Tooth Decay Jack

Tooth Decay Jack

In loving memory of a mum who wrote poems that turned monsters into teachers.

On the night before the dentist, Ellie dreamed of castles. Not the grey stone and moat sort. This was a bright white city, with towers shaped like molars and bridges as shiny as new spoons. She floated over it the way an eagle rides the wind. Wherever she drifted, the streets below hummed a tiny tink, tink, tink, like someone mending a watch.

“Hello?” Ellie called, because even in dreams she was polite

The tink, tink, tink stopped. Out from behind a pearly wall peeked a pair of curious eyes, the exact colour of mint toothpaste. Then a small figure stepped into the light.

He was no taller than Ellie’s thumb. He wore a flat cap, carried a satchel, and held a hammer that gleamed like a star. His jacket was stitched with little pockets stuffed full of brushes, bottles, and something that looked like tiny trowels. He had a smile that showed off a row of perfectly white teeth, and stuck to his boot was a smudge of toffee.

“Evening,” he said, tipping his cap. “You have caught me at work.”

“Are you a builder?” asked Ellie.

“Of sorts,” he replied. “Name’s Jack, Tooth Decay Jack, officially. But don’t let that frighten you.”

Ellie’s breath caught. Tooth Decay Jack was the monster from her mum’s old poem, the one her Nan recited whenever Ellie tried to sneak a second slice of cake, or ‘forget’ to clean her teeth. “He’ll leap in your mouth in the middle of night, hammering holes with all of his might!”

“You are not supposed to be nice,” Ellie whispered.

Jack’s smile fell, as though her words had hurt him. “That’s what they say, isn’t it? Well now, it depends on where you stand.”

He beckoned her closer. “I beg you, please come and see the problem I am fixing before you decide what sort of monster I am.”

Ellie followed him down a lane of white enamelled tiles, bright and glossy. Jack led her to a white tower that rose like a mountain of snow. Up close, Ellie saw a brownish crater in its side. At its edge, delicate crystals glittered and inside, it was soft and dark.

“Is that a cavity?” Ellie asked.

“Mm-hmm. But the mischief did not start with me,” Jack said, reaching into a pocket and tugging out a magnifying glass. He held it up to the crater. “Have a look.”

“Children see me arrive after the sweets and the traces that they leave behind, and think that I am the attacker. But I am the patcher. The filler. The one who tries to build a shield before the whole tower sinks.”

Ellie frowned. “But why do you have to sneak in at night? That makes you seem scary.”

Jack’s cheeks pinked. “Because daytime is too busy. All that chomping and talking, you see. The night is when all is still and I can lay a good filling.”

He opened his satchel. Inside were vials labelled with neat handwriting: Fluoride Flourish, Calcium Mix, Neutralising Rinse, and a jar of something the colour of moonlight. He selected a tiny trowel and the moonlight jar.

“I call this Bright Cement,” he said, scooping a pearl of it on his trowel. “I spread it over the softened spot, harden it up, and tink, tink, tink, gently set it. No drilling, not like the big folks.”

Ellie thought of the poem again. “He’ll hammer your teeth till your smile turns black.” “Maybe,” she said, “people misunderstood you.”

“I can totally understand why,” Jack replied. “I turn up after sweets and not on them, as the legend would have you believe. Sometimes I arrive too late. Then the big dentists must do their work, and then who gets the blame? Me, that’s who.”

“Between towers is where the trouble hides,” Jack explained. “They hide within the nooks we cannot reach with a normal brush.”

“Do other helpers work with you?” Ellie asked.

“Oh, dozens. The Bristle Brigade, the Rinse Riders, and the Chew Crew of carrot sticks and apples that sweep up after meals. But they cannot do much if the gates are besieged by constant sugar parties.”

They arrived at another tower’s edge. Here, under the gums, Ellie spotted a pale scrape, a scratch that had not yet turned into a pit.

“Bristle Brigade!” Jack called. “You are late!”

“Apologies,” said their captain, saluting with a toothbrush. “We were delayed detangling a caramel catastrophe on the lower incisors.”

The Brigade worked quickly, brushing away the crumbs. The Rinse Riders followed, rinsing the teeth until they were clean and bright.

“I did not know any of this was happening,” Ellie whispered. “How can I help?”

“Fewer sugary parties. Drinking water after treats. Brushing morning and night, and flossing as neatly as drawing between the lines. And of course, check-ups with the big dentists, in case my schedule is full. I’m especially busy around the Christmas and Easter holidays, don’t you know.”

She thought of birthday cake and jelly and Nan’s delicious apple pie, with the crunchy, sugary topping.

They continued along the curve of the gums to a pair of tall doors hidden in the quiet dark.

“The Wisdom Gates,” Jack said. “These have not opened yet. When they do, new neighbourhoods arrive. New lanes, new corners, new steps. All very exciting. Also very tricky to reach.”

They walked back through the City of Smiles and saw the Bristle Brigade stacking their brushes, while the Rinse Riders faded away as quietly as they had arrived.

