The door to Ellie’s room was slightly ajar, moonlight sneaking in like an intruder. Denton hesitated outside, his heart pounding against his ribs. The past days had gnawed at him, each hour chipping away at his composure. He pushed the door open gently, the hinges creaking softly.
Ellie lay curled under her blankets, chest rising and falling peacefully. Her face, usually vibrant, was relaxed in sleep. He approached her bedside, boots heavy on the wooden floor. The room smelled faintly of lavender, tinged with an undercurrent he couldn’t place—a hint of decay.
His gaze fell on Ellie’s mouth, slightly open, revealing a gap where her baby tooth should have been. Denton’s breath hitched. He leaned closer, eyes straining in the dim light. The gum line was shiny and raw.
A cold dread washed over him. This wasn’t right. Ellie’s teeth had always come out naturally. He checked her forehead for fever; cool and dry. His gaze flicked to the window, half-expecting a shadow lurking outside.
The glass pane was fogged slightly, condensation dripping like tears. But there were symbols—crude, jagged marks etched into the frame. Denton squinted, tracing them with his eyes. They pulsed menacingly under his gaze.
He stepped closer to the window, breath fogging a small section of the glass. The symbols seemed to writhe, their meaning elusive but ominous. Memories surged—whispers from the town, the chipped tooth on Ellie’s pillow, the botched procedure from years past.
His reflection stared back at him, gaunt and haunted. He blinked, breaking the trance, and turned to wake Ellie gently. She stirred, eyelids fluttering open.
“Dad?” she murmured, voice thick with sleep.
He forced a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Just a bad dream.”
Ellie rubbed her eyes, sitting up. “But it felt so real... like something was in the room.”
Denton’s smile faltered. “It’s just your imagination,” he said, though his own imagination screamed otherwise. He sat on the edge of her bed, taking her hand. “You lost a tooth today.”
Ellie touched her tongue to the gap, curious. “I did?”
“Yes,” Denton said, voice steady. “Kids lose teeth all the time.”
She nodded, but concern flickered in her eyes. “Why do I feel so weird about it?”
Denton hesitated. “Sometimes changes can feel strange.” He squeezed her hand. “But you’re safe here with me.”
Ellie looked at him, trust shining in her gaze. Denton felt a pang of guilt, knowing he was treading on thin ice.
“Can we get a nightlight?” Ellie asked, looking around the dark room.
He nodded. “Of course.” He moved to the door, then paused. “Stay here, okay? Don’t move until I come back.”
Ellie’s eyes widened slightly, but she nodded, pulling the blankets tighter.
Denton fetched a nightlight from the closet. Its soft glow cast eerie shadows as he returned to Ellie’s room. She was sitting up, silhouetted against the moonlight. The sight of her there, vulnerable and trusting, stirred something primal within him.
He plugged in the nightlight, filling the room with warmth. “There you go,” he said softly. Her gaze flicked from him to the window, then back again.
“Dad?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper. “What were those marks on the window?”
Denton froze. He’d hoped she hadn’t noticed them. He forced another smile, keeping his tone light. “Just some scratches, sweetheart. Nothing to worry about.”
Ellie didn’t look convinced but was too tired to argue. Denton sat back down, pulling her into a hug.
“I’m right here,” he murmured into her hair. “You’re safe.” But even as he said the words, the symbols pressed against his mind, their meaning taunting him.
Ellie snuggled closer, breathing evening out. Denton stayed with her, eyes fixed on the window. The symbols were visible in the nightlight’s glow, mocking him.
Minutes turned into hours. Ellie stirred, murmuring something unintelligible. He leaned closer, listening. Her words were jumbled, but one phrase stood out: “The tooth... it hurts.”
A chill ran down his spine. He touched her cheek; warm and flushed. Panic surged through him. He grabbed the thermometer, pressing it against her forehead. The digital readout flashed: 101°F.
