The Magnus Archives - Rusty Fears 7 - The Tooth Fairy's Tale by Ben Folk

Episode Date: May 14, 2026

This week’s short horror story, The Tooth Fairy's Tale, inspired by the prompt "Forensics", is written by Ben Folk and read by Billie HindleContent Notes:Graphic Description of: immolation/fire, teeth, autopsymemory lossDirected and Produced by April Sumner Written by Ben Folk Executive Producers Alexander J Newall & April SumnerFeaturing Billie Hindle as NarratorEdited by Lowri Ann Davies and Nico Vettese Music by Nico Vettese and Sam Jones Mastering by Catherine RinellaArt by April SumnerSupport Rusty Quill directly by joining our new membership platform at members.rustyquill.com or on Patreon at patreon.com/rustyquill Check out our merchandise available at https://www.redbubble.com/people/RustyQuill/shop and https://www.teepublic.com/stores/rusty-quillSupport Rusty Quill by purchasing from our Affiliates; DriveThruRPG – DriveThruRPG.comJoin our community: WEBSITE: rustyquill.com FACEBOOK: facebook.com/therustyquill X: @therustyquill EMAIL: [e-mail] Magnus Protocol is a derivative product of the Magnus Archives, created by Rusty Quill Ltd. and licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial Share alike 4.0 International Licence. For ad-free episodes, bonus content and more, join members.rustyquill.com or our Patreon.Pre-order FROM THE LIBRARY OF JURGEN LEITNER, a Magnus novel: rustyquill.com/novelBuy tickets to a Magnus Archives Live Show in Sheffield in July: crossedwires.live Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Hi there, Billy Hindle here, the voice of Alice Dyer in the Magnus Protocol. As part of the Magnus Archives 10th anniversary, Rusty Quill is hosting a special Magnus Live show at the upcoming Crossed Wires podcast festival in Sheffield. Join co-creators Jonathan Sims and Alexander J. Newell on the 5th of July for a new iteration of our live show Statement Begins, where you can hear fan favourite statements such as anglerfish, Red Live, and gain exclusive insights into the creation. and history of the show straight from the creators themselves.

You can buy your tickets now, including limited numbers of meat and greet tickets, from crossedwires. Live, or the link in the description of this episode. Hi there, Jonathan Sims here, and before today's episode, I wanted to tell you about from the Library of Yergen Lightner, an upcoming The Magnus Archives prequel novel available for pre-order right now at www. RustyQuil.com forward slash novel. to the world of the Magnus Archives in, from the Library of Yurgen Lightner,

an official prequel novel written by Nebula, world fantasy and Aurora award-winning author, Pramie Muhammad, with the help of yours truly. From the Library of Yurgen Lightner explores an infamous organisation from the Magnus Verse for the first time, the perilous private library of the enigmatic collector,

Yurgen Lightner. From the Library of Yurgen Lightner will be published on October the 27th, 2006 and is available for pre-order now as a hardback audio book and e-book. Visit www. RustyQuil.com forward slash novel for more information. That's RustyQuill.com forward slash novel or click the link in the show notes of this episode. The Toothvery's Tale by Ben Folk. Screams of pain, sobs of children, voices raised in grief, anger and

consuming fear. Stepping through the ER of the Morchus Family Hospital is like diving headfirst into the raging depths of a storm-swept ocean. Small, unassuming, and woefully understaffed, it is not used to such strain. The quick strides of my clogs, cement boots squeaking across freshly moped linoleum, the only thing that keeps me from being swept away by the torrent. There, the front desk. I wrap my knuckles across wood, but her back is turned, a phone pressed to her ear.

Her tone is low and assuring, but beneath the table, fingers tug and tug at a loose string. An ever-increasing stack of intake form sits waiting for attendance. "'Emmily?' I call. Then again, louder. The chair swivels, and eyes barely register my presence before a clipboard is thrust into my hands. I don't look at it. Not yet. Time to continue onwards.

