The Tooth Collector (and Other Tales of Terror) Read Online Free Page A

insides were filled with broken glass and being
clenched in a tight fist until her internal organs were shredded.
She winced and tried to focus on taking deep breaths.
     
    “You've lost a lot of blood from the
hemorrhaging. What is your pain level?”
     
    Cynthia's teeth were clenched, every muscle
tense. “10,” she managed to groan.
     
    The nurse pressed an elevator button. It lit
up, and the door slid open with a ding. “The doctor is meeting us
upstairs for the C-section.”
     
    “Where's Jason?” Cynthia mumbled as the door
slid shut.
     
    The nurse leaned over her. She smiled, but
there was something in that smile that Cynthia didn't like. Pity,
maybe. A hidden sadness. Fear for Cynthia's life. “If you're
speaking about the handsome man you came in with, he's in the
waiting room upstairs.”
     
    Cynthia raised her head. Her vision was
blurred by tears. Every movement she made brought a fresh wave of
nausea. Straining to hold her neck up, she examined her lower half.
Blood soaked through the fresh sheets that had been placed on the
rolling bed. The stain spread across the white cotton fabric
between her thighs, dark red in the center.
     
    She let her head fall back on the pillow. The
ceiling whizzed by in a blurry succession of drop tiles and
fluorescent lights. She heard the familiar tone of Dr. Killburn's
voice. “The room is ready for her.” He bent down to greet her. He
smiled, but the smile seemed vacant somehow... just like the
nurse's had been. The creases around his eyes and furrowed brow
told a different story.
     
    Cynthia, feeling woozy, could only struggle
to keep her eyes open and think, Oh no, am I going to die? As if reading her mind, Dr. Killburn responded. “Hello, dear. We're
going to get you through this.”
     
    Pain burst through her abdomen, so sharp she
cried out. Cynthia couldn't fight it any more. Her eyelids
fluttered as she fought against the blackness that checkered her
vision. Afraid that she might drop the tiny tooth clutched in her
fist, she slid her hand beneath the pillow and tucked it there for
safekeeping. Then she slipped into unconsciousness.
     
     
     
    Cynthia huddled in the cage. Dirty shelves,
covered in old dust and cobwebs, loomed over her as she peered
through the bars. In each jar was a different set of teeth. She
considered counting the jars, but the crackling of the fireplace
drew her attention.
     
    Little embers popped from the logs and turned
to ash when they hit the cool air. The flames danced to one side,
and she noticed two black eye sockets staring at her from the fire.
A draft stirred the flames again, and she saw the rest of the
skull, smiling at her from the blazing pit.
     
    The table before the fireplace was nothing
more than a wooden slat atop a box-like frame, sitting low to the
ground. A wet rag sat in a crimson stain on the table. Next to the
stain sat a bloody saw. Morsels of flesh still clung to the sharp
teeth of the saw. Cynthia shuddered. So that's how he disposed of
his victims.
     
    Her eyes panned to the table on her left.
Chains and ropes hung from the dirty wooden surface. Beside it, a
tall, narrow table gleamed with metal instruments. She trembled.
Would Cynthia end up on that table? She knew this was a nightmare,
but somehow, she felt there was more at stake than just having a
bad dream.
     
    “Your time has come.” Cynthia looked up,
expecting to see the tall, sinister man from her dreams. Instead,
she was greeted by the glittering red eyes of the cloaked figure,
staring down at her through the darkness of the hood.
     
    The dark entity unlocked the cage and seized
Cynthia's wrists in its cold, bony fingers. It yanked her through
the cell door, pulling her across the dusty floor. Her flailing
limbs kicked up dirt as she struggled against its stone grip.
     
    She was released. Her wrists throbbed where
the circulation had been blocked. She scrambled to her knees,
looking up at the lost soul in the dark, billowing robes.