Teeth

By Edo Van Belkom

“I expect it to knock people’s socks off, the way Stephen King’s Carrie did . . . Teeth will haunt you for the rest of your life” (Robert J. Sawyer, Nebula Award-winning author of Calculating God).
 
They think they’re getting lucky.
They’re dead wrong.
 
Det. Joe Williams has seen all kinds of murder scenes. Some brutal, some gory, all disturbing and horrific in their way. Nothing could have prepared him for what’s waiting in Apartment 413. A man—what’s left of him—lying in a pool of his own blood, his face frozen in a silent scream.
 
That’s just the first. Soon there are more victims, all male, all mutilated, seeming to have little in common except an agonizing death by castration. All of them went looking for pleasure. Instead they found a killer wreaking vengeance in the most bloodthirsty way. And the only clue Williams has found is a tiny, gleaming metal tooth . . .
 
Edo van Belkom—winner of the Bram Stoker and Aurora Awards—delves into the heart of man’s most primal fear in a shocking, suspenseful, terrifying novel that bites down hard . . . and won’t let go.
 
“One of 2001’s best horror novels.” —Science Fiction Chronicle
 
“Teeth works on several levels: as an over-the-edge contemporary horror novel, as a police procedural, and as a thriller. Edo van Belkom’s mastery of the art of storytelling is brought to bear on this unforgettable novel.” —Robert J. Sawyer, Hugo and Nebula Award–winning author of Calculating God
 
“Edo van Belkom drags us screaming into the maw of horror.” —Richard Laymon, international bestselling author of The Traveling Vampire Show

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Feb 11, 2014
• ISBN: 9781625670571

Book preview

TEETH?

an introduction by Richard Laymon

When I asked Edo van Belkom to contribute a story to my anthology, Bad News, he sent me a gruesome, amusing and disturbing short story called Lamia which I read with relish and immediately accepted for publication.

The very same story has now become the Prologue of the novel you are holding in your hands.

Lamia became Teeth.

Quite an intriguing title, Teeth.

Teeth.

What might it be about?

Combs have teeth. Such teeth sometimes fall out and leave a comb with unfortunate gaps. I can’t imagine, however, why Edo van Belkom would want to write a book about the teeth of a comb. He has written so many fine thrillers and horror stories. In fact, he has even won the Bram Stoker award bestowed by the Horror Writers’ Association. Why on earth would he write a book about the teeth of a comb, other than perhaps the gunk that sometimes accumulates between them? I’m sure I don’t know. I can envision a nifty little short story dwelling on comb-jam, but a full novel? Unlikely.

Wait! Aside from ordinary people who enjoy keeping their hair tidy, who uses combs? BARBERS! By golly, maybe Teeth is a new take on Sweeney Todd, the demon barber who provided fresh ingredients for the very best meat pies on Fleet Street!

That would be a subject worthy of Edo’s talents!

Or could it be that the title of his book has nothing to do with the teeth of a comb?

That’s possible, too.

Perhaps the book focuses on some other variety of teeth.

But what? Let me think.

Gears and cogs have teeth. Maybe Teeth is about workers whose neckties become caught in the wheels of a demon—possessed machine—and they’re dragged headfirst into its mechanism, where they’re mauled and mushed and rendered into piles of twisted human gore. Could be, could be. But didn’t Stephen King write a story along those lines? Or several?

Then again, maybe Teeth has nothing to do with machinery gears.

Certain well-enforced rules and laws are said to have teeth. As a subject for a thriller or horror novel, however, I’m afraid that would suck.

The word suck reminds me that tasty morsels are sometimes described as toothsome. So are beautiful, luscious females. Might Edo’s book be about cannibalism at a beauty pageant? Miss Universe gets eaten? Ho ho! Sounds promising.

But what else might Teeth be about?

Zippers have teeth. Ouch! Let’s not go there.

Rakes! Rakes in the wrong hands or carelessly left lying about, are fraught with danger. Just try stepping on the teeth, or tines, of a rake that’s been discarded teeth-up in the grass. Especially barefoot. And imagine the stout wooden handle flying up, drubbing you in the nose. Or try catching a rakeful of steel teeth in your face. That might hurt. And hurt is always a good subject for books of the sort that Edo likes to write.

So perhaps Teeth is about a landscape architect or lawn-care specialist who goes berserk. Perhaps Edo was reduced to calling the book Teeth because a title such as The Lawmaking Man might raise eyebrows.

