The Legendary Tale of Nick Nameless a Tooth Fairy and a Phoenix called Larry

  The Legendary Tale of Nick Nameless,

  a Tooth Fairy, and

  a Phoenix called Larry

  Think back to being a child, when a water bill meant River Police, mortgages only existed in the game of Monopoly and HP was nothing other than a bloody good sauce...

  There once was a boy who lived in a bright red stiletto shoe, on a beautiful island where dog-shit-free lawns grew no longer than a lush two inches. His name was Nick, nicknamed Nick Nameless because his surname was Nameless. His wicked mother had many names but best known to most as Grandmamma, and what great big teeth she had. She was so wicked, in fact, that in Nick's final year of school, he filed for parental divorce and was adopted by a phoenix called Larry. Life with Larry was exciting for a young boy: Whilst Nick’s classmates walked to school, or fairy godmothers taxied them to the gates by unicorn and carriage, Nick would feel the wind in is hair as Larry flew him straight into the school playground landing perfectly inside the basketball court's centre-circle.

  Inevitably, disaster struck! One day, a gang of jealous school bullies catapulted stones at Larry as he took-off. Out of control, he crashed into the school caretaker’s bonfire, engulfing his wings in flames. The bullies laughed, but sadly, Larry’s flying-days were over: He committed suicide by pecking away at a poisonous apple he had acquired from a Company of wolves called Fairy Tales Aren’t Us. Its owner: a dodgy little woman, dressed in a T-shirt claiming she’d “RATHER BE DEAD THAN RED” had dyed her long locks gold and fulfilled her dream by acquiring a two-barrel surname by deed poll to Miss Goldie Punzal-Hood.

  Nick took Larry’s death well. He almost overdosed on a Brave potion he had concocted but when the school Head renamed the basketball centre-circle as the Larry Zone, Nick made an instant recovery.

  One day, Nick lost a filling, which caused excruciating pain to the side of his face. With a shortage of dentists, a toothache was as welcome as a giant gatecrasher at a Tom Thumb family reunion, so he extracted the tooth himself; popped it under his pillow and enjoyed the remainder of the glorious day reading Hans Anderson stories to his gruff pet goat, Billy.

  Later that night, Nick, sleeping tight so the bed-bugs didn’t bite, had an excellent idea: Inquisitive to where tooth fairies stashed their haul of gnashers, he would pretend to be asleep; grab the fairy and find out. He waited and waited ... but fell asleep.

  In the morning, the tooth was gone, replaced by a shiny sixpence and the pleasant aroma of woman. He had missed her.

  Luckily, the next day, Nick woke with the same agonising pain as before, but this time on the other side of his face. He repeated the abstraction and popped another tooth under his pillow ... His determination to stay awake paid off: He caught the fairy foraging under his pillow. With two fingers and minimal pressure, he grabbed her tiny wrist. She squeaked. She was a six-inch babe with a great pair of wings but as fragile as a house made of sticks. Feeling like a bully, Nick let her loose but pleaded with her to stay awhile.

  ‘But I still have a canine and two incisors to collect,’ was her excuse. ‘One of which is Horse-Face Stinkerbells'.’

  ‘Oops!’ cried Nick. She had a worthy excuse: Polly Stinkerbell was not called Horse Face for nothing. ‘Fly up here, next to me,’ begged Nick. She shook her head. She was tired: Her bulging backpack of sixpence pieces and collected teeth put a lot of strain on her petite figure, because of this, a fairy’s life was short. But looking on the bright side, rumour had it that a fairy’s death was well worth living for: Reincarnated at the bottom of a garden of their choice ... This fairy hoped that when her day came she would end up at the bottom of 68 Haven Gardens, where two old ladies tendered bright coloured flowers that, after heavy rainfall, sparkled like a rainbow in a House of Mirrors.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said the fairy. ‘I cannot stay.’

  ‘But I love you!’ cried Nick.

  A tear rolled down her well-defined cheek. ‘And I love you. I never knew it could be like this but it is.’ It was a coincidence made in a land called Perfect, where nude angels danced on snow-capped mountains in a mist of burning cannabis. However, “Till the next abstraction” were her final words before blowing him a kiss and flying-off into the night.

  She blew him the kiss, but he dropped it, however, with the strength of his love for her, it somehow survived until about four o’clock in the morning.

  Later that day, he abstracted a little-used rear molar and waited as usual.

  She never came. Instead, an agency worker had been sent. Her wings were not half as shapely as her predecessors’, and her tights had more ladders than a fleet of fire engines!

  ‘Where is my love?’ inquired Nick.

  ‘She has joined the fairies at the bottom of gardens,’ informed the replacement.

  ‘What!’ exclaimed Nick.

  ‘Apparently, she had collected a tooth from Stinkerbell who must have brushed them mother-fuckers three times a day! Unfortunately, the enamel was so shiny it slipped from your love's hands and crushed One-Inch Fellow’s mother-in-law to death as she rode to market on an ant.’

  ‘So, where is my love?’

  ‘The Chief of Fairies had your love executed.’

  Nick gasped in horror.

  ‘Just last week, Short Flight Sally and Mile High Mandy went the same way. These new toothpastes are causing all sorts of problems.’

  ‘Who is this Chief of all fairies?’ asked Nick, angrily. Fairies were sworn to secrecy and would tell no human.

  ‘I'll give you a clue. You humans stick a tree up her toy replica every Christmas,’ she informed.

  ‘Holy moly!’ cried Nick. ‘Anyway, my heart bleeds. I must find out which garden my love has chosen.’

