The Man With No Teeth (Part 3)

"Does the land you come from have a name?" I asked, courageously but rather stupidly. Surely I should have realised that the least I knew about this land, the safer I would be? Yet perhaps the hot chocolate gave me a certain amount of boldness, or perhaps I was caught up in the excitement of the story? Either way, it was a very stupid question, as I quickly found out...

As soon as the words left my mouth, The Man With No Teeth leapt up off his feet and lurched towards me. 

I was surprised, to say the least.

"Don't ask its name!" he hissed at me vehemently, casting spit over my face. "Don't ever ask its name!" He held my frightened gaze for several seconds and then seemed to remember himself and moved away. A few people in the coffee shop had looked up at his outburst, but this was Chicago. You keep yourself to yourself. As soon as they saw my strange friend sit back down, the onlookers went back to their shiny Apple Macs.

"I'm sorry, " he whispered. His covered his face with his hands, his shoulders slumped. He looked defeated.

"It's okay..." I replied, wiping the spit from my face, "I shouldn't have asked."

"No." He said, "No one should ever ask."

The words hung in the caffeine filled air. Silence reigned for a short moment.

He lifted his head up and looked at me again, all the anger of his eyes replaced with sorrow. He seemed to think for a while, and then reached into the brown dusty bag by his side. 

His hand withdrew, clenched around a small object. Silently he stretched out his arm towards me and slowly opened his fist.

I couldn't believe my eyes...