Squeak, squeak across the floor. I quickened my pace to avoid a sliding trolley. Its occupant, an elderly liver-spotted man, grimaces in pain. Bubbling red burns curl up his limbs, practically spelling out the hiss of flames. I drag my eyes away. Onwards. Head down, eyes forward, one thing. foot after another.

I reached the elevator. A doctor rushes out, a resident scrambling to follow seat. I step past them and inside to tap the button marked B. The metal cage shudders, then trundles downwards at a shaky pace. You can do this. It is only once I pushed through the final heavy door and into the cold steel coffin of the morgue that I breathe. A deep shuddering breath that reminds me all too much of the store.

storm upstairs. I take the liberty of another. Then, gloves on, face shield up, I get to work. You can do this. The first body. You must understand, when I say that this was my first day on the job, I do not in any way mean that I didn't know what I was doing. No, years of training, toil and sweat had led up to this moment. I had certainly done a couple of autopsies before. Always accompanied by an attending physician or a team of other students, of course, but I knew what I was doing. I was a forensic examiner fellow, I told myself, and I knew what I was doing. I opened the freezer door and slid out the first body. The tray at Leon clicked smoothly into the transition cart, which I then wheeled over to the central examination table.

What had Dr. Bale first said before he'd left? It's just a one-night conference, and then they're still. Stick to routine, it's a good opportunity to get practice in for when you take over. There's a first time for everything. Maybe take another look at the cold water case. Just do three inspections and call it a day. I'll be back in the morning. Well, here was my opportunity, laughing me in the face.

Only three autopsies. Only three bodies. I looked down at the corpse. The flesh on its face was cracked and sunk and twisted from the heat. Blood pooled under blackened cheeks, but freshly shaved sideburns indicated that there had been life just days, hours before. I had never been good with the freshly dead. His eyes were open, glassy and staring. The surrounding skin, shrunken by the heat, was pulled, torn towards across bone like a shoddy taxidermy display.

The worst part was that he looked familiar. Morkras was my hometown. The house was sold and the parents were gone, but my memories still pocked the streets. The streets that now burned from the horrible fire. I wondered how many of those memories were left. The public library, my favourite ice cream shop, the restaurants, the pie place, the school. Had the corpse worked there? Why couldn't I place his face?

What did that say about me? Why couldn't I... I stomped on the weathered rubber pedal by my feet. There was a click and a worm. as the overhead mics began to record. I began to cut. First, the shears. Each article of clothing one by one.

Trousers and undergarments came easily, but the shirt. The shirt was melted and fused to the flesh, so caked in ash that the simple Bigfoot and comic sands I believe in you was hardly visible. My fingers tore at both flesh and fabric as I pulled, so I gave it a rest. Male sex appears to be in their late 40s. Good, my voice was steady.

Signs of hypoxia, mottled skin in the less charred areas, sutted around the nose and mouth, fixed and dilated pupils. Unblinking dilated pupils? They looked at me. I shook my head. Cause of death, likely smoke inhalation.

Obvious second and the second and third-degree burns across the body. I examined the discarded, mangled trousers and fished out a twisted pile of leather. A wallet? Name. Yes, name legible as Alexander Goodkins. The name didn't ring a bell. Why didn't it ring a bell?

Identification concluded. We'll return to gross and histologic examination for further findings. Quick, thorough, and to the point. I scratched the name off the clipboard list of reported missing persons. More bodies would be coming in, and thus the priority was to identify, not examine. A much simpler task. It involved less elbow-deep digging. I could do the more taxing parts when I wasn't alone.

The staring dead-eyed pupils reminded me I wasn't alone. I took a deep breath, slid it back on the cart, into the freezer and shut the door. One down. That wasn't too bad, was it? I remember the times when the world moved slower. It felt like a dream then. It feels like a dream now. Small pockets of dream in between nightmares.

