Baby Teeth_A Novel

by Zoje Stage

  “Yes…” Suzette walked as she talked, back and forth, but in an absent sort of way, without her earlier frenzy. She filled the doctor in on Hanna’s medical history, and the recent efforts she’d made to get her into school.

  “Things just accelerated so quickly, with her behavior. And it should be good that she’s finally talking, but the things she’s saying … And only to me.”

  “What was she saying?”

  She took a couple of breaths and looked out the window. A squirrel scampered out along a tree branch. No houses imploded. No zombies lurched down the street. The normality of it all was a comfort. The woman across the way knelt on a pink gardening pad, planting something in her flower bed. A group of teenagers went past in their huddle and she saw flashes of school uniforms and crazy hair and cell phones and earbuds and arms filled with bracelets.

  “Well, the first thing she told me … She said she wasn’t Hanna. Later she told me she was a witch named Marie-Anne Dufosset. My husband didn’t seem that concerned, said she must have read about it online. Or maybe he didn’t believe me at all. That’s part of it, the problem. It’s such a cliché, you know, from horror movies. And the woman starts to experience things and the man dismisses her and she becomes the crazy one.”

  “Is that what you think is happening?”

  “Maybe. Sometimes I feel like it’s true, maybe I am going crazy. I don’t understand what she’s doing. I don’t know what it means, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do—”

  “Did something happen before you called me?”

  “Yes…”

  “I know you’re upset. And I know whatever happened was upsetting.”

  “Yes … My daughter … I heard her, in her room. And when I went in there … It was like she was having sex. Making these noises—very, very realistic noises. And at first I thought she was masturbating, which is fine, we’d have no problems with that. But then she looked at me, smiling, and told me the devil was fucking her, basically—that the devil was fucking her and she liked it.”

  “Mrs. Jensen, I have to ask you a serious question—”

  “Okay.”

  “To your knowledge, is there any chance your daughter has been sexually abused?”

  “No!” The bile ignited within her again; she tasted it rising in her throat. She’d kept her daughter safe, she’d always kept her safe. Except for the radiation from the CT scans, and whatever pollutants they were all subject to in their toxic world. It was too horrible to think about, but she needed to not get defensive; now more than ever she didn’t want the doctor jumping to the wrong conclusions.

  “I don’t see how she could have been.” She swallowed down the horrible taste at the back of her tongue. “She’s been with me, at home, almost all the time. And Alex never—I mean never. He is a mature, kind, sophisticated man … He’s Swedish,” she said, stupidly, like that would convince her, like no Swedish men ever molested their children.

  Oh, God. She covered her mouth, afraid Dr. Yamamoto might have heard her gasp. She’d almost forgotten about last year, when Alex had started growing facial hair, on his way toward a beard. He’d trimmed it to a goatee with a kind of elongated mustache.

  “Do I look super cool?”

  Suzette remembered how she’d replied. In front of Hanna. “I think Daddy looks like a Scandinavian devil.”

  It made Hanna giggle. Alex smirked—and returned to the bathroom to reconfigure his mustache.

  Could Alex possibly have…? When Hanna said “he comes to me,” could she have meant her father, the Scandinavian devil?

  No. No, not Alex. She banished the absurd thought. “No, it isn’t possible.”

  “I understand it’s an upsetting prospect. But it’s something we’ll need to clarify. It’s not uncommon for children who have experienced inappropriate sexual contact to act out in some way.”

  “But with Hanna.” She felt the perspiration in her armpits, the sweat of renewed panic congealing on the back of her neck. It was all so crazy, she’d never be able to make anyone understand. “I just … I think it’s something else.” Not Alex. “This witch she’s claiming to be—this weird sexual thing is some sort of offshoot of this persona, this other person she’s … I can’t explain it, I know it doesn’t make any sense.”

  “It’s hard, and it’s complicated—I understand. Maybe over the weekend you could do something for me, which might help for our appointment on Monday.”

  “Of course.”

