#obviously this will probably stay in draft 0 status forever

[spacetimewraithwrites-archive]

WIP Intro

"Sometimes I sit here...and I contemplate. I could've been anything else." "You're not that forgiving. Not to yourself, not to anyone." But Mike was still grinning around his smoke. "...And you'd be the last person to deserve it, anyway."

A Box of Sharpened Teeth

A small town in Oklahoma is disrupted by random disappearances seemingly going uninvestigated by a lazy sheriff.

Though Barber Blackburn is the last person anyone would suspect, he can't explain his urges—his sparks—and the missing remorse factor goes further unchecked with each person brought into his basement. When he catches the attention of Michael McDowell, those sparks are stoked into flames by a handsome, charming, and unmistakably deadly stream of whispering in his ear...and it's unclear what he wants in return.

WARNING: this WIP contains situations that some may find upsetting. use discretion when consuming ABoST content and blacklist the tag #ABoST if necessary.

EXCERPT:

Caked and drying blood flushed off Barber Blackburn's knuckles in scalding water and spiraled down the shower drain. Loose dog teeth cut into the palm of his clenched fist, the angry points penetrating the fleshier parts of his hand. The pinch went unnoticed.

He'd found the teeth in a parking lot, on the tarmac outside of the grocery store. Early one morning, before the sun had fully risen, he spotted two canines and three molars scattered near his car tire. A consequence of the heavy rains the town of Single Shell, Oklahoma had to weather over the last few weeks, perhaps, or local fauna being reckless with their detritus.

Hovering nearby had been Michael McDowell, his neighbor from the adjacent cul-de-sac, taking furtive peeks at him from under the trunk door of his SUV as he loaded it with groceries. Mike's dark eyes narrowed at Barber crouching to scoop up the teeth, and his hand paused on the door when he caught the glint of sunrise off the too-polished enamel piled into the space between Barber's fingers and his wrist.

Barber caught his gaze under thick lashes, expecting a flinch or a show of disgust that he'd choose to pick up the teeth rather than inspect them from a distance. He'd known Mike at arm's length for three years, though they weren't close enough to establish whether or not picking up enigmatic dog teeth in his presence was a move Barber would later regret.

Mike couldn't be read. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but instead, he deposited his canvas shopping bag and locked up the SUV without a word.

Barber pored over Mike's utter lack of reaction well into stepping out of the bathroom. He thought about the text he got from him before his shower, forewent a towel and trailed water across the carpet of his bedroom, to the dresser, where he flicked open a small jewelry box he'd gotten from his mother as a child. It sat beside an unassuming book lying flat, a tome of poetry containing a favorite by Robert Burns.

He rolled the dog teeth against the cheap faux velvet lining of the jewelry box, rattling them like dice, and the lid dropped shut after him. He then lifted the cover of the book and peered inside, as some time ago he'd glued the pages together and hollowed them out above a particular stanza of the poem:

But, Mousie, thou art no thy-lane, In proving foresight may be vain; The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men Gang aft agley, An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain, For promis'd joy!

Barber ran the tips of his fingers through the other teeth within. All of the human canines filed into points after their extraction.

He exhaled through rounded lips and slid the book against the wall. He dressed and descended two flights of stairs into the basement, a gallon of bleach and an entire roll of paper towels in hand.