On her way home from work, Evelyn Abingdon tripped over a tooth on the sidewalk. It was as long and thin as her pinkie finger, a fang of some sort, she figured as she tested its sharp tip against the meaty pad of her thumb. She pictured all the fang-toothed animals she knew and concluded it must be an alligator's tooth. Or perhaps a crocodile’s. She'd never been able to determine the difference between the two.
Evelyn Abingdon didn't think it was wise to leave such a sharp tooth out on the sidewalk so she brought it home and that night as she readied herself for sleep, she slipped it beneath her pillow. What could it hurt, she thought as she fell into a dream.
When she awoke the next morning, Evelyn Abingdon found a man lying next to her in bed. "Good morning," he said as he stretched his arms up toward the ceiling, turning his hands at the wrists as if to make sure all his fingers were still in place. His hands were lovely: long-fingered, pink tipped, and clean. Evelyn Abingdon slid her own stubby hand up under her pillow, though she already knew she would find nothing there. Indeed, the tooth was gone and here was a man in its place. The man turned and smiled a wide grin and Evelyn was relieved to find that his teeth were of a uniform and normal size with no gaps or missing large fangs.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of her armchair where the man had laid out his clothes. For a brief moment, she thought that there was another man sitting there, a very neatly dressed flat man and Evelyn wondered what on earth she would do with two men. But as she turned to look more closely, she was relieved to realize there wasn't a second man, especially since she wasn't quite sure what to do about the first man yet. A second man would be too much, an embarrassment of riches, she thought. Besides, there had been only one tooth.
The first man sprang from the bed and began pulling himself into the clothes from the chair. Evelyn closed her eyes just enough to allow her to watch through the fringe of her lashes. He was a tall man, well-built and hairless, with no long tail nor rough scales of any kind. She wanted to touch him, but thought that perhaps it was too soon. She did not know the protocol for this sort of meeting.
As Evelyn readied herself for work, the first man bustled around in the kitchen. "Breakfast is essential, is it not?" he asked as he tipped milk into her coffee. She preferred her coffee black, but as it was their first morning together, she thought it best not to complain. Better to get off on the right foot, she thought, and quickly glancing down, she was happy to see what large feet he had, his toes all in a perfectly proportioned row. She rushed through her work day, excited to see what that evening would hold.
That first night, the first man was everything she'd hoped for and more. This is what happens when you wish upon a fang, Evelyn thought as she raked her nails across his smooth back. Thank god she had found such a strong and sizable tooth. What firm hands, what fine wrists, and ah, those lips, that clean and shiny hair! As she drifted in half-sleep, Evelyn wondered if elsewhere there were women like her with men sprung fully-formed from fangs found on the city sidewalks. She hoped so, for their sake, though she had no idea how she would explain any of this to her mother.
But within the week, the first man began making changes--the positioning of the pillows on the bed, the way he folded back the sheet, a different roast of coffee bean, the meat cooked well-done and then, to Evelyn's dismay, not at all. Instead blocks of tofu quivered on her plate surrounded by fronds of dark seaweed. "Think of your arteries," he said when she protested. "I don't want to wose you."
"Did you say 'wose'? Are you baby-talking me now?" she demanded to know. It was all too much, this fang-man baby-talking her.
"Of course not siwwy," he said with a coy smile.
That night Evelyn took her pillow and her blanket and slept on the couch.
"Sweep tight," the first man called to her from the bedroom before he switched off the light.
"Screw you," Evelyn shouted back, her voice swallowed up in the darkness.
The next evening, on her way home from work, Evelyn Abingdon stubbed her toe against a short rib on the sidewalk. It curved against the palm of her hand and ran from the tip of her middle finger to her wrist, gnawed clean of its meat, the yellow bone notched rough with tooth marks. She slipped it into her pocket, closing her fingers tight around the bone and holding it to her side as she walked.
The first man had dinner waiting on the table when she came in. Something leafy and steamed. She set the bone down on the table between them as she picked up her fork. She didn't bother to wash her hands, the heady scent of the bone masking the mustardy tang of her meal. "It's delicious," she said with a tight smile.
"And so vewy vewy good for you, is it not?" the first man replied. Evelyn watched with satisfaction how he stared at the bone but did not ask.
That night, as they settled into bed, Evelyn slid the bone into place beneath her pillow.
"Do you think that's wise?" the first man asked. Evelyn ignored him and gave her pillow another pat before pressing her cheek into place. She was tired of the first man's rhetorical questions. The next man would be better, she hoped. He’d belch and fart and slouch in his seat. She would twine her fingers through his rough pelt, put braids in his thick hair.
They would eat their meat rare; they’d tear it lustily from the bone.
Julie Innis's stories have appeared or are forthcoming in Gargoyle, Pindeldyboz, and BLIP, among others.