Between Teeth and Tongue

I trust that this story has found its way to the reader who needs it most. I’m sure that you, at some point in your life, have heard the phrase “be careful what you wish for”. However, if you have been fortunate (or unfortunate) enough to never truly understand its meaning, I’m sure that you will by the end of Vera and Matthew’s tale.

We begin in the South West of England, near Cornwall, at approximately half four in the afternoon. Vera’s husband, Matthew, had arrived back from work looking rather weary, as a primary school teacher usually does after surviving yet another Monday of relentless screaming and “take that marker pen out of your mouth, Oliver!” Vera had just finished cleaning out the coffee machine, shaking her head in disbelief when she realised that, once again, someone had forgotten to do it that morning before he left for work. Matthew entered the kitchen, kissing his wife on the forehead before placing what appeared to be a block of sludge on the counter. He had been washing his hands for several seconds before Vera noticed. “What on earth is that?” she said, rather aghast. Her eyes remained fixed on the sludge even as Matthew turned around to glance at her. “It’s a toad. I co-“

“Why the hell have you brought a toad into this house?”

“I confiscated it from a Year Three at lunchtime. A dinner nanny told me that he’d been proudly showing it off to everyone on the yard, claiming that it had magical properties or something like that”. Matthew couldn’t help but snicker at the idea. Vera was less amused. It was dead. There was no doubt about it. “Why didn’t you throw it on the side of the road? Or in the bin?”

Matthew shrugged. “It felt wrong. Disrespectful. I th-“

“Disrespectful?” Vera had raised her voice by this point, her eyes flickering from the toad to her husband and back again in sheer disbelief.

“Let me finish”. Matthew put his hands up, as if surrendering to his wife’s justified annoyance, and continued. “I thought it would be disrespectful to just toss it somewhere. I was planning on burying it. How do we know it wasn’t that student’s pet?” By this point, Vera had taken two plastic gloves from the drawer and was rapidly approaching the slop on the countertop. She picked it up, squirming as she felt the toad’s texture in her hands: hard and slimy. She whirled around to face her husband, disgusted. “You’re too soft. It’s a good job we never had children, they would have been little brats who knew no discipline.” Matthew made a singular noise in protest before Vera cut him off. “I remember my mother used to say to me as a child: Vera, as the oldest daughter, sometimes you just have to bite the bullet and suck it up - I think you should do the same.” She left no room for poor Matthew to speak or act before throwing the toad into the bin. She huffed as she removed her gloves and stormed out of the room.

That night, Vera went to bed earlier than usual, too angry and disappointed to reason with her husband. She was fast asleep by the time a low ruffling of binbags could be heard from downstairs.

She awoke to the bedroom in darkness. 3.36am, according to the sinister red digital numbers displayed on her bedside table. The room had a cool draft to it. Groggily, she rolled over to face Matthew.

He wasn’t in bed. The bedroom door was wide open.

She sprung out of bed in her nightgown, and walked out into the hallway. “Honey?” she called out. She was shaking. Why was she shaking? Matthew probably was just in the bathroom across the hall.

He wasn’t. She made her way downstairs, her hand firmly placed on the banister. It was colder down here. The living room door was the only door that was fully closed. She hurried past it, and was halfway to the kitchen when she stopped dead in her tracks. Matthew was breathing rapidly, and heavily, from the living room.

Vera fumbled for the doorknob, her eyes finally adjusting to the darkness as she stumbled in. Matthew was barely visible; all she could see were his eyes blinking at her from the floor. An unintelligible sound escaped her throat as she dashed forward, rapidly approaching her husband as he lay there, gasping on the rug.

“Vera? What are you doing?” A voice rang out. Matthew’s. He was standing in the doorway behind her.

The light clicked on. Laying on the rug several feet from her wasn’t Matthew. It was a German Shepherd. She screamed. The dog, who’d seemed rather excited about his new home before Vera came in, simply sat up and stared at her, its head tilted slightly to one side. Matthew remained glued to the spot in the doorway, his eyes wide.

