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‘ “God has given me blood to drink,” she said to the nurse, and the nurse said, “Don’t rinse your mouth or it won’t clot” ’

About the Author

SHIRLEY JACKSON

Born 14 December 1916, San Francisco, California

Died 8 August 1965, Bennington, Vermont

All stories first published in The Lottery and Other Stories, 1949.

ALSO PUBLISHED BY PENGUIN BOOKS

The Haunting of Hill House • We Have Always Lived in the Castle

SHIRLEY JACKSON

The Tooth

PENGUIN BOOKS

The Tooth

The bus was waiting, panting heavily at the curb in front of the small bus station, its great blue-and-silver bulk glittering in the moonlight. There were only a few people interested in the bus, and at that time of night no one passing on the sidewalk: the one movie theatre in town had finished its show and closed its doors an hour before, and all the movie patrons had been to the drugstore for ice cream and gone on home; now the drugstore was closed and dark, another silent doorway in the long midnight street. The only town lights were the street lights, the lights in the all-night lunchstand across the street, and the one remaining counter lamp in the bus station where the girl sat in the ticket office with her hat and coat on, only waiting for the New York bus to leave before she went home to bed.

Standing on the sidewalk next to the open door of the bus, Clara Spencer held her husband’s arm nervously. ‘I feel so funny,’ she said.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked. ‘Do you think I ought to go with you?’

‘No, of course not,’ she said. ‘I’ll be all right.’ It was hard for her to talk because of her swollen jaw; she kept a handkerchief pressed to her face and held hard to her husband. ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right?’ she asked. ‘I’ll be back tomorrow night at the latest. Or else I’ll call.’

‘Everything will be fine,’ he said heartily. ‘By tomorrow noon it’ll all be gone. Tell the dentist if there’s anything wrong I can come right down.’

‘I feel so funny,’ she said. ‘Light-headed, and sort of dizzy.’

‘That’s because of the dope,’ he said. ‘All that codeine, and the whisky, and nothing to eat all day.’

She giggled nervously. ‘I couldn’t comb my hair, my hand shook so. I’m glad it’s dark.’

‘Try to sleep in the bus,’ he said. ‘Did you take a sleeping pill?’

‘Yes,’ she said. They were waiting for the bus driver to finish his cup of coffee in the lunchstand; they could see him through the glass window, sitting at the counter, taking his time. ‘I feel so funny,’ she said.