22 Dec I Exchanged my Baby Teeth for Favours- CreepyPasta
If you’ve had the luxury of experiencing a normal childhood like most, then you’ll probably remember the stories about the Tooth fairy. When you lost your baby teeth, you were supposed to put them under your pillow or in a glass overnight. Come morning, the teeth would have been replaced with small gifts or coins. Excited, you’d run to your parents and tell them about the visit from the fairy, blissfully ignorant to the fact that they knew all along what you’d get because they were the ones who put the gifts there in the first place.
I can’t be a hundred percent sure, but I think it’s safe to assume that it’s more than often the parents that tell their children about the fairy that comes in the night to collect the teeth. As for myself, my parents never bothered to introduce me to the wonders of imagination and fairies. They were too preoccupied drowning their senses in bottles of vodka and Jack Daniel’s to care. Instead, I was told the story by my friend Lindsay, who showed me the five dollars she had gotten in exchange for her first molar. She seemed genuinely surprised when I told her that I didn’t know anything about the Tooth fairy, and in hindsight, I don’t blame her.
When I first heard the story, I thought it was scary that a stranger would creep into your bedroom at night and take your teeth. When I lost my first baby tooth after my dad had a rather nasty fit during a drunken stupor, he simply threw it into the trash and didn’t speak a word of any fairy waiting to collect them. He was a large man, and he had a golden tooth he used to brag about during his rare moments of sobriety, which puts a certain irony on this entire ordeal.
Of course, I didn’t share that part with Lindsay, and as strange as I thought it was, I became curious about what I could get in exchange for a tooth. In fact, it made me eager to lose my teeth.
Luckily for me, I didn’t have to wait long. Three days after my conversation with Lindsay, my dad got another hissy fit and threw a half-empty can of beer at my face when I accidentally tripped and spilled one of his Vodka bottles all over the living room carpet. Now, you might think that an empty can of beer wouldn’t be strong enough to knock a tooth or two out of a child, but given the strength my dad used when he threw it at me, you’d be surprised.
At first, things went dark for a moment, but when I regained consciousness again, all I could see was a white tooth lying in front of me, and the feeling of a hole in my mouth. The happiness I experienced knowing that I could get a dollar for this outweighed the pain my mouth was in. I quickly grabbed the tooth, got up on my feet as if nothing had happened, and rushed to my room. It was already past my bedtime, and since my dad was probably too wasted to bother chasing me with a belt again, I couldn’t wait to fall back asleep.
Once I got to my room, I stuffed the tooth under my pillow, hopped into bed, and excitedly waited for the Tooth fairy to arrive. Being as naïve as I was, I thought that if I stayed up long enough, I would be able to see her with my own eyes. An hour or two passed by with only the sound of my parents arguing to keep me company, and my eyelids started to feel heavy. I eventually fell asleep.
The next morning, I woke up to the sound of my dad banging at my door, telling me to get up if I wanted breakfast. He didn’t mention anything about the stain on his carpet, so I took this as a sign that this would be a good day. It wasn’t until I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth and I noticed the gaping hole in my mouth that I remembered what I had done the night before.
Without even taking the toothbrush out of my mouth, I rushed back to the room and threw the pillow off my bed, expecting to see some kind of gift left behind by the fairy.
But there was nothing. The tooth was still there, untouched like the night before.
What remained of my childish innocence nearly left me on the spot, and all hopes of a better day went along with it. For the rest of the morning, I didn’t care that I got yelled at by my dad for being so damn loud when I was simply breathing, or that my mom decided that making me a breakfast of bland bread and a lump of butter was too much of a bother. I just didn’t care, I was too disappointed as it already was.
At school, Lindsay quickly picked on to my depressive mood and asked me what had happened. I told her that I didn’t get a gift from the Tooth fairy, and she tried her best to remedy my mood.
“Did you have your window open?” she asked me.
I was confused. “I don’t think so, why?”
“How would the Tooth fairy get inside your room?”
“I thought she just went through the door like a normal person,” I reasoned, but she simply laughed.
“The Tooth fairy isn’t a normal person, she’s a fairy! She comes from outside. That’s why you need to have the window open if you want her to get in,”
Thinking of it, it made sense. So, the same night, I put the tooth back under my pillow and opened the window all the way up, letting in a cold breeze that momentarily chilled the room like a freezer. It wasn’t too different from what I was used to, seeing it as my room didn’t have a working heater since my dad didn’t want to waste much money on things that didn’t have a percentage of alcohol in it. So, I wasn’t too concerned about the cold temperature.
