Grandma keeps her teeth under her bed in a black box tied shut with a silk ribbon the color of blood. She takes them out only one day a year.
Until several months ago, Grandma lived far away. My moms, my younger sister Emma, and I hardly ever got to visit her. Now she lives in our city, and we see her a lot. For as long as I can remember, Grandma has been toothless. She eats only soft foods, like oatmeal and mashed potatoes, and her mouth is always puckered as if she’s sucking on a lemon. I had never seen Grandma with teeth—until one day last fall.
Emma and I were staying with Grandma because Mama and Momo had gone out of town to see the last of the fall leaves. Mama said they needed an “adult weekend,” whatever that was. Momo nodded so hard I thought her head would fall off.
Friday night, Emma and I said good-bye to our moms and snuggled with Grandma on the couch to watch a scary movie and eat popcorn. Saturday we helped Grandma rake her yard and then took turns jumping into the huge piles of colorful crunchy leaves. On Sunday, we helped Grandma bake cookies, some with orange-frosting pumpkins on them, others with bats and ghosts.
We had been mixing, stirring, baking, and eating for a long time when Grandma glanced at the clock on the wall. Her eyebrows jumped in surprise. She said in the funny way people do when they don’t have teeth, “Why don’ you youngshters go outshide and pway? Go on now, hurway up.” She waved her hands at us to shoo us away, although we were about to start mixing another batch of cookies.
Grandma was acting awfully funny. That’s when I decided to keep an eye on her, just in case she wasn’t feeling well or something.
I ran out of the kitchen, through the living room door, and onto the porch. I quickly stepped sideways and flattened my back against the house. Emma followed, walking through the door and across the porch. She stopped and looked around. After what seemed like forever, she shrugged and went down the steps without seeing me, then turned right toward her friend Betsy’s house. I opened the screen door slowly so it wouldn’t creak, crept back into the house, and ducked behind the couch, quiet as a mouse. Grandma peeked from the kitchen into the living room but didn’t see me.
I watched as Grandma clapped her hands together, and a puff of flour drifted into the air. She took off her apron and left the kitchen, shuffling through the living room and down the hallway toward the bedrooms. I tiptoed after her, hiding behind the living room drapes and then darting forward to the corner.
Peeking out, I saw Grandma go into her bedroom at the end of the hallway. She slowly lowered her bulky body. Her joints cracked, and I heard her complain about “achy bonesh.” Kneeling, she bent over and reached under the bed. A pair of dust bunnies rolled out and skittered across the floor. When she sat up, she was holding a black box about six inches square and tied with a red ribbon. She blew on the box, and a cloud of dust filled the air. She sneezed and rubbed her nose.
I clapped my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing. Grandma’s head snapped up. She stared into the hallway. I ducked behind the wall and held my breath.
For a moment, everything was quiet. Then I heard Grandma grumble, “Ah’m gittin’ too old fer thish foolishnesh.” She shuffled into the bathroom.
I started breathing again. I peeked out. The coast was clear. I snuck down the hallway and glanced into the bathroom. Grandma had her back to me. I tiptoed into her sewing room across the hall from the bathroom, slunk around the door, and peered through the crack between the door and the wall.
Grandma was holding the black box. She slowly reached up with her other hand and pulled the end of the ribbon. The bow on top disappeared as the silk untied and drained toward the floor. Grandma lowered the ribbon onto the back of the toilet where it pooled into a red puddle. She lifted the lid of the box.
Grandma looked into the box. Her puckered lips drew back to reveal a mouth as empty and dark as a cave. She reached into the box. I heard rustling, and a wad of tissue paper popped out and fell to the floor.
When Grandma’s hand came out, there was something in it, but I couldn’t see very well because her fingers were in the way. She put the box down and raised the object in both hands to eye level. She examined whatever it was with one eye closed, turning it this way and that. Grandma cackled like a proud hen that had laid a big egg. Even though I was wearing a sweater, I shivered, and goose bumps waddled up and down my arms.
“Ish time,” Grandma whispered, her eyes sparkling like icicles on a cold winter morning.
Grandma opened her mouth so wide I thought she was going to swallow her face. She carefully fit the object into her mouth. When she closed her mouth, I heard a snapping noise like a trap on a mouse. I saw her lips wiggle from side to side.