He shook Ellie gently, trying to rouse her fully. “Ellie, wake up.”
She moaned softly, eyelids fluttering but not opening.
“Ellie!” Denton’s voice was sharper now. Her eyes finally flickered open, confusion and pain clouding them.
“I need you to stay awake,” he said, heart pounding. “You’re burning up.”
Fear gripped him as he rushed to the bathroom for a cool cloth. He returned, pressing it gently against her forehead. Ellie whimpered softly, body trembling.
“It’s okay,” Denton murmured, trying to soothe her. “I’m here. You’ll be fine.” But even as he spoke, dread crept in. The symbols on the window pulsed with an ominous energy.
He paced the room, mind racing. What was happening? He thought back to the teeth found in the mine, their ritualistic nature. A shiver ran down his spine. This wasn’t just about a missing tooth; it was something far more sinister.
Denton grabbed his phone, dialing Sheriff Mayhew’s number with trembling fingers. The call rang through, but there was no answer. He left a desperate voicemail: “Mayhew, it’s Denton. Ellie’s sick—really sick. I think... I think it has something to do with the Tooth Taker. Call me back.”
He hung up, turning back to Ellie. Her breathing was shallow and rapid, cheeks flushed bright red. Desperation surged through him. He needed answers.
His gaze returned to the window, symbols burning into his mind. They were a clue; he knew it. But deciphering them would take time—time Ellie didn’t have.
Denton made a decision, steeling himself against fear. He couldn’t wait for Mayhew or anyone else. He kissed Ellie’s forehead gently, whispering promises of safety and protection.
“Stay strong, sweetheart,” he murmured. “I’m going to figure this out.”
With a final look at her sleeping form, Denton slipped out of the room, steps determined. The house creaked around him as he moved downstairs, each footfall echoing like a countdown to an unknown fate.
He grabbed his coat from the hook by the door, hands trembling slightly. The night air was cold when he stepped outside, biting into his skin. He scanned the darkness, half-expecting the shadowy figure lurking in the trees. But there was nothing—just the silent expanse of Black Hollow under a moonless sky.
Denton took a deep breath, steeling himself for what lay ahead. He had no plan, no weapon except his wits and desperation. But he knew one thing: he couldn’t let Ellie suffer like this. Not again.
He started down the path, steps quick and purposeful. The town was quiet, too quiet, as if holding its breath. Each house passed by was a silent sentinel, windows dark and unyielding. Denton’s heart pounded in his chest, every beat a drumroll to an unknown battle.
He headed towards Geneva Poole’s cottage, the only person he knew who might hold answers. The wind picked up, rustling leaves above him like whispers from the dead. Denton shivered, not from cold but from the weight of the night pressing down on him.
The cottage loomed ahead, timber frame dark and foreboding. He approached cautiously, knocking sharply on the door. There was no response at first, just the hollow echo of his own knuckles against wood. He knocked again, louder this time, urgency lacing his movements.
After what felt like an eternity, the door creaked open. Geneva Poole stood in the doorway, eyes sharp and piercing despite the late hour. She looked him up and down, expression unreadable.
“Denton Cross,” she said finally, voice as dry as parchment. “What brings you to my doorstep at this hour?”
He met her gaze steadily, voice steady despite turmoil within. “Geneva, I need your help.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly, curiosity flickering in their depths. But before she could respond, a sudden gust of wind whipped around them, extinguishing the porch light and plunging them into darkness.
Denton’s breath caught as he felt it—a cold presence, malevolent and familiar. He spun around, heart pounding wildly. There, at the edge of the tree line, stood a figure—tall and gaunt, features obscured by shadows. It pulsed with eerie energy.
Geneva gasped softly behind him, hand clutching his arm tightly. “Denton...” she whispered, fear lacing her voice.
He turned back to her, determination etching lines around his mouth. “It’s the Tooth Taker,” he said grimly. “And it’s after Ellie.”
Ellie's tooth had vanished overnight.