  ‘Waste of time,’ replied the fairy, tightening her straps ready for take-off. ‘Even if you did find out, only the owner of the garden in question will be able to see her ... if they believe.’

  Nick was having none of it. ‘Where is she? What garden has my love gone to? Is it local?’

  ‘Not telling.’

  ‘Listen. My friend says he has a skeleton in the closet,’ he tempted. ‘With its thirty-two teeth all intact, I’m sure he won’t miss a few.’

  ‘OK. Go to a magical land they call Dentine. There is a factory there called 100% Ivory Piano Keys. The manager keeps a record of all employees, past and present.’ And off she flew...

  ‘Where are you, when I need you, Larry?’ uttered Nick.

  ‘Don’t give up hope!’ came a loud voice.

  ‘Gadzooks! Is that my dearest, long lost friend?’

  ‘Yes,’ came the reply.

  ‘But, I can’t see you, Baldwin.’

  ‘It’s Larry! Listen, I bring good news and bad.’

  ‘What is the good news?’

  ‘I have risen from the ashes.’

  ‘Heavens to Betsy! But I cannot see you?’

  ‘That is the bad news; I'm invisible. You can still touch me, though.’

  ‘Amen!’ cried Nick. He loved Larry’s company but his wings had a tendency to block out the sun’s rich source of vitamin D. ‘Oh well, fly me to the magical land they call Dentine.’

  ‘Hop on,’ replied Larry.’

  The journey to Dentine was fantastical: Stopping for breaks on the way, they encountered three bears in the middle of a forest, in a house, sitting down for dinner. As Nick relieved himself behind a pink bush, Larry eavesdropped on their conversation:

  ‘CAN’T WE HAVE SOMETHING ELSE?’ complained the big, black, daddy bear. ‘WE HAVE BEEN EATING THIS SLOSH FOR YEARS. LOOK
AT THE SIZE OF MY BELLY!’

  ‘Oh, stop complaining,’ said the white, middle-sized, mummy bear. ‘Porridge puts hairs on your chest.’

  Nick joined Larry peeking through a small pane of glass. ‘What a delightful sight,’ he whispered. ‘And so cosmopolitan, especially with the little bear sporting such a fine coat of brown.’ Larry flapped. He was itching to fly.

  Approaching the border of Dentine, the unlikely duo spent the night in an underground hotel run by five dwarfs. Their spokesman, a grumpy old sod, said they used to be a magnificent seven but their mate, Happy, had taken advantage of Dopey and run off to Vunderland, a place where everyone has blonde hair and wears tight cycling shorts.

  After a healthy supper they all sat outside and smoked nicotine-free tobacco from the horn of a miniature mammoth, which bolted when its fur caught alight.

  Next morning, Nick and Larry repaid the dwarfs with hundreds of kisses before setting-off on foot, but they were soon accosted by a nude man who claimed to be a fully clothed Emperor.

  ‘Good Heavens!’ cried Nick to the fat, nude, old fool. ‘You truly are a fat, nude, old fool!’

  Crossing the border into Dentine, the pair soon realised that it was not a magical place at all, but a stormy, barren nightmare. Nevertheless, the small, solitary factory that lied smack-bang-wollop in the middle of nowhere brought a ray of sunshine to Nick’s broken heart. They entered with care.

  Inside, hundreds of busy elves smashed up teeth and ground them into dust, ready to be scattered into space where they would grow into millions of new stars. The supervisor, a fully-fledged swan, patrolled the factory floor, repeating the same line over-and-over again: “I used to be ugly but look at me now.” Nick and Larry slipped past him unnoticed and knocked on the manager’s door:

  ‘Who is it?’ came a woman’s voice.

  ‘My name is Nick Nameless. I come for the forwarding address of your most dearly departed employee.’

  ‘Go away!’ she replied.

  ‘Open this door!’ demanded Nick.

  ‘And what if I don’t?’

  ‘Then I’ll huff it down!’ he warned.

  ‘Rubbish!’ came her reply. ‘Not even Poof the Tragic Dragon, after a ball-crushing Tandoori with extra concentrated chilli sauce could do that!’

  ‘Then I’ll turn the door handle,’ said Nick. He opened the door.

  ‘Fiddle me bedgads!’ cried Larry. ‘The manager is a gingerbread woman!’

  ‘This small card in my hand,’ she teased, ‘has the information you require.’

  Nick lunged towards her, managing to get a grip of the card. The gingerbread woman stood fast. Nick pulled harder. She pulled harder. Larry pulled Nick who pulled the card that the biscuit was holding. Suddenly, with a snap, she lost her arm. Crumbs dropped from her open wound. Nick snatched the card; mounted Larry and flew back home.

  Travel-tired and ready to drop, Nick fell asleep as soon as they arrived home. And as he did, Larry stole the card and fled. He was never to be heard from again. Or was he?

  As the years passed and snow-shy winters became as hot as summer, Nick became an alcoholic, but with it, he had gained the power to see fairies at the bottom of gardens, and had searched every garden except one. It was his final hope of finding his love:

  ‘68 Haven Gardens, here I am!’ he hollered.

  ‘Get out of our back garden, you alcoholic!’ cried two old ladies in unison.

  ‘Oh,’ uttered Nick. He had found his fairy but didn’t expect her to be snogging a visible Larry!

  Nick ran all the way home in a terrible mood; slammed the door, then noticed a beautiful fairy at the bottom of his garden. And more beautiful than Larry’s. In fact, Nick’s fairy was the most beautiful creature ever known to man, excluding her look-alike, TV chef Nigella Lawson.

  Obviously, Nick lived happily ever after, and even put-on a healthy few pounds.