The Tooth Collector (and Other Tales of Terror) by Lindsey Goddard

shade of yellow.
     
    Mrs. Ahmed couldn’t read the ‘OUT OF ORDER’
sign, of course, but a glance at the empty tray and a few
unresponsive clicks of the button told her everything she needed to
know. She hung her head in defeat, hugging the empty bucket to her
black-clad bosom.
     
    I was quick to respond. “Mrs. Ahmed?” I said,
addressing her directly for the first time since she arrived. “I
can help with that.” I pointed to the bucket in her gloved hands. I
approached, and as I did, her eyes widened like a cornered
mouse.
     
    Then something very unexpected happened... I
saw beauty in those eyes. It struck me. It held me captive!
     
    Her eyes were not brown as I’d imagined the
countless times she had averted her gaze, but a brilliant shade of
amber which shined like bowls of honey in the sunlight. I reached
for the bucket in a cautious “I come in peace” gesture. I was taken
aback by her gorgeous orbs, and she by my close proximity. She
loosened her grip and let me remove the bucket from her
fingers.
     
    I ran to the employee lounge, moving quickly
as I knew her ticking-time-bomb husband would run out of patience
soon. I filled it and returned to the lobby even faster than I had
departed. She was standing in the exact same spot, a motionless
niqabi mannequin until she nodded her thanks to me.
     
    I held the bucket a moment longer and gazed
into those lovely eyes. Amber is a rare color, the color of my
first girlfriend’s eyes, the thought of whom still causes my heart
to race. I was irresistibly drawn to that color.
     
    “We plan to have the ice machine fixed by
tomorrow evening.” I said. I was stalling, though I wasn’t sure
why. “There’s another one on the second floor if you need it.”
Recalling our language barrier, I frowned. Pieces of ice fell to
the carpet as I handed the silent woman her bucket, now brimming
with frozen cubes.
     
    Then I noticed Mr. Ahmed six doors down, his
head poking into the hall. His olive complexion was flushed with
blood as he observed our one-sided conversation with an unpleasant
scowl. I immediately turned and made a beeline for the desk, hoping
I hadn’t caused the woman any troubles.
     
    Thirty minutes later, I received a noise
complaint from room 110. A middle-aged business woman by the name
of Susan Bennet had been staying in 110. She was a quiet,
introverted woman. She tipped the staff well and kept her room tidy
without much help from housekeeping. She didn’t strike me as a
prankster, so I believed her when she told me she’d heard horrible
screams coming from the next room
     
    I was suddenly tense. An icy knot formed in
my stomach. My mouth went dry, and all I could do was force a small
amount of saliva down my throat and try to locate my voice.
Needless to say, I had a bad feeling about Mrs. Bennet’s noise
complaint.
     
    Had the screams come from Mrs. Ahmed in 112?
Was she in some kind of trouble with her husband? I couldn’t help
but wonder: did I cause a fight between them? I didn’t think such
an innocent encounter would cause marital tension, but the look on
Sameer’s face had been so angry. I assured Mrs. Bennet I would look
into the matter, confirmed the time of her wake up call while I had
her on the line, and bid her goodnight and sweet dreams.
     
    Beads of sweat formed on my brow as I made my
way down the hall. The couple who had stayed in room 108 had
checked out this morning, and no one else had rented the room. The
noises must have come from 112.
     
    I approached the door and knocked, lightly at
first. Nobody answered. I knocked again, this time speaking through
the door as well. “Mr. Ahmed. It’s hotel management. We’d like to
make sure everything is all right…”

 
     
    I heard him unlock the deadbolt and fasten
the latch. He opened the door about two inches and peered through
the crack. The metal latch prevented it from opening any further.
Mr. Ahmed was breathing hard. Perspiration moistened his forehead,
and his