Before I went to bed, I made sure to write a letter to the tooth fairy. It went something like this:
Dear Tooth Fairy
Last night, I lost my tooth and put it under my pillow, but you probably couldn’t get it because I had the window closed. Sorry. I hope you can take it now that the window’s open. If you leave a gift, I want you to know that I’m not picky. I’ll be fine with whatever it is you have 🙂
I put the letter on top of my nightstand and went to bed shortly after, exhausted from the lack of content in my stomach. My mom only put a moldy piece of bread on the table for me to eat for dinner, so it didn’t do much to make me full. If anything, my stomach began to hurt after I ate it, but I didn’t complain to her. It was better than nothing.
I sighed. “If only I could taste one of the croissants Mrs. Addams brought to class again,”
The next morning when I woke up, I felt under my pillow to check if the tooth was still there. A part of me still expected it to be there, but as I slid my hand across the barren mattress without feeling anything, I instantly threw the pillow off and discovered that it was gone. I checked every part of the bed and the floor without finding it. Still, there weren’t any gifts or coins there either, so I was even more confused.
Then, as I looked up from the floor and to the nightstand, my eyes became as wide as plates as I discovered what laid on it.
Money. A lot of it, stacked on top of my nightstand as if whoever had left it had been in a hurry. I’m talking about probably a three-digit number at the least. There were ones, tens, even twenties, and for a child who was barely given an allowance of a dollar a month at the most, you can probably imagine the bewilderment that went through me as I held the many pieces of paper in my hand. I thought of all the croissants I could buy with this.
If this was what my baby tooth was worth, then I was curious about what my dad’s golden tooth was worth.
What I did next is something I would come to regret for a long time, and I don’t blame those of you that wish to condemn me for my actions. However, keep in mind that I was just a child, and I wanted to share my happiness with my parents like they cared about it.
Long story short, I went to the kitchen, money in my hands, and showed it to my parents. I told them about the Tooth fairy, and how she had given it to me.
Yeah, I didn’t go to school for the rest of the week.
Don’t take this the wrong way, they didn’t do what they did to me because they thought I had stolen the money. No, they simply did it because I was so goddamn loud that morning. Also, they took the money too, so I could forget about the croissants I thought I was gonna buy.
On the bright side, they did get to knock two teeth out of me for good measure, so at least I had something else to give back to the Tooth fairy for compensation. It took me a while to find them though. One of them had managed to end up on the opposite side of the living room, but I retrieved it nonetheless after they were done.
Now, you may think that my parents were impulsive, reckless people, and that’s true to some extent. However, they were quite cunning when they wanted to be, too. They knew where to strike so I wouldn’t have to end up in the hospital, but they knew where to hit to make the impact last hours after making contact. They wouldn’t be able to handle it if they got CPS on their hands.
I went to bed that night with enough bruises than I cared to brag about. I think I cried too from the pain, but I can’t remember the details. I still held my teeth in my hand, but I didn’t have the energy to put it under my pillow and write a letter of apology to the Tooth fairy. Still, even if I was in excruciating pain, I was happy because I knew the Tooth fairy was real, and that there was something beyond this turbulent house of mine.
It took me at least three days before I managed to recover slightly. I still have physical problems to this day because of what happened, but back then, if I could stand without falling, I was as recovered as I could be, using my mom’s words. My face still looked like a child had drawn over it with blue crayon, so I couldn’t go to school until I looked like I had only accidentally tripped on my face.
My dad tried only once to force me to tell him where I had gotten the money from, and clearly didn’t believe my explanation when I told him. At one point, he threatened to knock all of my teeth out to see if I was speaking my truth, but he didn’t. If I went to school with no teeth, he’d have to do some explaining, which he clearly couldn’t be bothered to do. So he left me after that and didn’t speak another word of it. He was content enough to use the money on another stack of bottles, and that was all that mattered. No more questions asked.
On the third night, which was on a Thursday, I finally had enough energy in me to write a letter of apology to the Tooth fairy. It went something along the lines of this:
Dear Tooth Fairy
Thank you so much for your gift. I was very happy. I’m sorry, but my parents took it, so I didn’t get to buy anything with it. I understand if your angry, but I have two new teeth for you that you can take. You don’t have to give anything back for these.
