Tasty Teeth

Guillermo del Toro & Matthew Robbins

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Dark in here. As usual. Hellboy wondered if he'd ever get over it, that

familiar mix of fear and joy. Something about good old gloom and his

own stygian origins ... He shuffled his way down a wet floor, his

hooves scraping smooth stone.

What was he supposed to find in this godforsaken place? He was tired

and hungry, just enough to provoke his famous irritability. Crap, this

was looking like another false alarm. Missing children, from Bucharest.

A police matter, something for the Transylvanian milk cartons —

He felt a cool wind on his face, rising up from somewhere below. Time

to light another glow stick.

With a hiss, the chemical light bloomed and he squinted his golden,

demon eyes. Before him lay a narrow stairwell, spiralling down into the

living rock. This was an ancient, clammy burial vault, some thirty

meters below the ruins of a fortress. He wished Abe were here, but the

lucky fish man was lolling in warm Mediterranean water, retrieving a

ghost-infested Spanish altar-piece from the bowels of a galley ship.

Abe hated Romania anyway. Especially Romanian crypts with their corny

reputation.

He paused to sniff the musty air. No bat guano, no smell of blood. Just

dank mildew, not the sort of atmosphere vampires might favor. He

sighed, knowing he had to at least go through the motions. So, onward,

through another rank tunnel. Story of his life. He glanced at his bulky

shadow and smiled at its looming menace. Like a movie, he thought. Too

bad there was no one here to enjoy the show.

Or was there? His red skin tingled, the strange, inexplicable warning

he'd come to know in places like this. Wary now, he brought out the

big-ass gun. His very own steel security blanket, all ten pounds of it.

Hellboy loved its heft, as a firearm and blunt instrument.

The B.P.R.D.'s Kate Corrigan and Captain Mihaileanu, their local

contact, were waiting somewhere above, parked in the Land Rover, gazing

at gravestones and sipping slivovitz.

"Hellboy? You want to check in, big fella? A little show-and-tell?"

On the radio Kate sounded extra girlish, ultra-American. Hellboy kept

his voice low, his lips near the microphone. "Not yet. I'm freezing

down here — "

Wait. Did he hear something?

"Come in, H.B., you were just complaining — ?"

"Shh ..."

Voices. Definitely. High pitched, whimpering, somewhere up ahead. And a

rattle of chains. Creepy. Hellboy threw open the gun and checked his

bullets. Hmmm. Maybe not such a good idea, all this garlic juice and

boxwood, with no sign of suckheads or bats.

More cries and whispers. Human, he guessed. Again, he spoke into his

microphone.

"Someone's down here."

He plucked some bullets from his cartridge belt and changed a few

rounds. He'd spent the night before on the B.P.R.D. plane, making his

own assortment of poisons, not knowing what to expect. Now he decided

to change to Ptolemaic silver dust suspended in holy water, an

all-purpose, monster-numbing agent.

"H.B., this is Mihaileanu." Yeah, Radu the magician; the guy sounded

like a Bela Lugosi impersonator, but he had a heart of gold. He was the

one who'd rung the alarm, drawing the B.P.R.D. into this. "If it's

kids, they're going to scream when they see you. How much Romanian do

you know?"

"I dunno, urm — La plume de ma tante, dos equis por favor, sieg heil..."

"Enough. If they're conscious, just ... smile, okay? They'll be

famished. Give them a couple of candy bars."

"No way. I'm down to my last two. That's where I draw the line, d — "

Something at his feet. A child's skull, festooned with live spiders.

The greenish yellow light picked out an assortment of niches cut into

the rock walls. He reached into the nearest one and pulled out a

fistful of little bones.

"Guess what, guys. I got baby bones all around me."

On his earpiece — static growing louder — he heard a muttered curse.

Then the sound of tearing paper as Kate ripped open their attack plan.

Radu spoke hastily: "H.B., look carefully. Are there toothmarks? Fresh

ones?"

Hellboy squinted at a child's clavicle. Scored, scratched, and chewed.

Old bones, new marks.

"The marrow — has something eaten it?" He could hear quick

page-turning. Kate was reading the field manual.

Static growled in his earpiece. And just then — perfect timing — his

light stick went out. Grumbling, he lit another flare and looked

around. Miniature rib cages and dusty, wooden toys were strewn all over

the floor. He chuckled as he felt his heart thumping faster. Yeah, that

old feeling again: both jazzed and scared. He instinctively flexed his

knuckles.

"Radu? Yes. The bones — nibble nibble, crunch crunch." More nasty

muttering. "What's the matter, Kate? This making you hungry?"

