Alma breathed a sigh of relief after they were gone and turned back to the sink. She set her hands on the counter and leaned forward. The water had finally disappeared, but the sink’s drain catch was missing, leaving only a black hole at the bottom now. Alma leaned further forward to peer into the hole when she felt something fall past her open lips.
Another tooth clinked against the porcelain sink and spun around the basin. She tried to catch it, but the tooth fell into the hole before she could stop it.
Alma clapped her hand over her mouth as she felt another tooth begin to slip out of her gums. She whimpered as she searched her mouth with her tongue. The metallic taste of blood overwhelmed her as more teeth sprang free. The blood gagged her, and she wretched. She had no choice but to open her mouth, but she didn’t want her teeth to fall into the drain. Alma stepped back and watched as blood and teeth fell from her mouth and hit the tile floor as if she were vomiting a macabre meal. She staggered to one of the student’s desks and fell into the seat. Blood covered her blouse and one of her teeth was stuck between her sock and loafer. There was glitter in the blood on her hands.
Students laughed from the room’s entrance. She looked over to see a crowd of children at the door.
“Get out of here!” She screamed at them. Blood and spittle trickled from her toothless gums.
They pointed and laughed.
A tall man stood behind them, shrouded by what appeared to be smoke in the hallway. She couldn’t see any details about him except his wide, smiling mouth. His teeth chattered as the children bellowed with laughter.
Alma opened her eyes.
Her pillow was wet from sweat and she pushed it aside as she sat up. It was still dark outside and she put her hand over her mouth to reassure herself that it was just a dream. This was a familiar occurrence. She’d suffered from the recurring dream of her teeth falling out for nearly as long as she could remember. The circumstances of the dream often changed, but the setting was usually the same. It almost always happened in a school, with children laughing at her as the tall man in the shadows watched it all unfold.
Alma looked at the red LED display on the alarm clock beside her bed.
3:14
“Fuck you,” said Alma as she reached out for the clock. She lifted it and paused a moment to calm herself. Her instinct was to throw it across the room, but that seemed childish. Instead, she decided just to pull the cord hard enough to unplug it, but when she tried the clock slipped from her hands and bounced off the edge of the bed to the floor. It landed with the time face up, blaring the reminder of her mother’s insanity in bold, red light.
She groaned in embarrassment, thankful that no one was around to see her pathetic attempt to pull the plug. Alma lay back on her pillow and stared at the ceiling as she recalled the details of yet another of her recurring dreams about her teeth falling out.
Alma stared at the ceiling, which was now illuminated by the red light of the clock on the floor. She was waiting for the color to flash, a sign that the time had changed. It would feel like a minor victory to wait for the minute to pass before putting the clock back on the nightstand. It was a ludicrous thought, and one she wouldn’t like to admit to anyone, but it felt sane to her. Perhaps it was a symptom of OCD, but her mother’s obsession with the date of Alma’s brother’s disappearance had turned into a curse.
The red light flickered on the ceiling.
Alma excitedly rolled to the side of the bed and stared down to see if the minute had passed yet. She felt like a child at Christmas, peeking down the stairs at her pile of presents.
3:14
“Mother fucker!” She threw the covers off and got out of bed. This time she would make sure the damn thing came out of the wall.
The number had defeated her, and she was furious. She would later say that her manic behavior was because of her lack of sleep and bad dreams, but in truth her battle with the ever-present number was all-encompassing at times. Alma gripped the clock in one hand while grabbing the cord with the other. She pulled it hard enough that the nightstand fell over as the cord whipped away from the wall. The kitchen knife that she’d placed beside the clock bounced on the carpet.
The clock’s number faded away, but that didn’t sate her. Alma threw the clock against the wall and it exploded into bits of plastic and pieces of electronics. She yelped as the shards flew back at her.
She started to chuckle at her own insanity as she stared at the remnants of her alarm clock on the white carpet. Her awakening from the dream had left her in a fragile state, and her thoughts didn’t make sense to her anymore. As bizarre as it sounded, she’d been afraid that the number 314 would be angry when she broke the clock. She was worried it would try to hurt her.
How ridiculous.
Someone pounded on the front door.
The sound terrified Alma. She cried out in surprise and then clapped her hands over her mouth. The door to her bedroom was open and the hallway led straight out to the front door.
The person outside pounded harder.
Alma looked for her phone, but it was in her purse on the counter beside the front door. She never bothered to get a landline, and instead used her cell phone for everything. Now she regretted that decision as she stared at her purse on the counter, just feet from the front door.
“Alma, open the door,” said a stranger. “Or I’ll break it down.”
She needed her phone, or better yet a weapon. A kitchen knife would do. She looked around for the knife that she’d left on the nightstand, but it had bounced away somewhere in the room and she couldn’t find it.
“All right, I’m going to break it down,” said the stranger.
“Stay out! Get away from here!” Alma knew she had to act. She ran down the hall and into the kitchen just as the stranger kicked the door. It rattled on its hinges and Alma screamed in shock. She tried to grab her purse, but then decided it was too late to try and call the police. The purse spun on the counter as she abandoned it in search of a knife. Her phone, wallet, keys, and Rachel’s business card spread out over the counter as the front door rattled again.
“Alma,” said the stranger. “Stay back. I’m coming in!”
“Who the fuck?” Her hands were shaking as she pulled a knife from the butcher’s block. “Who are you? Stop it! What are you doing?”
The trim around the deadbolt splintered and the door flung open. Alma was on the other side of the breakfast counter with the knife held out in front of her as a tall, thick man clad in a winter coat and stocking cap came bounding haphazardly in. He stumbled forward and lost his balance before cursing as he fell to his knees.
Alma wasn’t going to miss an opportunity to get the upper hand. She ran around the counter as the man crouched with his hand on one of the bar stools. He started to ask, “Are you okay?”
Alma was quick to fight, and heard his question after already starting to kick. Her strike faltered when she realized he wasn’t threatening her, but her foot still collided with his face. The chubby intruder fell backward onto his butt and clasped his nose with one hand and held out the other to tell her to stop.
“Hey! Hold up, Alma. I’m a friend of Paul’s.”
“What?” Alma held the knife with both hands, unwilling to believe the stranger and ready to kill him if he dared try anything.
“I’m a friend of Paul’s. I’m Jack, well actually Hank, but everyone calls me Jack, it’s short for Jacker. Which is a nickname I got in high school because I liked computers, which is probably more than you needed to know. Point is, I’m a friend. Jesus H. Christ, girl, you nearly took my head off.” He spoke frantically, as if frightened or nervous.