Like before, I opened the window all the way, left the letter on my nightstand, put the teeth under my pillow, and went to sleep.
When I woke up the next morning, I checked under my pillow and my teeth were gone. I looked at my nightstand and instead of finding a gift or money, I found a message that had been written on the back of my letter.
What would you wish for?
I blinked at the handwriting. It was a mixture of large and small letters, not something you’d expect from a fairy, but readable nonetheless. The Tooth fairy was asking me what I wanted? I didn’t think she took requests, but the thought of it made me happy. I quickly got up from bed, ignoring all the ache that surged through my body at the sudden movement, got another piece of paper from my backpack, and excitedly wrote on it.
Dear Tooth Fairy
I hope the teeth weren’t too red for you. I didn’t get to wash them properly off, I’m sorry.
If you want to give me something, I’m not too picky. If you really want to, I won’t mind a new notebook and some pencils. I’m almost out. But it’s no trouble if you can’t get it.
The next morning, I woke up to find not just one notebook on my nightstand, but five of them, stacked together with a tied knot on top. They weren’t bland colors either, they were pink with unicorn drawings on top, just like I had seen with Lindsay when we last went to town. Next to the stack was a pack of both colored pencils and normal ones, knotted together with a similar knot like the books. It took all my self-restraint not to squeal with happiness at the sight of them.
The last thing that I found amongst the many gifts was a paper bag filled with croissants, and they were still warm to the touch. My mouth watered like an animal starved of sustenance and I ate at least one-third of them in the bed, savoring the flavor. They were just like the ones Mrs. Addams had bought for the class that day before summer vacation last year, and I could still remember the taste as if it was yesterday. After I was finished, I decided to save the rest of them for later, in case mom decided to give me another piece of moldy bread or nothing at all.
This time, I did not go down to my parents with my gifts. Once bitten, twice shy. So, instead, I decided to hide everything beneath a loose floor tile under my bed. That’s where I kept things that I didn’t want my parents to find. Looking back on it, I should have hidden the money there as well, but it was too late for regrets. I was just so happy about the books and pencils I had gotten that I couldn’t be bothered to linger on the past anymore.
When I returned to school the following week, my mom had made sure that I wore some of her old, long-sleeved shirts to cover all the bruises that had failed to disappear from my body, even though the sleeves were long enough to touch the ground if I didn’t fold them up. I could tell Lindsay thought something was wrong with me, but my cheery demeanor distracted her. I wanted to tell her about the Tooth fairy and all the things I had gotten from her, but my mind went back to my parents, and I stopped myself before I could share anything with her.
During the next couple of days, I tried to keep Lindsay from poking her nose in what was going on with me, but she had always been a persistent girl. She was smart for our age, observant as a hawk, but from where I was standing, it was both a blessing and a curse. I didn’t want her to worry, but I also loved her for her concern towards me.
On Friday, just before class was ending, Lindsay finally decided to ask me about where the marks on my face had come from. I was just about to distract her by showing her my unicorn notebook when I discovered that it wasn’t in my bag. I must have forgotten it at home. As such, I was forced to come up with an answer to her inquiry.
“I tripped,” I lied.
“You seem to trip a lot of times,” she pointed out. “You’ve also lost three teeth, I’ve noticed.” She gestured to my mouth.
I waved my hand up dismissively, seconds away from having the sleeve slide down and expose my forearm. I was quick to fix it. “I’m fine,”
Lindsay didn’t look convinced at all. “You’ve been gone the past week, and when you’re back, you’ve lost your teeth and your face is all messed up. You’re not fin–”
Before she could finish her sentence, the bell rang and everyone hurried out of class, including me. I didn’t want to stay behind and have Lindsay involved in the shit that was going on at home, so I quickly packed my bag, gave her a quick hug goodbye, and was out of the school in less than a minute. I desperately wanted to cry, but I couldn’t.
I didn’t think the day could get much worse, but boy was I wrong.
Before I could even graze the doorknob to the entrance door, my dad burst out of it, grabbed me by my shirt, and shoved me inside the house like a ragdoll, slamming the door behind him. I nearly stumbled to the floor on my way in, and was met with the sight of my mom holding my unicorn notebook. It then dawned on me that I had forgotten it on my nightstand.