  “Write down, as precisely as you can, everything your daughter has said. Everything she said, and everything you can remember about what was going on at the time, and how you reacted. Young children can find strange and creative ways to react to things they don’t understand. Her not speaking for so long is one issue that we’ll need to address. But what she has chosen to say now is another issue. It might take some time, but we’ll sort this out.”

  “I’ll write down everything I remember. Thank you so much, Dr. Yamamoto. For listening to me, and taking this seriously.” She was back to where she’d started at the beginning of her conversation, feeling like this woman would calmly and methodically get to the bottom of the problem.

  “Please, call me Beatrix. And I know it’s scary, I understand. There’s nothing scarier than loving a child and not understanding what they’re trying to tell you—”

  “Yes,” she said, her breath making the word an exclamation mark.

  “But you’re taking all the right steps. And we’ll sort this out. So try to have a good weekend—”

  “You too—”

  “And I’ll see you and Hanna on Monday.”

  She hung up feeling—for the first time in a very long time—vindicated. The doctor said she was taking all the right steps—a statement that implied action was necessary. She said they’d sort it out. In her mind, Beatrix—with her lovely, soothing voice, her confident manner—bore the majesty of a powerful and beautiful woman. She’d understood Suzette was afraid and hadn’t dismissed her in any way. She needed to do better around Hanna and Alex—not show them how she could become flustered and disturbed. That Beatrix had thought of sexual abuse ahead of demonic possession proved she was grounded in reality, something Suzette needed to keep in mind when Hanna next attempted to torment her. She couldn’t imagine when or how she might have come into contact with someone who would abuse her, but maybe she could help rule one person out.

  Over the weekend, in addition to compiling her notes about Hanna’s communication efforts, she’d check Alex’s search history—see if there was more beyond Hanna’s morbid interests. It would invite new questions about his secrets—for creepy kinks and other taboo fetishes—if he was visiting pornographic sites about witches or dead people. But that seemed unlikely. Throughout their relationship, Alex never hesitated to enumerate his reasons for hating pornography whenever the subject arose. By ruling out porn, she expected to free Alex of any suspicion. He couldn’t—in any way—be the source of Hanna’s perversions. Beatrix needed to know she and Alex weren’t the problem; it would help Beatrix’s ability to treat Hanna.

  She sent Alex a text asking him to bring home their favorite Thai food for supper—a bit of a celebration.

  Maintain normalcy. Look like everything’s fine.

  When she came out of her room, Hanna’s door was still closed; she pushed away the unwelcome images of what might be happening within. Between their rooms was the laundry alcove and Hanna’s bathroom. Suzette kept a stash of cleaning supplies beneath every sink in the house. In need of comfort, she slipped on her rubber battle gloves.

  Hanna’s door creaked open as Suzette emerged from the bathroom with a bucket. She went to the stairs and sat on the second step. From there she scrubbed the top step. Then she scooted down to the third step and scrubbed the second step. Hanna peered at her over the hallway railing. The little spy monitored everything.

  “Better come down now, before all the steps are wet.”

  The girl zipped around to the top of
the stairs. In her monkey knee socks, she descended like a dancer en pointe, with only her tippy-toes touching the damp wood. When she was safely on the dry landing, Suzette turned to address her.

  “Since school starts on Monday”—Hanna stopped in mid-escape and met her mother’s eyes—“you don’t have to do any schoolwork today, if you don’t want to.” Excitement and disbelief wavered on Hanna’s face. “Really. You can have the whole weekend too, to just have fun. Sound good?”

  Hanna’s face lit up and she burst like a firecracker down the rest of the stairs. She disappeared into the living room and a second later the television came to life with giggly cartoon voices.

  “Good Mommy. Nice Mommy.” Suzette smiled without mirth. “Can’t ruin Mommy. Or scare her to death.”

  It was in all their best interests to keep the coming days as drama-free as possible. Monday—with a new school and therapist—would be challenging enough.

  Her wet rag demolished a universe, one step at a time. Worlds that would never grow. Forests that would never mature. Vinegar-infused annihilation. At least in one area of her life she was powerful and divine. She worked in the only direction she could go. Down.