Mom, Dad, my tooth is loose. Nothing but laughs and blue glare from the TV, but I know they heard. I know they heard because the tooth fairy comes when I lose a tooth. Well, not the tooth fairy, but I let them think that I still believe that kid's story. I let them think and I leave the window open for her to flutter in. It's like a game.

And when I hear their footsteps across the carpet, feel their hands slide under my pillow to collect the little pearl, try not to giggle and close my eyes shut the whole time, it reminds me that they hear the second body. Everyone thinks forensics is just dusting fingerprints and catching the criminal. But more often than not, it's about reading, reading the story of a corpse. The angle of a wound was the gunshot homicide or self-inflicted.

The contusions on their head, a slip and fall, or a hammer to the head. Obviously, some corpses have simpler stories to tell than others, especially when I'm only looking for the exposition. The second corpse isn't as lucky as Mr. Goodkins. No wallet or other form of ID, but her face again feels familiar. There aren't even fingers to go. off, at least from what the first responders recovered. A simple, mangled, shrivelled, rotting corpse, buried and suffocated and peeled out from under rubble.

I wonder if it left a shadow behind, like the nuclear outlines in Hiroshima, but stained of grease. Sizzling, dripping grease. I don't have to imagine the stink. Maybe the corpse is lucky. Lucky that they don't have to smell it. See it, feel it. I jolt as the heavy steel door clanks open. Someone comes in and slides a new body onto a freezer tray. I don't look up, don't pay them any mind. I'm only going to do three bodies.

No more, no less. I've already decided on which ones. Mr. Goodkins, the mystery woman on the table right now, and either deceased number three or number four, one of the less burned ones. Or maybe deceased number eight. so charred that it was more of a skeleton. Surely that would be easier than all the meat.

I realize I'm stalling. Everyone thinks forensics is about fingerprints, but more often than not, it's about the teeth. Moukris being a small town, there was only ever one dental practice. Smiley Bud's dental. It made things simple enough for freak events of mass casualty. Not that such thing had ever happened here before.

Even if they had, only the charts of specific individuals would be pulled, though it was missing or obviously deceased. But with the fire still burning its way through the surrounding forest and her body being found every hour, well, it was better to be safe than sorry. Over 30 years of smiles, all pulled and waiting in a dusty paper box for my examination. Crowns, jaw deformities, fillings, teeth loss, teeth shape, x-rays, root structure, hell, I even saw before and after braces picking there. 32 fingerprints for each corpse.

The corpse. I moved my gloved hands towards the corpse's droopy, gloopy mouth and prod it testingly. Jaws fuse together, as I thought. I take a deep breath and pick up the scalpel. The lips cut astonishingly similar to the clothing. The flesh stretches and peels ever so slightly before giving way to the cutting blade, letting flakes of air-fried skin blossom down the back of the throat, I grabbed the oral retractor,

one prong under each jaw to pry the lips open, only the mouth is too tight to get a good angle. I pick the scalpel back up and carefully carve open the corpse's cheeks, one prong under each jaw and elevate the tissue, I crank and crank and crank, staring at the widening mask of grinning, blood and sut-stained enamel. Why does this bother me tonight more than any other night?

Why did he have to leave me alone? Who am I kidding? I lean forward, towards the grin. The blood is almost gone now. Something doesn't look right. The smile looks too small. The teeth aren't connected to the gums, the roots hanging suspended, mid-air.

Glints of wire sticking and lacing through gaping holes in the gums, crimson droplets stick to it like dew in a spider web. A abnormal metal obstruction in the mouth. Thin floss-like strands piercing through the gums in multiple areas, wrapping around that... It hits me. Baby teeth. I am looking at baby teeth. I remember being so proud of my loose teeth. I would tell everyone about them.