My dad then proceeded to grab a handful of my hair and shove me closer to my mom, his grip strong enough to scalp me if he wanted to.
“What the fuck is this?” He didn’t shout the words, that’s what made it more terrifying than it already was.
“It’s – It’s my notebook,” I said in-between gasps, desperately clinging to his hand in an effort to ease the pain in my head.
“Don’t you think I see that, you little cunt? Where did you get it from?” he asked.
“It was a gift! I swear!”
“From who?” my mom asked, considerably calmer than my dad but no less ruthless.
“Fro- From the Tooth fairy!” I cried out, the pain becoming increasingly unbearable.
My mom took another look at the book, then back at me. If looks could kill, I’d be a puddle on the floor.
“Still going on about that fucking fairy?”
Without breaking eye contact with me, she started to tear out the pages from the book one by one, and I watched despairingly as my precious gift was then torn to shreds in front of me. All the pink pages filled with pictures of unicorns and glitter were reduced to nothing more than waste. By the time she was done, all there was left was shreds, with not even enough space to write my name on.
The next thing I knew, I was hurled to the wall, all air knocked out of my lungs upon impact. I didn’t get the liberty of standing up before my mother threw a punch at my face. Don’t be mistaken, even though she was much smaller when compared to my dad, she was arguably twice as brutal. Like a broken record that was going on repeat, she hit me and punched me again and again and again, not even smiling as she did it.
“If this stupid fairy of yours is real, then how about we give her all of your damned teeth and see what happens?” she said, voice void of emotions as she struck me time and time again.
I could feel the warm blood pouring from almost every hole in my face, both the ones that were naturally there and the ones that my mom saw fit in adding onto it. The metallic taste in my mouth was overwhelming, and the urge to vomit accompanied this unbearable feeling.
I don’t know how much time passed before she finally ceased her attack, but it was hard to know anything at that point. I could barely see anything, the pain had numbed all of my other senses, and it wouldn’t surprise me if she had knocked out more of my teeth. Maybe it was my imagination or the aftermath of my mom’s assaults, but I swore I felt a multiplied number of holes in my mouth.
“Go to bed,” I heard my mom say, and in spite of it all, I managed to get up and do just that. I walked away and didn’t look back. I didn’t bother checking where my teeth had fallen. I just up and left, though that in itself was a feat.
I went to my bedroom and closed the door, and that’s when I fell to the floor like the limp sack of meat I felt like. My breathing was almost nonexistent, and I felt like I was going to die. If anything, I wanted to. This life was unbearable, and while the knowledge that the Tooth fairy was real brought me some sense of solace, if only for a time, I couldn’t go on like this.
With what little strength I had left in my body, I curled up to a fetal position and mumbled words I thought only I could hear.
“Dear Tooth Fairy …. I don’t have any teeth on me… But could you please …. Please help me …. Please,”
Everything went black after that.
When I woke up again, I was at the hospital. My wounds were bandaged and nursed, I had all these different tubes stuck to my skin, and my head felt light as a feather. It took me a while before I gained consciousness, and when I did, I was being visited by a police officer. His name was Nathan MacCarthy, and he was one of the officers that had been assigned to deal with the domestic violence that revolved around my home. Once I was in relatively stable condition, he explained everything that had happened to me.
Lindsay had told her parents about her suspicions and they called both the police and contacted CPS. In his words, my parents had run away, and they found me in my room, looking like I had just been killed. When I tried to pry him for information regarding my parents’ whereabouts, he dodged the question like the plague.
I’m going to spare you the unnecessary details of what happened after. It isn’t of any vital importance. Long story short, officer MacCarthy was the one who ended up adopting me, and he provided me with the stable home and life my parents had failed to. He was a good man and an even better father. It was because of him and what he did that I decided to pursue a career as a social worker.
While I managed to recover from what had happened to me after years of therapy, I still suffer from some issues because of the injuries my body had suffered from, though it’s nothing too severe.
I eventually managed to graduate college and pursue my goal. I also stayed in close contact with Lindsay after all these years. She became a primary school teacher, and we ended up working in the same city. We occasionally go out drinking together when we both have the time.
It was during one of our nights out that I learned something from her that I didn’t know before. Our drunken conversations ended up on the subject of our past, and even in my drunken stupor, I heard something that made my head come to a halt.
