NB*: The following two short pieces were written specifically for Ed Cox's use in his cut-up, Dream Slant.

This first one by me is based on an absolutely true story. Screw you, Watermead Dental Surgery.

****

Zeke Iddon

- Fun Afternoon-

“Can I help you?”

I snap out of my idle-daydreaming. I’ve been waiting so long that I momentarily forgot where I was. “Oh, yes. I’ve got an appointment for a session of unbearable torture,” I reply cheerfully. I’ve waited months for this appointment, I hope being ten minutes late won’t jeopardize it.

“Name, please?”

“Mr. Sklansky.”

The lady behind the desk punches something into her computer. “Ah, yes. Wisdom teeth, correct?”

I nod.

“There will be a charge of eighty pounds for this session. You can pay at the reception afterwards.”

“How much?”

“Eighty sterling pounds of the realm, sir.”

“Christ,” I gasp, “if that’s how much I’m being charged it best be super-painful.”

The lady smiles sympathetically. “Oh, I assure you it will be. If you take a seat, Annette will come to deliver sadistic amounts of excruciating agony to you shortly.”

I thank her, then ask if there will be anaesthetic.

“Yes, I’m afraid so, Mr. Sklansky.”

“No fair.”

“I know, but we’ve got to keep Health and Safety happy.”

cree… crrrk… Crunch!

“Ib bap weely methethary?”

“I’m sorry Mr. Sklansky,” Annette chirps, “I can’t make out a word you’re saying as I have both of my hands and a chisel in your mouth. Now, hold still please.”

She crunches my back tooth one more time with the chisel, then removes the instrument. Her face looks concerned. “Hmmm. Looks to me like you have some kind of infestation in the gum. I can see a few baby maggots a’ wrigglin’ in the tooth cavity.”

My expression turns to one of extreme horror.

“Only screwing with ya,” she laughs, then picks up an instrument that, no matter how much you try to dress it up, is no more than a pair of pliers. I feel the onset of a headache. “Ok, you may feel a slight pain. Ah, who am I kidding? This is really going to hurt!”

“Ninghph,” I garble as her hand delves back into my gaping maw.

“Indeed. There’s no need to worry. It’ll just feel something similar to someone yanking a rotten tooth out of your head with a pair of rusty pliers. Which of course, I am. Only worse.”

There is a large tug and my head is pulled sharply from the headrest. She pulls again, and again. And again. And again. And again.

Then she stops.

Not really! She pulls again, but this time puts a heavy Doc Martin on my chest to keep me still. Finally, the tooth dislodges and blood fills my mouth. She hands me her used hankerchief.

“There we go, Mr. Sklansky! You’re all done.”

“Can I remove this mini-screwdriver kit from behind my back now?” I ask, still spitting blood into the hankerchief.

“Of course you can, we only put it on the chair to make the experience even more uncomfortable. Now, can we book you in for anything else while you’re here?”

I massage my temples and groan.

“Do you do trephining?”

“We certainly do!” Annette beams, elated that the new service seems to be going down well with the punters. “I’ve got a free slot available next Tuesday.”

* * *

Paul Thomas

- Unknown Road -

I had another dream last night. I was driving down the motorway, it was dark and cold. Ahead I saw a car stopped on the hard shoulder beside the road and somehow I knew it had broken down. I drove past and then realised there might be a young woman, scared and alone, in the vehicle. I turned at a dimly lit roundabout and stopped on the other side of the road, across from the car.

The road was empty, no other vehicles in sight. If there was a young woman in the broken down car it was unlikely any other motorists would be going past for a long time. Breath steaming in front of me (its amazing how realistic dreams can be) I crossed the road to the hard shoulder.

At first I thought the car was empty and I had stopped pointlessly, but then I saw the window wind down. I had been right, there was a young woman in the car, her breath blew out of the open window in clouds too.

“Do you need some help?” I heard myself ask.

“It just stopped,” she replied. “Do you have a mobile?”

I shook my head. “It might not be safe out here,” I told her. “I can give you a lift a few miles down the road, to the petrol station. It’s probably closed but there is a phone box near it.” Dreams are strange, how did I know about the petrol station, I didn’t even recognise the road.

She smiled at me, “thanks,” and got out of the car, locking it up. I let her walk ahead so I could look her over without appearing to stare. I didn’t want to look like some kind of psycho. She was slim and good-looking, but she wore no coat and she shivered in the cold. It made her look exposed and vulnerable on the dark road.

Quickly stepping ahead of her I opened the passenger side door and she climbed in. I got behind the steering wheel, turned the car around and drove up the road.

“Thank you for this,” she said, her arms wrapped around herself. “How far did you say the station was?”

“Not far,” I replied, fiddling with the heating.

The road moved past in a haze, rolling lazily beneath the car. The garage drew up on the left, I slowed and pulled into it. “Here you are,” I said, smiling to her.

I could tell she was relieved. “Thank you,” she said. “But I don’t see a phone box.”

“I know,” I said, taking out my knife. “Now shut up and do exactly as I tell you.”

I woke up excited and alert. Not horrified, as I used to be by the dreams, but aroused and frustrated that it had ended so soon.

The sense of wrong was like a tingle in the bottom of the mind, scintillating and terrifying at the same time. What was I becoming? Slowly becoming changed by my fantasies, watching my conscience die. Drawing closer to the forbidden to feel the taint of its depraved urgings and enjoy the wickedness I could make believe. I felt the dark desires each time I drove shadowy roads at night, covering distances of empty motorway with no destination in mind, eyes always on the hard shoulder. What was I becoming on those long, dark drives down roads unknown.