"Shut up and watch out. It's tooth fairies."

Hellboy smiled. That's what he loved about the B.P.R.D.'s field-ops

director: she took it all so seriously, even when the B.P.R.D. analysts

went off the deep end, like now.

The ceiling had been barely high enough to accommodate his size, and

now, in another rough-hewn sub-cellar, the walls closed in. He'd heard

all the tooth-fairy stories, each one a grotesque joke and, in the end,

an expensive waste of time. Some perverse fascination to the notion, he

had to admit, dragging a beloved childhood fantasy into the Bureau's

mire of demonic lore. What would they turn up next? A sabre-toothed

Easter Bunny?

Kate was reading: "Okay, we've got the Concord of 1226, an agreement

between Pope Honorius and Pauxtis Salgudis, king of the fairies ..."

Hellboy laughed again. King of the fairies: sorry, he just couldn't

help it.

Then he noticed iron rings hammered into the ceiling, glistening in the

weird, sour light.

The history lesson continued: "The endless predations of the fairies,

their quest for the sweet, tasty calcium found only in the bones of

young children. They made life impossible in late medieval

Constantinople. Children were stolen from their beds, murdered, their

bones consumed ... Honorius wrote a pact in which a silver coin, left

under each child's pillow, would serve as payment from the hungry tooth

fairies in exchange for a fresh milk tooth. Hellboy, did you copy

that?"

He'd heard enough. Clicking off the earpiece, he set down his equipment

pack, conscious now of shallow breathing from somewhere nearby. Working

slowly and deliberately, he cracked two more light sticks and tossed

them out into the gloomy chamber. That's when he spotted the cells.

Iron bars were set at regular intervals along the walls, like a

subterranean kennel. Behind them, in each little cage, lay a pathetic

heap of bones, some of them still draped in rotted pajamas. He moved

closer, knowing now what he'd find.

Just above his head, in one of the cells, there was movement. Eyes

stared out — two pale children, each about six years of age. A boy and

a girl lay in chains, whimpering and looking at him in horror. He

stepped closer and the children shrank back, weakly pressing themselves

against the rear wall, ready to die.

"Easy now, Uncle Red's not gonna hurt you. Look, I brought candy." He

pulled his candy bars from his overcoat and held them near the cage,

waiting. But the children just gawked, glassy-eyed.

"What's the matter? Afraid they'll rot your teeth?"

He smiled broadly, pointing to his mouth. "Teeth, you know? Er, um —

brusha brusha?" The kids were trembling; the boy pointed to something

behind him.

Hellboy turned in time to see a shape dart along the floor, like a

high-speed rat. Moments later, another dark figure scurried past.

Hearing a faint chorus of laughter, he stepped over to a drain and

looked down.

Something was moving down there, and he was aware of the sound of

whispering, like the rustle of tissue paper. He held out a light stick

and dropped it in. No more than five seconds later the light winked

out, but in that brief glimpse, he knew he was in trouble.

A glittering array of wings and pale, bobbing heads were swarming up

from below, intent on some nameless mission.

He backed away, grabbed one of the bars of the cage and pulled. But

nothing happened. It was old iron, sturdy and fat. Using two hands, he

tried again, as piping voices echoed in the pit behind him. They were

getting closer. Straining and groaning, he realized he wasn't cold any

more. In fact, he had started to sweat.

In a sudden explosion of rock dust, he managed to dislodge the iron

bar, enough to bend it away and reach into the cage. After a brief

scuffle, he scooped out the little boy, snapping his tether. But he

felt a touch on his leg as something ran delicately up to his waist.

Without dropping the child, he brushed whatever it was to the floor and

leveled his gun.

Staring up at him was a cheerful, wicked little face under a mop of

scraggly, white hair. It had tiny fingers and a blur of light at its

back, where gossamer wings were beating at hummingbird speed. In a

moment, the fairy was joined by half a dozen more, who came skittering

out of the drain, taking to the air like newly hatched mayflies.

Under their pallid, membranous skin, fine bluish veins were pulsating

with excitement. Their little jaws parted, revealing row after row of

thin, tightly clustered teeth stained orange with centuries-old blood.

Revolted, Hellboy squeezed the trigger, and the gun boomed off the rock

walls. In the muzzle flash, he was able to see the floor alive with

more running, buzzing creatures, far too many for one magic bullet, no

matter what its contents. As the smoke cleared, he saw he had vaporized

a few, but others were already landing on his back, running on his

shoulders and scurrying up the sleeves of his heavy leather duster.