“Your parents were assholes,” she said, and I agreed. Then she continued, “They had what was coming to them,”
“Had what coming for them?” I asked, suddenly feeling sober again. I hadn’t talked about my parents since my last therapy session three years ago, and now that it was brought up again, something didn’t add up. “Dad said they ran away after they beat the shit out of me,”
Lindsay suddenly looked sober as well, and she paled at my confused expression. “Wait … You don’t know?”
She sheepishly played with the rim of her glass before she answered. “They didn’t … run away, Lissie,”
She went quiet again for a moment, as if debating with herself whether to tell me or not. “You should ask your dad about it, Lissie. He should be the one to tell you if he hasn’t already. He probably knows things in details,”
And that’s what I did. The next day, I drove back to my dad’s place, which was only a two-hour drive. He seemed surprised to see me but happy nonetheless to have me home. We shared a few good words, drank a few beers, and that’s when I decided to cut to the chase.
“Dad, what really happened to my parents?”
Much like Lindsay, he paled at my question. Even with years of experience within the police field, he was easy to read. “How do you know?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “Tell me the truth,”
He took a deep breath and put the beer can down on the table. He drew a hand over his head and mentally prepared himself for what he was about to say. “The reason I didn’t tell you the truth was because you were already in a delicate state. Please don’t fault me for not telling you,”
“I won’t,” I promised, offering him a weak smile that seemed to ease the tension.
“… When we received a call about the abuse in your home, we came to your house and discovered that the door was open. When we went inside after hearing no response ….” He paused for a bit, and I could tell from his expression that he was afraid. I had known this man – my father – for the past two decades, and I had never seen him like this before. “When we went inside, your parents were lying dead in the living room,”
My heart dropped, but not out of sadness. “Dead? How?”
“We linked the cause of death to a broken bottle of Jack Daniel’s that we found on the floor next to the bodies. It matched the wounds we found on them …. It was the worst homicide I’d ever seen, even if they got what was coming to them,” He took another moment to collect himself, after sipping a generous portion of beer. “We found you lying in your bedroom, wrapped in your blanket. We feared we were too late, but fortunately, you were alive. Your window was open too, so we concluded that the murderer got in through your window. We didn’t find any evidence of who it was, but quite frankly, it’s was all the same to me if we caught him or not,”
I don’t know how long I was quiet for. The discovery that my asshole parents had been killed didn’t necessarily bring me any gratification, but it was better than knowing that they were alive and still out there. Leaning back into my seat, I took another sip of beer and tried to process the information I had been given. I played through what he had told me over and over again in my head, and something didn’t add up.
“You found me wrapped in my blanket?”
He nodded. “Yes, we assumed you simply took it before you fell unconscious from the abuse,”
Breathing rapidly, I shook my head at this assumption. “No,” I said. “I didn’t have my blanket. It was on the bed when I fell,”
We shared a look of horror and decided to chug another can of beer before we called it a night.
The next day, we said our goodbyes with a hug and didn’t utter another word about what we had discussed the night before. For his sake, I prayed that the alcohol had dulled his memories.
Just as I was about to get into my car, my dad spoke up. “Lisa,”
“Yes?” I tilted my head at him.
“Your parents … Their mouthes … They …” Dad opened and closed his mouth on repeat, but in the end, he decided against it and just waved me goodbye, and I took that as my cue to leave.
I initially intended to make it straight back home, but I decided to make one last stop before I left town, and that was outside my childhood house.
It was weird being back after so many years. Standing outside the damned entrance door brought back a shitton of memories years of therapy had failed to make me permanently forget. I remembered each punch, hit, and insult I had suffered from, every wound and scar that still adorned my body, but most of all, I remembered the teeth I had lost.
I don’t know why I returned there. I guess it had something to do with closure, or some shit like that. Either way, I had to go back.
What stood in front of me now was but a forgotten memory, a desolated, near-demolished old house that hadn’t been touched in years. The walls had been graffitied, no doubt by teenagers with too much time on their hands, and the wood looked about ready to collapse with a simple push. Going inside could as well cost me my life, but that wasn’t something I was too concerned with anymore.
The door was unlocked so I let myself inside. The first thing that hit me was the stench of old alcohol that reminded me of all the piss the old man used to drink. Most of the furniture was still there, but mind you, it wasn’t something I would put up on the market for free. I ventured through both the living room and the kitchen but didn’t find anything too remarkable. Even after two decades, things still looked the same. Old cans of beer were still littered across the floor, and it was evident that whoever was in charge of cleaning this shithole didn’t put much effort into their work knowing that it probably didn’t matter.