At the first tower, the crater was gone. Where it had been was a smooth patch of Bright Cement, pale as moonlight on a windowsill.

“Finished,” Jack said, breathing out as if he had set down something heavy that was never his to carry.

“Saved before the decay could reach the core,” Jack said.

“Will you have to come back often?” Ellie asked.

Jack gave her a gentle smile. ‘That depends on you. I want to be the helper you know is there when needed. If you look after your teeth, I can be free to help others too.

Ellie remembered the poem her mum had written when she was small. Perhaps her mum had made Jack sound scary to help children listen. Perhaps the story had always been about learning to take care.

“Thank you,” Ellie said.

Jack touched the brim of his cap in response.

The morning light slipped through the curtains, and Ellie woke to the smell of Nan making toast. On her bedside table lay a new toothbrush and a pack of floss.

At breakfast Ellie chose butter on her toast, and sliced apple. Nan poured tea and raised a curious eyebrow. “No Nutella on your toast today, love?”

“Maybe later,” Ellie said. “I am spacing out my parties.”

“Parties,” Nan repeated, amused. “Well then. Captain of parties, carry on.”

After school Ellie and her little brother Alfie sat in the waiting room at the dentist. Alfie swung his legs and counted the fish in the aquarium. Ellie took a deep breath and told him a simpler version of the dream she had.

“There is a helper named Jack,” she said, “who wears a flat cap and carries a tiny hammer that shines like a star. He comes at night to fix what the sugar parties mess up. If we brush and floss and sip water, he does not have to work so hard.”

Alfie stared, wide eyed. “Does he have a motorbike?”

“On Saturdays,” Ellie said. “Only very small.”

The hygienist called her in. Ellie sat back, opened wide, and listened to the careful clinks and whirs. The dentist peered with a little mirror and a bright light.

“Very tidy,” the dentist said. “There is a tiny soft spot on this molar. We can seal it now so it does not turn into anything troublesome.”

“Bright Cement,” Ellie blurted, then flushed.

The dentist chuckled. “Something very much like that, yes.”

That evening, after she brushed like a hero and flossed with care, she took a notebook from under her bed and began to write a new poem.

Tooth Decay Jack is kind, not bad,

He fixes your teeth when food makes them sad.

But children must brush, each morning and night,

To keep every tooth healthy and bright.

She stuck her poem to the bathroom mirror. Alfie read it while brushing and spat a foamy grin into the sink.

“To the City of Smiles,” he said with great dignity. “And to the motorbike.”

Over the next weeks Ellie still ate cake at birthday parties. She still licked honey off a spoon sometimes, because life is full of small joys. She remembered to sip water afterwards. She left a little space between one sweet and the next. She brushed in the morning and at night for the length of her favourite song. She flossed slowly and kindly. She went to see the big dentists when it was time and asked good questions. She told friends that the mouth was a city that belonged to them and that they should be captains of their own destiny.

On a mild spring evening, when blossom dusted the pavement and the air smelled of cut grass, Ellie dreamed again. She did not float this time. She walked through a wide-open gate into the City of Smiles.

The towers gleamed. The lanes were busy but calm. Children her age wore captain badges made from polished buttons and carried brushes like banners. They nodded to one another as they crossed floss bridges strung with fairy lights. The Chew Crew rolled past with carts of fruit. The Brigade practised in the square and taught smaller children how to angle a brush to reach behind a molar. The Rinse Riders moved in gentle waves, clearing away the last crumbs from a party that had ended on time.

Jack stood by the clock on the cusp and watched. His hands were in his pockets. His cap was tilted back slightly. He looked rested.

“You did it,” he said to Ellie as she joined him.

“Do you ever wish everyone knew the truth about you?” Ellie asked. “That you are a fixer and not a breaker.”

Jack gazed at the shining tower.

“I only wish children understood the truth,” he said. “They are the captains of their smiles. If my story reminds them to brush, that is enough for me.”

The clock chimed, not loudly, just enough to let Ellie know that time was passing, as the dream began to lift like fog in the morning sun.

“Goodnight, Captain,” Jack said.

“Goodnight, Jack,” Ellie answered.

At breakfast, she poured two cups of water and clinked her cup against Alfie’s plastic beaker.

“To the City of Smiles,” she declared. “To the Bristle Brigade. To the Rinse Riders. To the Chew Crew. And to Jack, who was never the enemy.”

Alfie clinked back with the seriousness of a knight. “And to the motorbike,” he said.

“To the motorbike,” Ellie agreed.

Later that night, in a quiet moonlit corner, Jack’s hammer rested and his flat cap hung on a peg. His little ledger was closed with a ribbon of floss. No longer seen as a monster, Tooth Decay Jack smiled at the safe City of Smiles and drifted to sleep, certain that Ellie would guide it well, with Alfie as her trusty second in command.

And as the City of Smiles shone quietly, everyone drifted into a clean and happy dream.