He reached into the cell and grabbed the little girl by the collar,

hauling her out. By now he was ankle-deep in the critters. He felt them

greedily gnawing at the skin on his neck, legs, arms. His blood and

sweat mingled, soaking him. "Damn, you hurt!" he roared. In a rage, he

fired a few rounds.

The gun clicked on an empty chamber — already?! No time to reload.

Hellboy charged for the stairs, both children under one massive arm and

his equipment bag in the other. Behind him, a cloud of little creatures

took wing, like grasshoppers rising from a wheat field.

He'd always been fast, but there was no outrunning the swooping,

darting creatures that came buzzing behind him. He swatted at them and

knew, from their soprano squeals and the suddenly slippery floor, that

he was crushing some underfoot. But there were too many.

One of the creatures sank a grimy incisor deep into Hellboy's forearm.

An instant later, the right hand of doom ground the hapless fairy to

paste. Hellboy examined the fresh, jagged wound: the thing had chewed

through flesh, muscle, and tendon. "Ugh. That ain't gonna scar so

nice," thought Hellboy. "Trophy wound."

He felt himself slowing down as they pulled at his coat, trying to drag

him back. Growling and shrugging, feeling like Gulliver among the

Lilliputians, Hellboy fought on, passing marble friezes with Roman

funerary inscriptions. Someday, he thought, it would be interesting to

come back here and learn about ancient Dacia ...

Crap. He wasn't getting anywhere. The fairies were everywhere, dancing

on his head, swinging from his forearms, crawling down his collar.

Glancing down, he could see them alighting on the tear-streaked faces

of the children. The little boy's mouth was open in nightmarish,

howling anguish. Hellboy spotted a few shiny, white teeth hanging

precariously from his gums.

Seeing his chance, he pushed his big, clumsy fingers into the child's

mouth, probing until he grasped a loose molar. He plucked it out, fast

enough so that the gagging boy hardly knew what had happened. For a

split second, Hellboy held it aloft, hoping it would shine like a

nugget of gold.

Sudden silence. The myriad of fairies seemed to freeze, as if

hypnotized by the sight of something so exquisite, so tasty. Hellboy

managed a smile.

"So you want something to chew on?"

He tossed it away into the darkness.

The tiny tooth clattered like a white pebble on the stone floor, only

to disappear under a roiling heap of frenzied, buzzing bodies. The

excited fairy chatter was indecipherable, but it somehow told a tale of

ancient lust and, for the lucky ones, delicious satisfaction. Hellboy

wedged himself into the nearest corner and stuffed both children under

his coat. Reaching into the equipment bag, he brought forth a double

Vulcan 64 grenade, yanked the pin, and rolled it across the floor.

Both kids were screaming now, more frightened than ever. They'd

probably caught a glimpse of his tail. Damn. Too bad Abe wasn't here —

he had that gentle, soothing voice —

With a deafening roar the grenade went off. The searing heat rolled

over Hellboy's body as the burial vault bloomed in orange flame. Ah,

combustion, his old friend, so handy in times like these. He stayed

low, holding the children down and letting his fireproof body shield

them from harm. He glanced up as the flames began to subside.

The air was filled with dying fairies.

They were thudding to the ground all around him, their wings spraying

sparks and wisps of smoke. The floor was littered with their charred

bodies, some twitching like jumbo roaches.

Something was glinting among their dead. He kicked aside a small

leather pouch and heard the familiar clink of coins. He reached down

and gathered up a few shiny pieces of silver, marveling at their mint

condition. Even though he was no expert he could recognize the famous

profile of the Emperor Constantine. Souvenirs — he loved 'em.

Someone was tugging on the hem of his overcoat. Of course, the kids. He

glanced down and saw them looking up at him, groping for his big hand.

He knelt down and looked them over. Not too bad, despite their pallor

and recent trauma.

"Easy, easy ... Uncle Hellboy hasn't forgotten. Show me your smile and

let's see what the tooth fairy has left you, okay?" He handed over his

last two candy bars. A never-before-seen gesture that would be debated

and whispered about in the B.P.R.D. corridors for years to come.

Outside, the sun was coming up. A few coils of mist rose among the

gravestones as the birds began to chirp. Kate, riding shotgun in the

Range Rover, stared out across the graveyard at a plume of black smoke

pouring out from a half-ruined mausoleum. And suddenly, there was

Hellboy, striding toward her, a child on each shoulder. And both kids

were grinning and gap-toothed, chewing away at the soft nougat and

chocolate. Hellboy felt full of reassurance and smiled: Professor

Bruttenholm used to tell him about dawns like this, when a new day can

bring magic into the world.

He was ready to have a great morning.