When I returned to the living room, I looked down on all the shit that laid around and that’s when I noticed the two red stains on the floor, like puddles that had gathered up during my absence. I bent down and inspected it, and after a few moments of observation, I stood up again and smirked while digging my heel into the two spots.
“Serves you, shitheads,” I said and spit at the stains, one for each. “Rot in Hell,”
I walked right over them and prepared to head down the corridor that led to my old bedroom, looking around the place as I went. It was weird to think that as a kid, this place seemed too large and so unsettling. Now, as an adult, it was just a house. An abandoned, shit-stained house, but just a house in its core. There was nothing left here.
When I saw the blue door, I had to compose myself before heading in. The bed was where it always had been, the nightstand too. I didn’t notice how small it really was in there; just barely larger than a cupboard. For a girl who was used to so little in life, this used to be a luxury.
I looked out the window, which stood tilted open even though the glass was broken and pieces were stuck to the floorboards. Someone must have broken inside at some point in search of valuables, only to discover that there was none to be found within these empty walls.
Turning back to the bed, I saw that it stood slightly askew. The interesting thing was that the dust on the floor was smudged with the bedposts, which indicated that it had been moved quite recently. While this made me wary, I was past the point of no return.
I climbed past the bed and down to the floortile I knew to be loose under it. I guess the police didn’t search the place as thoroughly as they should’ve, but that was just fine for me. I gently removed the floortile completely, and a wave of nostalgia hit me as I discovered a stack of old, pink notebooks that had drawings of unicorns on them. While covered with dust, they were still in good shape. I guess the small space beneath the floortile had preserved enough.
After pulling the stack of notebooks up, I was quick to find the pencils I had hidden as well. Like the notebooks, they were covered in dust, but untouched and preserved. I promptly took them up and put them next to the notebooks, expecting to find nothing else but the bag of croissants I had left there. God knows how rotten they must have been.
But there was something else there that I knew for a fact I hadn’t left the last time I was there. There was a blue pouch, knotted with the same kind of tie that kept my books together.
I pulled the light pouch of unknown content up and got to my feet. I gave it a light shake; it wasn’t heavy, but it sounded like it was filled with pearls or maybe coins. Whatever it was, there was a lot of it.
Grabbing a hold of the knot, I undid it and slowly opened the small bag to see what was inside.
My heart skipped a beat and I immediately dropped the pouch from my hands. As it landed on the floor, teeth poured out from the opening and scattered across the tiles.
I wanted to run out of there, scream, do anything to react accordingly to the situation, but my body wouldn’t comply with my wishes. Instead, all I could do was stare at the many teeth that were spread around me. From a distance, they may have reminded me of hail, but the discoloring of some of them disillusioned that.
They were undoubtedly teeth, 66 of them in total. As if the horror of the situation didn’t scare me enough as it was, I noticed that one of them wasn’t a real tooth. It was just a goldpiece meant to resemble one.
Just like the old man’s.
I didn’t want to, but I put two and two together where I stood, and the realization of whose teeth these belonged to came crashing down on me like the old man’s fist used to. These were their teeth; their discolored, disgusting, alcohol-drenched teeth.
My eyes wandered down to the blue pouch again, and I noticed a note sticking out of it. The paper was pink, and had the outline of a unicorn drawing peeking out of it. Despite every voice in my head that told me not to give in to temptation, I did.
I picked it up, my hands quivering as if I was suffering from hyperthermia, and I read up what was written in a handwriting I was familiar with.
To the girl who gave me her teeth, I have repaid your generosity in kind
After that, I left. I grabbed the books, picked up the teeth, and simply abandoned that place. There was nothing left for me there anymore.
It’s been a few months now, and I’ve tried to come to terms with what happened. As a child, it was easy to believe that it truly was a fairy that was responsible for all the wonders I experienced. But as an adult, I have reached a conclusion I don’t think is worth sharing. Feel free to come up with your own theories, however.
As for myself, I’m not going to fall any further down the rabbit hole than I already have, and I don’t think you should either. If you still believe in the Tooth fairy, good for you, but I would advise you not to leave your windows open for it. You never know what might enter.