The Dentist on fifth Avenue…..
The sound of the drill still haunted Emily’s dreams. It wasn’t the whirring itself—it was the way it stopped, abruptly, right before the screaming began.
Months had passed since she escaped Dr. Killington’s clinic—the “Smile Sanctuary.” The police had declared the case cold, blaming missing patients on “relocation” or “voluntary disappearance.” But Emily knew better. She’d seen the basement. She’d seen what he did to the ones who didn’t stop smiling when the gas wore off.
Now she was back in town, standing across the street from the newly reopened dental office—same logo, same blue-to-white gradient sign, same grin in the O of “Killington Dental Care.”
Only one difference.
This time, the sign read: “Now Accepting New Patients.”
Emily gripped the flyers in her hand. “DO NOT ENTER. HE IS NOT WHO YOU THINK HE IS.” The letters were shaky but desperate, scrawled in thick red marker. She taped one to the door, one to the mailbox, one to every windshield in the lot.
Inside, she caught a glimpse of movement.
White coat. Surgical mask.
And those eyes—ice-blue, amused.
Dr. Killington smiled at her through the glass and raised a gloved hand in greeting.
His voice slid through the small crack in the door.
“Welcome back, Emily. We’ve missed your smile.”
Her blood ran cold. She stumbled back, heart hammering, realizing the awful truth:
He hadn’t just come back.
He’d never left.
And now the new patients were already sitting in his chairs, mouths open, gas hissing, unaware that the same man who promised to fix their teeth had perfected the art of making sure they never screamed again.
Rain hammered the pavement as Emily sped down the back roads, her eyes flicking to the rearview mirror every few seconds. Headlights cut through the storm behind her — steady, deliberate, gaining ground.
She knew it was him.
Dr. Killington didn’t make mistakes. And he didn’t forgive survivors.
Her hands trembled around the steering wheel. She’d tried warning people. She’d sent emails, posted flyers, even gone to the police again — but somehow, every trace of her warnings vanished within hours. Just like before.
Now the hunter had decided to finish what he’d started.
The headlights disappeared for a moment, swallowed by darkness. Emily’s pulse raced — had she lost him? Then came the screech of tires, the crunch of gravel, and a flash of white as a van swerved from the side road, blocking her path.
She slammed the brakes. The car fishtailed, stopping inches from the front of his van.
Dr. Killington stepped out, umbrella in one hand, dental drill in the other — that same faint hum rising as he walked toward her. His surgical mask fluttered in the wind, and his voice came muffled but eerily calm.
“You should’ve stayed quiet, Emily. You could’ve smiled and forgotten. But you had to open your mouth.”
She scrambled out of the car, running into the woods, slipping through mud and roots as the drill’s whine grew louder behind her. Lightning flashed — his reflection flickered between the trees, white coat glowing ghostly in the dark.
“Where are you hiding, my favorite patient?” he called out, his voice smooth, almost amused. “I saved you for last.”
Emily’s breath came in gasps. She found an old shed, half-collapsed and swallowed by vines, and ducked inside. Rain poured through the roof in streams. The only sound was her heartbeat—until the door creaked open.
A shadow filled the doorway.
Then, his whisper:
“Say ‘ahh,’ Emily.”
The drill clicked on.
She grabbed a rusted wrench from the floor and swung with every ounce of strength she had. The sound of metal striking bone echoed through the shed.
For a second, the drill fell silent. Then came a laugh — low, gurgled, bleeding.
“You’ll need more than that,” he hissed, staggering closer.
Emily’s fingers brushed against a can of gasoline. Her eyes darted to the small lantern burning in the corner.
If she was going to survive this time…
She’d have to end him her way.