  HANNA

  NOODLES FOR SUPPER! Mommy and Daddy were both in smiley moods, but Hanna suspected Mommy was merely trying a new tactic. She was a good opponent. She had big reactions to things and then sulked off to her room to regroup. When Daddy first saw Mommy’s new hair, his smile wobbled and Mommy looked scared for a second, tugging on the layers like she could make them longer. Hanna hoped Daddy would chuck her ugly butt out of the house.

  “You don’t like it?” Mommy asked.

  Then Daddy beamed at her, reaching for her like she was a snow angel who’d fallen to earth and his warm hands would make her melt. “It’s a surprise—but look at you. Radiant.”

  Mommy, who knew how ugly she was, breathed with relief. Sometimes Daddy was too nice.

  “What inspired this?” he asked.

  “Your daughter. Who cut off half my hair while I lay in bed sleeping.”

  Hanna heard the steel blade in her voice, the thing Mommy wanted to stab her with.

  Daddy’s face grumpled. “Lilla gumman…”

  He turned to her, frowning. Hanna thought she might have blown it, and felt squiggles of fear swimming inside her.

  “Doing something like that—it can be dangerous, for one. You shouldn’t be using scissors like that. And it’s a violation—do you understand what that means?”

  She shook her head, aware of Mommy watching Daddy with big eager eyes.

  “Well, at least there’s no harm done.” He winked at Hanna. “Mommy looks more beautiful than ever.”

  “Alex!”

  Mommy clutched her chopsticks, ready to spear him with them, but Daddy reached out and squeezed her hand.

  “It was wrong,” he said, “she shouldn’t have done it—but I love the way it frames your face. You can’t be mad at me for liking that.”

  Mommy sagged a little. One side of her mouth lifted in a smile. He twinkled his eyes at her and dived back into his food. While he wasn’t looking, Mommy turned to her and gave her a see-you-haven’t-beaten-me smirk.

  Hanna gave her a not-for-long grin in reply.

  As Mommy and Daddy ate with their chopsticks, their hands looked like giant stick bugs, monsters click clacking as they devoured noodle cities. Hanna had to hide her glee because Daddy could never get really angry with her, and she was so excited for the day to end: she’d already decided her next move. Sneaky and awesome!

  They babbled so happily about her new school that she couldn’t help feeling not so terrible about it, in spite of her determination to maintain a mask of so what. Things in the building had surprised her, reminding her of the Children’s Museum. Stuff to play and interact with. And it was so near the playground—maybe she’d get to play there every day. But the other children. They might be a problem. They looked stupid and, in some cases, deformed. One of them was floppy like her stuffed bunny. Another had knees like a kangaroo and walked with the aid of a four-wheeled walker. She heard howls and yowls coming through some of the doors; no wonder Mr. G was so placid about her barking. She’d give it a day or two to study the terrain, then decide what to do.

  Just thinking about the other children ruined her good mood; if only they would all die and she could have the school to herself. She’d seen little blips on the news about mass shootings and had heard Daddy rant about the gun problem “not everyone needs a gun, children do not need guns!” But maybe Daddy was mistaken. Maybe the other children weren’t clever enough to conjure ways to handle their problems. A vengeful pit grew inside her and it remained to be seen how it would grow—very possibly into a tree with snaking branches and claws. How fun it would be to be such a tree, looming like a giant on a neighborhood street. People would pass beneath her, and the ones she didn’t like—snap snap crunch! She’d snatch them up and tangle her branches around them, and their bones would break with little crunches that would be mistaken for the snap of a twig. Her bark-self would absorb their yummy blood and the tree would grow and thrive.

  “So, Hanna, remember how Daddy talked to you about having your very own person to talk to? Someone who’d focus their attention just on you?” Mommy glanced at Daddy and he stopped chewing for a second. He swallowed; his food and the surprised look slipped in tandem down his throat.

  “Right, lilla gumman, we talked about that. Because maybe you’re thinking things and need a better way to express yourself. Remember?” Then Daddy turned back to Mommy, like he didn’t know what to say next.