Grandma leaned forward and peered into the mirror—and then she smiled. Grandma had teeth! But not regular teeth like yours and mine. Grandma’s teeth were FANGS!
LONG, SHARP, POINTY FANGS!
Grandma was a VAMPIRE!
Horrified, I gasped.
Grandma spun around. Her eyes locked onto mine. I froze. She took a slow step toward me and cackled. I backed away from my hiding place. My heart was thumping so hard I thought it would fly out of my chest.
“What’s the matter? Are you afraid of your old grandma?” she whispered.
Now it was easy to understand what she said.
“N-n-no,” I lied, my own teeth chattering so loudly they sounded like sleet on a roof.
Grandma took another step toward me. She smiled, and her fangs flashed in the dim light. “Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you,” she said, her sugar-coated words dripping with fake sweetness.
I backed away until I bumped against the wall. I was trapped.
Grandma walked toward me. Holding out her arms, she wiggled her fingers and said, “Come now. Stop this nonsense, and give your grandma a hug.”
It was now or never. I took a deep breath and dived under her outstretched arms—and fell flat on the floor. Grandma reached for me. Her fingertips brushed my sweater. I jumped up and ran from the room, racing down the hallway.
“Wait!” Grandma called.
“NOOOO!” I screamed.
I burst through the screen door and bounded across the porch, gaining speed with each step. I leaped from the porch without touching the stairs—and crashed into Mama.
“Oomph!” she grunted as we both tumbled to the ground in a heap.
“My goodness!” said Momo. “What in the world is the matter?” Emma clung to Momo, her eyes as big as pie plates.
“G-g-grandma! S-s-she’s a v-v-vampire!” I yelled, scrambling to my feet.
“Nonsense!” replied Momo. Mama sat up and rubbed her elbow.
“Look at her fangs!” I pointed at Grandma, who grimaced evilly, her fangs twinkling in the fading sunlight.
Mama and Momo laughed. I was confused.
Mama held out her arms to me. Emma and Momo came close too. Grandma watched us from the porch.
When we were all snuggled safely against each other, Mama said, “Let me tell you a story. When I was a little girl, my mother—your grandmother—would dress up each Halloween night. She would put on a raggedy old black dress, a wig of horrible black hair that looked like a tangle of spiders, and a cape as black as midnight on the outside and blood red on the inside. She put layers and layers of white makeup on her face and hands. And she would paint streaks of fake blood next to her mouth. Last of all, she would put fake fangs over her real teeth.” Our eyebrows shot up in disbelief.
“Yes,” Mama continued, “when I was a child, Grandma had teeth just like you and me!” We stared at Grandma, who nodded.
Mama continued: “We would hide in the house and turn off all the lights except one tiny, dim bulb on the porch. When children rang the doorbell after dark and yelled, ‘Trick or treat!’ Grandma would slowly open the door on its rusty, creaky hinges. She would jump out from behind the door and give a horrible shriek! Most children screamed and ran away. The brave ones who didn’t were rewarded with two of Grandma’s homemade cookies—which everyone admitted were worth the fright. I never went trick-or-treating because it was so much fun to stay home and watch Grandma scare the other children. And I got to eat a lot of cookies.” Mama paused. She sniffed the air and said, “Mmmm, do I smell cookies?”
Grandma nodded.
“But why do you wear those fangs and not fake teeth?” I asked Grandma.
“Dentures hurt my mouth,” Grandma answered, rubbing her cheek. “After my real teeth fell out, I never found a pair that fit properly, so I don’t wear them. But I couldn’t bear not having my Halloween fun, so I had special fangs made just for me. Every Halloween night, I wear my fangs for a few hours to scare the children, and then I put them away for another year.”
Mama said to us, “Why, even Momo was startled the first time she saw Grandma wearing fangs!”
“Humph,” Momo grunted. Everyone laughed.
We heard voices in the distance. It was a group of trick-or-treaters, the first of the night. I looked at Grandma. She smiled. Even though her fangs glistened, she didn’t look so scary anymore.
“Hurry, everyone!” I said. “Let’s help Grandma get into her costume!”
For the rest of the night we watched and giggled as Grandma scared all the witches, ghosts, and goblins who knocked on her door.
And, of course, we ate lots of cookies.
Copyright © 2005 Nancy Garden. All rights reserved.