“GET IT OUT!” Vera screamed, scrambling to her feet and pointing to the dog as if to magically make it disappear with a gesture. She didn’t dare turn her head to look at Matthew beside her.

“You’ve always wanted a German Shepherd. We have always wanted one, haven’t we?” Matthew said, slowly, as if entranced. Vera bit her tongue.

“Get. It. Out.” She panted, her heart racing so quickly that she could hear blood rushing in her ears. “I mean it, Matthew.” Not once did her eyes part from the dog. Why hadn’t its mouth moved?

“I got it for us. You always wanted a German Shepherd, but we could never afford one, could we?”

Vera blinked, pursing her lips. It must have been 30 seconds before she spoke again.

“Where did you get the money from?”

Matthew was silent. From the corner of her eye she watched him fidget with his feet, like a little boy getting scolded by his mother. “I didn’t buy it. I wished for it after I confiscated the toad. Just to see if that boy was telling the truth - you never know!” He paused, knowing he sounded crazy. “I woke up about 20 minutes ago and heard a scratching. I thought a rat had gotten in, and searched for it. Turns out it was at the back door, so I opened it and he’s sat there.” He gestured towards the dog, as if what he was saying made logical sense. It didn’t to Vera.

“You’ve gone mad.” She said through gritted teeth. “Absolutely fucking mad, Matthew!”

“Please don’t shout, honey, I thought you’d like it. I was thinking of something both of us would want.” He spoke rapidly, getting his sentences out in one breath as to not be cut off by his wife’s shrieking.

“Do you actually think you just magicked up a German Shepherd because you asked a fucking frog for it-“

“It’s a toad-“

“I don’t give a fuck what it is!”

“But now we know it is magical, we can turn our whole lives around-“

“Can you HEAR YOURSELF?” Her throat burned. She’d finally looked away from the dog now, who seemed completely unfazed by the both of them. It simply sat there on the carpet with its mouth closed.

“Maybe you just have to bite the bullet and suck it up? Isn’t that what your mother always said to you?” He spat. His voice wasn’t raised, but sharp. Vera mumbled something unintelligible under her breath.

The air felt heavier than it did a few moments earlier. Matthew rubbed the back of his neck, sighing deeply. He looked guiltily at his wife. His mouth opened and closed, and a second later he had turned around and he left the room.

“Where are you going now?” Vera suddenly didn’t care about the dog; a madman was more of a threat. She rushed into the kitchen behind Matthew, following closely behind him. “Matthew, you need to stop obsessing over this. You’re not well.”

But Matthew was already advancing towards the dining table. Vera, being a lot shorter than he was, was unable to see what he had in his hand. But she already knew.

“Make a wish”. He said, pivoting to face her.

“You’re fucking mental”.

“Make a wish. Go on. And if it doesn’t come true then we know this is all bullshit and I’ll get rid of it”.

Vera turned, opened the drawer for some more disposable gloves, and took the toad in her hands. She felt like crying. Her husband wouldn’t be her husband much longer if he kept on deteriorating like this.

“I wish that you’d never brought this thing home in the first place.” She exhaled shakily. She didn’t know whether her hands trembled from anger or fear.

Matthew looked concerned, biting the corner of his lip, but said nothing. By this point, saying anything to his wife would only exasperate her. She placed the toad back onto the kitchen table, removed her gloves and made her way into the living room. The dog hadn’t moved.

*

Matthew’s alarm went off at 7am that morning. Out of the three of them, only the dog had slept. He slowly dressed, and kissed Vera’s cheek before making a coffee downstairs. He forgot to clean the machine before he left.

Matthew never returned home. The frog, to Vera’s horror, disappeared from the kitchen table for good. A few hours later, Matthew was found with a singular bullet wedged into the back of his neck; it had entered from the front, having been shot through the mere few inches between his teeth and into his spinal cord. Vera was found dead the next day. The dog, who had no record of any previous owners, was rehoused.

And so, dear reader, if you ever find a toad on your doorstep, I would think twice before letting it in..