  “Well, I talked to a very helpful woman today; her name is Beatrix. She’s very, very nice. And it just happens that she has some time to see you on Monday.”

  “Wait—doesn’t she start school on Monday?”

  Daddy blinked at Mommy and for a minute both forgot about Hanna, who watched them volley back and forth in a friendly ping-pong match that risked becoming something more serious.

  “Yes, the appointment’s after school.”

  “Isn’t that too much? Too many new things for one day?”

  “It’s when she could see her—she had an opening and I didn’t see the point in waiting.”

  Daddy shook his head. “I just think … She’s going to need some down time, it’s already a big—”

  “I know, but it might be good too. If she has any reactions about her new school.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I didn’t want to put it off, I thought we’d agreed.”

  Daddy nodded at his plate and stabbed at his noodles. Hanna knew he would always defend her, but Mommy was such a bossy boss and always wanted her own way. It was hard to read the weird vibes passing between them. They tried to speak with their eyebrows instead of words.

  “It’ll be good,” Mommy told him like a fish surfacing for air. “And I was very impressed with her. She’s so sweet and nice.”

  “Someone named Beatrix,” Daddy said to Hanna, “must be nice. It isn’t humanly possible for someone with such an adorable name to be anything but kind. Right?”

  Hanna gave one of her single, assertive head bobs.

  After supper Mommy suggested that Daddy play a board game with Hanna while she cleaned the kitchen.

  “Sure you don’t need any help?” He tucked his body behind hers, kissing the exposed skin on the back of her neck as she rinsed the dishes. “This is my new favorite spot,” he said.

  Mommy looked way too happy as Daddy kissed her neck again. Hanna grabbed the Spot It! tin from a lower cabinet and ran back to the table, where she slapped the lid to get everyone’s attention.

  “I think I’m being paged,” said Daddy, drifting toward the table.

  “Is it okay if I use your laptop for a little bit?”

  “Yeah, sure. We never did replace your old one—we should.”

  “Also, I wanted to do some shopping this weekend—get some things for Hanna, some special school supplies and a backpa
ck, maybe some clothes. She might like that.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  Mommy turned off the faucet, and with her hands still wet she used her shoulder to rub something on her cheek, an itch or a splash of water. “I’ll be upstairs while you guys are playing.”

  “Come join us when you’re finished.”

  Hanna hoped she wouldn’t join them. Maybe, if her plan worked, Mommy would spend the entire weekend sick in bed—or maybe forever sick in bed—and then she and Daddy could do whatever they wanted. She placed one round card in front of each of them, then tidied the draw pile into a neat stack, ready to play.

  * * *

  When it was time for bed, Daddy brought her a special present.

  “Don’t tell Mommy,” he whispered in her ear. “She’ll think we’re weird.”

  It was a potato. A funny-shaped raw potato still cold from the refrigerator.

  She giggled and hugged it to her chest. She and Daddy knew what would happen: the potato would become the body of her very own UnderSlumberBumbleBeast. She wasn’t quite ready to leave it to its destiny, though, so she slept with it in her fist, cuddled up so close to her nose she could inhale its earthy origins.

  At three A.M. her alarm clock rumbled to life. First it flashed its lights, then it tolled its harmonic bells—which she’d set at a very low volume. It had been a very special Christmas Eve present from her grandparents and made her feel so grown-up. But she rarely needed to set it or get up by herself. Sometimes she set it anyway, for random times, just to make sure it would chime at whatever hour she appointed. But tonight she actually had a mission.

  She grabbed her flashlight—another of her most favorite items. It fit perfectly in her small hand and she could set the brightness for low, medium, or high with just a press of her thumb. She put it on low and opened her door. Everything was dark and quiet. Her parents’ bedroom door was shut and no light glowed from beneath. She made her way downstairs as silently as a worm. She’d met a few cats in her day and they weren’t as quiet as everyone said. They purred and meowed and made thumping noises when they jumped off things. But a worm. She’d never heard a worm utter a sound even as faint as a breath.