said my new dentures would arrive in another three days. Before he hung up, he told me to find a new dentist. He certainly had lots of chutzpa for a young man who was still wet behind the ears. Youth, damn them to Hell!
#
That evening, I caught the Teeth poking its head out of the box, slyly surveilling the kitchen with its googly eyes. What was it up to? What more tricks did it have up its sleeve? The time was right to act. And I did. I pulled it from its box and stomped on it, breaking it into hundreds of shards of plastic. The inanimate object was dead, an oxymoron if there ever was one. I swept up the remains and deposited them in the trash can. Good riddance and goodbye. I was now a free man.
I slept long and soundly, only to be awakened by the loud singing coming from the kitchen: Yakety yak – don’t look back.
Oh Lord, please, please say it is not so. But it was. The chatterbox was running back and forth on the linoleum floor like it did not have a care in the world. It did not, singing and talking to its heart content. Much of what was spoken was pure babble, other times its sing-song routine reflected intelligence and cogent thought. It had reconstructed itself overnight. How could that be?
But my cares were growing exponentially. When it stopped moving, it stared directly into my eyes. I could see the hatred and feel the growing tension between us. One of us would die.
I thought I was going bat-shit crazy, thinking it was alive. It could not be, could it? What if I were simply imagining things. Toys were now high-tech items with a variety of chips in them allowing them to speak, walk and God knows whatever else. Think Chatty Cathy. Yes, that was the answer. So, I ignored it for now, out of sight, out of mind. Right?
#
I waited patiently on the stoop of my front porch for the mail carrier to arrive. If my dentist were correct, I would be getting my new dentures today. He did and I was happy to have finished that bit of drama. I ran into the house, anxious to open the box and try on my new full set of teeth. I fitted the top row and then the bottom. They were a perfect fit, and I was pleased with the craftsmanship. Now I could smile again, feeling almost normal for a change.
When the chatterbox noticed my new choppers, it became subdued, so much so that it jumped back into its box. That was odd but it was fine by me because I had had enough of its abusive attitude. Before it slunk all the way down in the box, it gave a last look at me and saw me grinning from ear to ear showing off my brand-new, custom-made set of teeth. Well, it was more of a shit eating grin to tell the truth. The little demon was jealous!
Before I shut off the bedroom night light, I fixed a glass of Polident denture cleaner and plopped my new teeth in it. They would be clean by morning. I turned off the light and snoozed.
Sometime early in the night, I heard a clacking sound in the dark, close to my bed. Getting louder by the minute, it brought me out of my stupor, and I was now wide awake. What was happening?
I switched on the light and to my horror I saw the Teeth sitting at the end of my bed. I immediately sat up and as I did, I could see it change before my eyes. It now opened its maw wide, extending its mouth as it did so. Its teeth were sharp and its canines longer. It held a maniacal sneer, as best I can describe. Drool fell from its gaping mouth.
It was a sight of sheer terror. It quickly hopped onto the nightstand and pushed over my glass holding my dentures, spilling them to the floor.
Next, it ran up my chest and jumped into my slackened jaw. It pried it open with the full, strong spring mechanism in its workings. It was now permanently part of my mouth, part of me. The small key stuck out at an angle between my lips. It shot tendrils up into my cerebral cortex and I was now at its mercy, a slave to the thing. I was now merely a vessel for the Chattering Teeth. I passed out from the terror and trauma inflicted on me.
#
I am feeling much better now. My mood has changed for the better and I am smiling. It is not a natural smile but an overly wide grin. I now talked too much, mostly nonsense but that was OK. A chatterbox if you will. It did not make any difference overall. I was finally happy and would be for the rest of my natural life.
Yakety yak, don’t look back!
George Larson retired as a special agent from the Diplomatic Security Service, US Department of State. He has written eight novels (Dick Avery Adventure Stories) in addition to fifteen short horror stories. He holds a BA degree in English (Nom Cum Laude).