Could be. But what are some other possibilities?

Ice hammers certainly have teeth. It seems reasonable to suspect, therefore, that Teeth might be the story of a chap who runs around busting open heads with an ice hammer! Or knocking out teeth with one! Has King already been there? If he hasn’t been, Lawrence Sanders has. An ice hammer was the weapon of choice in The Third Deadly Sin.

Which is not to say that others can’t use ice hammers, too. There’s no copyright on tools of destruction.

But what else has …?

Bear traps have teeth! Clank! I’ve actually seen them in horror movies. So maybe Teeth is about a crazed mountain man who sets bear traps for human victims – especially for toothsome ladies.

Saws also have teeth. So do pliers. Both tools have horrifying potential. Saws serve beautifully as instruments of dismemberment (remember The Texas Chain Saw Massacre?). Pliers are splendid for torture, and have often been used not only by fictional villains but also by real-life serial killers.

However …

Considering that Edo invited me, Richard Laymon, to write this introduction not only because we’re friends but also because he finds my presence appropriate to the subject matter of his book, it might be instructive to glance at my own fiction for clues as to the subject of Teeth.

I’ve often made use of saws and pliers in my stories and novels. In QUAKE, for example, Stanley uses a handsaw to remove a fellow’s head. In my short story, Mess Hall, a pair of pliers is used to rip off someone’s lips and eyelids. My books are rife with unfriendly uses of saws and pliers.

Considering uses of teeth in my fiction, I don’t recall making use of combs, gears, rakes, bear traps or ice hammers. Zippers, of course, have sometimes played significant roles.

I am probably best known, however, for teeth that have nothing to do with any of the devices mentioned above. I’m referring to such teeth as are defined in the Oxford English Dictionary as follows:

In plural, the hard processes within the mouth (usually in sockets) in a row to each jaw in most vertebrates except birds, having points, edges or grinding surfaces, and serving primarily for biting, tearing or trituration of solid food, and secondarily as weapons of attack or defense, and for other purposes.

Such a splendid definition! In case you’re wondering (I certainly was), trituration is the process of crushing, grinding, or pulverizing. It’s pronounced like trish-uh-ra-tion (rhymes with nation). The verb form is triturate. Now ya learned something.

I’ve written loads and loads about those sorts of teeth. Vampires use them to nip necks and other tender body parts. Humans in good times use them to chew food or to nibble lovers. In more difficult circumstances, they sometimes use them to remove fleshy chunks from their enemies or victims.

(When in doubt, go for the throat.)

I rather suspect, however, that Edo asked me to introduce his book because of the way I dealt with teeth in three particular books: The Cellar, Beast House, and The Midnight Tour.

For The Cellar, which was my first published novel, I created a new type of monster. It is a rather human-like creature, but with slimy, dead-white skin, a snout and sharp claws and teeth. It’s the beast of Beast House, and it became somewhat famous for its teeth.

Not for its toothsome smile. Not for the size or sharpness of its fangs. Neither is it known for the whiteness of its pearly whites.

Rather for their unusual location.

It is undoubtedly because of my beast and its teeth that Edo felt I should write this introduction.

Because he has created a monster, too.

I won’t tell you much about it. Let you find out in the course of reading the novel itself.

I’ll tell you one thing, though.

In case you haven’t already figured it out.

Edo’s monster has teeth.

Its teeth, like those of my own beast, are in an unusual and rather distressing location. They’re white. They’re sharp. And they bite.

I know, because I’ve already read Teeth. I only feigned ignorance about it for the sake of writing this introduction. Did I fool you?

Yeah, sure.

Anyway … you’ll like Teeth. I sure did. Most of it, anyway. Certain parts made me feel a little squeamish. But they’re supposed to do that.

Warning: this book is not for children. Nor is it recommended for adult readers of unusual prudishness or sensitivity, as it might warp their fragile little minds.

For all others, carry on.

Have fun!

Richard Laymon

2000

PROLOGUE

The graffiti-covered doors of the subway jerked open.

She stepped inside quickly, avoiding contact with the tired eyes of the night riders, eyes that had no doubt widened with curiosity the moment she’d entered.

The air inside the car was hot and fetid, stinking of sweating bodies, sodden diapers and a half-dozen other things that couldn’t be named.

No matter, the main thing was just to get inside. To sit down. To hide it from view.

She raised her head and looked around.

