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450 Brightwell Street

by Desormais 

Posted: 18 March 2013
Word Count: 450
Summary: For Prospero's challenge. Guess where I went last week...


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Mr Hogarth consulted the leaflet.

This must be it - 450 Brightwell St. The adjacent properties were marked 448 and 452 respectively, but this newly-painted door bore no defining numbers.

“Perhaps somebody removed them to paint,” he thought, trying the key in the door, which swung smoothly open.

Glancing round, he could see why the estate agent hadn’t bothered to accompany him; there was nothing here to steal. Still you’d think they’d want to ensure the property was secured on leaving, if only to deter squatters.

Not that this property would hold much interest even for a squatter. No shelves, no light fittings, no floor coverings. He went through to the back of the shop – no sink, no toilet facilities. And even though it was a two storey property, there was no sign of a staircase granting access to the upper level.

What good was this to anyone?

There was also a familiar smell of burning in this room, something that stirred unpleasant, if unidentifiable, memories for Mr Hogarth. And just faintly, he could hear an equally disturbing high pitched whining noise, gradually becoming louder.

No. This place wouldn’t do at all.

Turning to leave he found his way barred by a tall man dressed completely in white. The man smiled encouragingly, revealing perfectly even white teeth.

“It’s Mr Hogarth isn’t it? Sorry to have kept you waiting. Do sit down.” The man motioned him back into the room.

Mr Hogarth turned and saw that a chair had materialised in the middle of the room – a comfortable looking leather chair with a foot rest. That hadn’t been there before. What was going on here?

The man in white was advancing on him, a large syringe one hand. He gently pushed Mr Hogarth into the reclining chair with one hand, and raised his top lip with the other, whilst nudging a bucket to the side of the chair with his foot.

“It’ll soon be over, Mr Hogarth.”

The last thing Mr Hogarth saw, before the syringe pierced his gum, was a bucket brimming with small objects of varying shapes and shades of white, each with red fibres dangling from one end.

That was, in fact, the last thing that Mr Hogarth saw at all.

Back at the estate agents in the High St, the receptionist grumbled as she examined the key rack. Yet another client had failed to return the keys to this property. It was a good job, she thought, that she’d had several spares cut.

“Here you are, Mrs Anderson,” she trilled to the customer leafing through the property register, “450 Brightwell St, you can’t miss it. It’s right between the undertaker’s and the denture repair workshop.












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Comments by other Members



Prospero at 16:12 on 18 March 2013  Report this post
Oo-er, Sandra, I had to read this from behind the sofa. Well done on responding so quickly.

Best

John

euclid at 16:52 on 18 March 2013  Report this post
Anytime I go to the dentist my wallet loses weight!

Nice one, Sandra.

JJ

Desormais at 16:58 on 18 March 2013  Report this post
Thanks John, it's better for me to respond asap - if I procrastinate I'm lost.

Yes JJ, I know what you mean. I had a root canal filling done in Spain where it cost me over 300 euros, and whilst I was paying at reception my husband rang me to query the bill in amazement, as he'd just received a notification on the mobile phone from the bank! He said he'd do the next one for me... or did he say he'd make sure the next one didn't need doing... I forget.

Thanks
Sandra

Dave Morehouse at 19:35 on 18 March 2013  Report this post
Dentists are where terrorists go to take notes. Good job and another entry smack-on the word count.
Mr Hogarth turned and saw that a chair had materialised in the middle of the room – a comfortable looking leather chair with a foot rest. That hadn’t been there before. What was going on here?
I guess I didn't understand why the chair needed to materialize out of thin air. What connection did I miss?

This one has a stunning conclusion. (Unless you happen to be one of their clients!) Thanks for sharing. Now I need to go off and coax the hair on back of my neck back down. Dave

Desormais at 09:58 on 20 March 2013  Report this post
Well I suppose I was trying to get across the idea that it was the ghost of a former dentist, in fact in one draft I had the last line as 'right between the undertakers and the florists shop -used to be a dentist's surgery'. The horror was meant less to be the fact that it was a ghost, as the fact that the teeth were being used to fashion dentures for the living. So I think I fudged it a bit with editing. It still scares the bejasus out of me, either way.

Sandra



Dave Morehouse at 16:09 on 20 March 2013  Report this post
Okay. Now I understand. Please remember that I can be a bit thick in the head sometimes. ; Thanks for the explanation. Dave

cklynn at 22:45 on 20 March 2013  Report this post
Deliciously frightening!

fiona_j at 18:11 on 22 March 2013  Report this post
Ooooh, scary. I presumed it was a ghost, but wasn't sure if the estate agents knew or not.

a large syringe one hand. He gently pushed Mr Hogarth into the reclining chair with one hand, and raised his top lip with the other


This ghost has a lot of hands. You may want to reword this slightly, maybe say pushed with free hand and raised lip with syringe coming close to his face, the sharp needle near his eye.

Desormais at 08:16 on 24 March 2013  Report this post
Thanks cklynn.

Thank you Fi! Eagle eye! I had that covered in one edition, but somehow it dropped out again. Can you imagine a three handed dentist? They can inflict enough pain with just two. Thanks for commenting and spotting that.

Sandra


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