tooth fairy by Sky Serafica

A short story investigating the popularity of the tooth fairy.

First published in Malate Literary Folio, Volume 40, Issue 1, in June 2024.

​From the author:

I’m quite fond of the movie Rise of the Guardians and love their interpretation of common childhood myths into flawed characters. Thus, this work was born out of contemplation, a question spoken out loud to my friends, “What does the tooth fairy do with our teeth?” which spiraled into this attempt at horror-surrealism. It has no lesson, morals, or goal, but I hope that readers can also find themselves questioning common myths we are taught as children, and form their own silly ideas and stories with their age-earned knowledge.

Listen to the author read her work:

I’ve always believed in the tooth fairy. A mystical little creature that snuck under pillows at night to collect the teeth of growing children. That sounded just the right amount of believable and fantastical to my small brain. Growing up and watching talking teapots and figurines that rescue other toys made me think it was quite plausible.

But I’ve always wondered, “What for?”

For what purpose did this little fairy collect teeth? Tiny, insignificant appendages didn’t seem the slightest bit appealing to me, much less worth a paper bill. I can recall the late nights forcing myself to stay awake whenever a tooth would be under my pillow, just to catch a glimpse of this little fairy. I always thought it was some sort of spell, the way that each time I fell asleep, I woke to a bill resting where the tooth was just a mere hour ago.

After growing up and finding out the fairy was just the adults cosplaying, like with Santa and the Easter Bunny, I still continued to question the purpose of adults paying for a child’s tooth under the guise of a fairy. Santa was a way to ensure good behavior throughout the year and reward a kid for it. The Easter Bunny was a child-friendly way to introduce Christianity and push the resurrection and “goodness” of the Lord through the form of sweets. Both of these hold some sort of value. What about the tooth fairy?

What was the purpose of collecting the teeth of children, other than some vague sense of sentimentality?

This question strayed to the back of my mind as I went through life, school, work, and relationships, which distracted me from the ever-present question.

Then at the age of 17 I was diagnosed with some type of under-researched cancer.

The whole world was ahead of you, and in an instant, it all crumbled down. I didn’t pay much attention as the nurses wheeled me from bed to machine to surgery and back again. I was wrapped in pity-weaved glances, the oh how tragic, and the poor boy, he’s too young and I couldn’t help but think how awfully similar they sounded to funeral-goers. With nothing to do other than lay in bed and wait for the next round of surgeries and possible death, I was left to ponder again, the question resurfacing in my mind.

Where would a tooth fairy keep all their teeth? Was there only one tooth fairy for the entirety of humankind? Why did the tooth fairy do this at all?

After years spent questioning and researching, I finally came to some sort of conclusion.

The medical literature showed, the doctor said, and my brain affirmed: my young bones could regrow and regenerate. I was told, over and over and over, I could be repaired. The only part that my body couldn’t repair was my teeth. Was this why the tooth fairy made so much effort to pay the funeral expenses of the body part that, once worn out, filed down or broken, was dead as dead could be and couldn’t be reborn?

So there was more to teeth, after all.

In the hospital on my deadest of days, I found myself resorting to fantasy to distract from every ache and creak. Book on top of book on top of book, threatening to topple over me from the bedside table.

One of the nurses had lent me one of her old books after finding me staring blankly at the fluorescent lights for hours. It was a dusty copy of Asian myths, the cover coating my blankets in dust. The Japanese apparently believe in senbazuru—“one thousand paper cranes.” It is said that folding one thousand paper cranes could grant the creator a wish. A wish for something. I could use something like that right now. I had no interest in the concept of origami or in cranes, but a scribble that came with the paper crane in the book—3/1000—caught my attention. Third in a thousand. One thousand. Such an interesting number. What made one thousand cranes more significant than one hundred? Than two thousand?

Did it have to be paper cranes? Or could it be something else, as long as there were exactly one thousand of them?

That gave me an idea. I could answer my question firsthand.

I’ve always been told that I could achieve whatever I put my mind to. I got better, despite the odds. The cancer still resided within me, simply dormant and slow-spreading.

I studied.

I graduated.

I got accepted into a job.

I had never been particularly interested in cranes. But there is something I’ve been obsessing over for the longest time.

Children file into my office with all kinds of teeth. Anything from loose wiggling teeth to cavity-infested teeth. Some bring home the teeth for their fairy, others are disgusted and leave them on my steel tray, for me to do with as I please. With a surreptitious glance at the door, I reach over the steel tray, its metal cold against my waist, and pick up the abandoned tooth, slipping it inside a small plastic with the label: 983/1000. Nearly there.

It would take a miracle to cure me at this point.

Could my collection of one thousand tiny, dead appendages, protected by enamel and harder than bone, grant me my wish?

Am I the tooth fairy now?

Sky Serafica is a BS Psychology student currently living in the Philippines. She serves as the current prose editor and editor-in-chief for Malate Literary Folio, and is a contributing writer for Women Writing Women. Many of her works play with the intimate and vulnerable and render the mundane with rose-tinted anecdotes. Her work can be found in Malate Literary Folio, The Lasallian, and various online magazines. She is also fond of collecting quills, classics, and cool rocks.

Substack: @tisisky

Instagram: @tisisky

Facebook: @skyyseraficaa

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