At the far end of the car, a lone woman had her hands full with two fidgety kids and a screaming toddler. The kids were restless from the heat, jumping up and down on the seats, but never venturing far from their mother.

Nothing to worry about there.

The kids wouldn’t be wandering up to this end of the car. And even if they did, their mother wouldn’t be chasing after them. Nobody goes that far out of their way to stick their nose into someone else’s business. Not in New York. And not at this time of night.

She took another look around.

Things were a little more interesting closer in.

Across the car from her sat a middle-aged man in a sweat-stained blue shirt and faded denim jeans. His legs were crossed and thick-strapped sandals hung loosely from his bare feet. His nose was buried in a paperback with a colorful and garish cover. He seemed not to notice her, or maybe he didn’t care.

She was happy either way.

The subway started moving. A low whine slowly came to life from somewhere beneath the car, rising in pitch until it faded away at the high end of the scale. A slight breeze blew through the car’s half-open windows, moving the air around, exchanging one kind of stink for another.

The summer air was stiflingly hot and humid, but still felt cool as it blew over her sweat-soaked skin and clothes.

She looked down toward the other end of the car.

Two seats over on her left sat a young couple making love to each other with their eyes. After several moments, they moved to kiss. Lips parted, and in the instant before their mouths touched, the woman’s lips pull back tight. There was a brief flash of pearl-white teeth before her tongue snaked out to meet his. And then their lips were pressed together in a kiss, tongues probing each other’s mouths as if searching for the soul.

They kissed for a long time, their hands moving slowly over each other’s bodies, making momentary stops at points of interest before continuing down toward the most interesting body parts of all. They were obviously in their own (love—or perhaps just lust—swept) world, oblivious to the real one around them.

That was good. The more uninterested they were the better.

The train began to slow. The interior of the subway car suddenly brightened under the lights of the station. Brakes squealed, the car shuddered and the train gradually came to a stop.

The couple to her left continued to French. They wouldn’t be getting off the subway for a while.

The man across from her looked up. His eyebrows arched in recognition as he saw the greasy pale-green tiles lining the station walls. He slipped a torn strip of paper into his book, slid the book into a pants pocket and hurried off the train.

For the moment, the seat across from her was empty and she breathed easier.

Two more stops and she’d be home.

Alone.

Safe …

An elderly woman stepped into the car and sat in the recently vacated seat in front of her. For the moment the old woman busied herself by digging for something at the bottom of her shopping bag.

The old woman was preoccupied for the moment, but her indifference to the world around her seemed too good to last. Sooner or later the old woman would find what she was looking for.

And then …

And then she’d be subjected to the old woman’s microscopic gaze. Sizing her up. Judging her.

She could feel the eyes upon her already, sliding over her body like a cold pair of hands.

She thought about moving to another seat at the other end of the car, but that would only make things worse. The stain she’d leave behind would arouse suspicion. She couldn’t risk it this far from home.

The subway’s doors creaked shut.

The car was still for a moment, then began moving forward in a series of forceful jerks.

Again the movement of air brought some relief from the heat and stink. This time however, there was another scent added to the mix. A familiar yet unpleasant odor wafting up from her own body. Hopefully, the smell would be lost among the others swirling through the car before anyone could connect it with its source.

They entered the tunnel and the car’s interior darkened.

The old woman found what she’d been looking for. A pale white handkerchief, delicately embroidered and edged with lace. She folded it carefully in her hand and then patted it gently across her forehead and down the front of her neck.

She watched the old woman closely, waiting for their eyes to meet. While her skin was as wrinkled as her stockings, the lady still had a kind face. She looked like someone’s aunt or grandmother, the kind of woman who always brought something—candies, toys, clothes—whenever she came to visit. At another time she might befriend the old woman, make a comment about the heat, or maybe just give her a smile.

At another time.

But not now.

Now, the old woman was a danger.

Now, the old woman posed a threat.

Now … the old woman looked up.

Their eyes met almost immediately. The old woman nodded politely. Her lips curled up in a warm, friendly smile.

She did not acknowledge or return the smile. In fact, she made no outward gesture at all.

Inside was another story.

Inside, every one of her muscles tensed. Every nerve-ending tingled. The hair on the back of her neck lifted up on end. Her heart-rate quickened, and her mind wished the old woman would turn the other way.

But the old woman just kept on looking at her.

Staring.

Finally, the old woman broke eye contact.

And she took a deep, deep breath. Relieved.

