Mr. Bones had met with much despair in that cold cellar of corpses. Croissants and such cafe faire were not delivered in any sort of desirable fashion.

With the return of Magpie, salvation seemed at last within grasp to the poor confused creature. Soon, however, the old skeleton’s hopes are dashed.

In the manner in which corn kernels may be distributed among the chickens, teeth of all things are cast out by the awful reverse scarecrow. 

Having already seen- or better phrased, sensed, enough, Mr. Bones clambers away into the furthermost corner of the devil’s unfinished basement.

With clicking and clattering, ivory and black, clean and blood-coated teeth collide. The hungry creatures lap up the pointy treats with the zealous of a cat first tasting milk.

The teeth fuse with the dead things, creating beasts mimicking a child’s worst nightmares. 

Tongues become coated with fangs, resembling wriggling flails and morning stars. 

Where rotten flesh makes contact, the teeth become implanted in the skin. Calcium phosphate roots dig and wind into the body. 

Spiky, crevice-covered molars gain new life as thick, jutting pauldrons. Incisors grow from wrists, cracking the existing bones, warping the hands into uselessly curled and shriveled reminders of kinder form capable of creation rather than simple destruction. Already jagged jaws become horrific mandibles protruding an arm’s length in front of disfigured skulls.

Grotesque mockeries of the human form surround Magpie with alien chittering. The most terrifying sound of all, however, emerges from the thin form of man. An eerie, crackling laughter explodes from within him, as he covers his eyes with his hands.

No emotion at all can be deciphered from the central figure, but from the monsters arises a roiling hunger searing with intensity demanding to be recognized by all. 

Meanwhile, Mr. Bones curls even tighter into a protective fetal position, skeletal hands clasped over where ears once resided.