The head librarian with her shrewd glasses but kind smile. The ice cream scooper with his youthful face and crooked grin. The principal, even though he would just press his mouth tighter and tell me to hurry on. Everyone. Soon my friends joined in, a bragging competition of sorts. They laughed and called us cute, but I prided myself on being a trendsetter. The two fairies apprentice, they called me. Who called me that?

Soon my entire class joined in. We just wanted to share our smiles with the world. The third body. It is long into the night before I return to the examination room. Hours. Hours of talking to the police, phoning in the homicide division, explaining the situations of prying curious staff,

but mostly hours. hours sitting in the dark hallway of an empty wing. Away from the storm, away from the fire. But most importantly, away from the teeth. Blood still speckles the blue rubber of my gloves. The bodies are right where I left them. The woman on the table? Mr. Goodkins, half hanging out of his homie freezer,

mouth wrenched askew and teeth glinting. It was the first thing I checked. The same as corpse number two. Teeth gone, ripped forcibly out, likely by pliers. In their gaping blood-dried holes, a tasteful reconstruction. Metal fishing line and hooks thoughtfully wrenched this way and that around a central hidden pearl. Baby teeth. Baby teeth. I bet if I check the other freezers, I will find the same.

I take the deepest breath of my life. eyes tightly shut. One more body. One more body. My feet drag me to freezer number eight. It slides open, wheels screeching like nails on a chalkboard. The most charred body of them all. The heart of the flames, where it all started, barely recovered by the firemen.

They're investigating for potential signs of arson now. What story does this corpse tell? Do the worn torn fingernails speak to insanity? Do its wide, yawning eye sockets whisper of a watchful patient gaze? An artist's appreciation? Efforts spent positioning the corpses just right as to look like an accident amid the blaze? Does its grinning, skeletal, too small smile greet an old friend? The two fairies apprentice, they called me.

Whose grin is that? A look at the baby teeth, tiny and innocent despite their yellowing tinge. I looked down at the dental record in my hand. My dental record pulled from the files. I do all the measurements, all of the testing, but I already know. A footstep on the carpet, a hand under my pillow, an open window. They're my teeth. He has my teeth.

Your smile lit up the room. You were always beaming. matter the circumstances. My little trendsetter, I'm so glad I could be your tooth fairy. The Magnus Protocol is a podcast distributed by Rusty Quill and licensed under a Creative Commons attribution non-commercial share-alike 4.0 international license. To subscribe, view associated materials or join our Patreon, visit RustyQuil.com. Rate and reviews online, tweet us at The Rusty Quill. Visit us on Facebook or email us via mail at rusty quilt.com.

Thanks for listening. Billy Hindle here, the voice of Alice in the Magnus Protocol, and I'm here to tell you about From the Library of Yergen Lightner, an upcoming novel available for pre-order right now at RustyQuil.com forward slash novel.

Return to the world of the Magnus Archives in From the Library of Yergan Lightner, an official prequel novel written by Nebula, World Fantasy and Aurora Award-winning author Primi Mohamed, with the help of the Magnus Archive's own writer and lead voice Jonathan Sims. From the Library of Yergen Leitner explores an infamous organisation from the Magnusverse

for the first time, the perilous private library of the enigmatic collector, Yergen Leitner, where occult books are guarded and researched at a fatal cost. Lightner's library keeps the dangers of these books in check and there would-be readers safe, or so Leitner claims. For two of Leitner's employees, the risks are worth it. For Hugh Franklin, the library is a place to belong. For Sebastian Everett, the library is an opportunity to indulge arcane ambitions. Though their ten years that the library were years apart,

Hugh and Sebastian's stories unfold in parallel, and their footsteps echo down the same eerie aisles, caught in a web spun long before either ever heard the name, Yergen Leitner. Will they find a way out, or will the library consume them before it's too late? From the Library of Yergen Leitner, will be published on October the 27th, 2026, and is available for pre-order now. Visit rustyquill.com forward slash novel for more information.

That's rustyquill.com forward slash N-O-V-E-L.