But then the woman’s eyes slowly began to slide down her body.

The subway suddenly seemed unbearably hot. In the midst of the heat she could feel the chill touch of the woman’s gaze on her neck and shoulders, moving down, lower and lower.

She wanted to get up, get out … run.

But there was nowhere to run to.

And nowhere to hide.

She just had to sit there, in plain sight. Waiting for the old lady’s eyes to bug out of her head.

At last the woman’s eyes came to a stop, widening in surprise at the sight of the big red stain between her legs.

There, you’ve seen it, she thought. Now, fuck off!

The old woman’s mouth fell open in an O of surprise as she dabbed her handkerchief over her sweat-dampened forehead and cheeks.

The subway rumbled into the next station and she looked away from the old woman and at the passing station walls, grateful for the momentary distraction.

Maybe the old lady will get off in disgust, she hoped. Yeah, and maybe if I close my eyes and count to three tonight will have never happened.

Fat chance.

She thought of getting off, but decided against it. With just one more stop to go, she was too close to home to run for it. No, she’d sit there on the examination bench and take it.

The train stopped and the doors opened.

No one got on or off.

It’s your own fault, she thought. You were unprepared, too much in a hurry.

The tan pants were proof of that. They didn’t hide a thing. She might as well have put a sign on her forehead that read—

Look at my blood-stained crotch!

The doors closed and the train began moving.

Next time she’d plan ahead, be ready. Make sure there’d be nothing for a nosy old lady to gawk at.

She looked over at the old woman, who was staring again. Her face had changed slightly. She didn’t look shocked anymore. Her expression seemed to be one of compassion now, as if she felt sorry for her.

Save it lady. You don’t know the half of it.

The old woman’s bottom lip began to tremble. She reached up with a wrinkled hand to grab hold of the upright pole by her seat, then slowly pulled herself onto her feet.

The subway car was jostled by the rails.

The old woman stumbled a step before grabbing hold of another bar on the other side of the car.

Still in her seat, she looked up at the old woman, feeling her body prepare itself for fight or flight.

What the hell is she doing?

Excuse me, dear, the old woman said when she was close enough to whisper. But I think it’s … She paused for a moment as the car’s lights went out and the interior momentarily faded to black. It’s your time of the month.

She said nothing.

The old woman remained there, hanging from the pole expectantly, a stupid half-grin on her face.

Are you sure? she said at last, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She said nothing more. Her eyes closed into two little slits and her lips pulled back in something that wasn’t a smile.

The old woman’s face went blank for a moment as she thought about what she had said.

There were only so many possibilities.

If she wasn’t having her period, then what could it be?

The old woman’s face slowly twisted into a mask of horror.

Instinctively, she knew what the old woman was thinking.

Yes, that’s right, she said softly. I stepped into a back alley with a coat hanger and a problem.

The old woman gasped.

I came out a little bloody, but … No more problem.

The old woman stumbled back to her seat.

The train slowed.

She looked over at the old woman. Her eyes were darting nervously about the train, desperately trying to look everywhere but straight ahead. Finally, her eyes moved to the floor and stayed there.

The train squeaked and hissed to a stop. The dirty powder blue of the station walls had a calming effect on her. Her heartbeat began to slow.

In minutes she’d be safe at home.

She got up off her seat and looked behind her. There was a dark stain about the size of a dinner plate on the seat. Give the cleaning crew something to talk about tonight. Knife fights, muggings—it’s not like they’ve never had to clean up a little blood before.

The doors opened and the car was filled by a gust of slightly cooler air.

She looked at the old woman one last time. She was almost cowering in her seat now, her hands trembling on her lap. She was still looking down at the floor.

That’s what you get for not minding your own business, lady.

Just don’t get involved.

The less you know the better.

She stepped out of the train onto the platform.

As the train pulled away, she could feel the old woman’s eyes on the back of her neck, but she didn’t bother to turn around. That little episode was behind her now.

She looked down at her legs.

The blood was seeping down her thigh. The stain was getting bigger.

She turned and headed for home.

She lived in an old part of the city. Brooklyn. At one time the people who lived in the homes in this neighborhood had actually owned them.

She’d often tried to imagine what the street must have been like back then. How new and well-maintained the homes must have looked. A street right out of some fifties television show.

People back then wouldn’t have put up with an all-night porn shop at the end of their street. They wouldn’t have allowed prostitutes to cruise their sidewalks, or crack dealers to work every corner. Those people would