People say it’s never too late for anything. You’re never too old for something new to come into your life. Well, for me, that something new was a new friend. We did some terrible things together. Some people ended up badly hurt, and others died. Accidentally.

The weirdest part is how we actually met. I remember feeling this terrible ache in the back of my mouth, like someone was slowly punching me in the face. So, I thought about going to the dental clinic, the one with the handsome dentist.

“Hot Smile”, that’s what I call him...secretly, of course. I mean, who wouldn’t be charmed by those pearly whites, right? But, I couldn’t let him know. The thought of him finding out...oh, God, I’d be mortified.

Anyway, I ended up not going to the clinic. I figured the toothache would eventually go away on its own, and I also didn’t want to end up with a fat bill, especially if it would all be for nothing. It would be an expensive trip just to have Hot Smile put his gloved fingers in my mouth and tell me exactly what I thought—that it'd go away on its own.

I groggily stumbled out of bed and shuffled over to the bathroom to inspect my teeth in the mirror. Lo and behold, nestled between two molars was a repulsive greenish blob, probably a rogue piece of seaweed or spinach from last night’s dinner.

I grabbed some floss and tried to remove it, but it stubbornly clung to my tooth like a leech. Next, I grabbed a toothpick and tried to excavate the invader, but it refused to budge. I applied more pressure until my gum started to bleed. With a quick flick of my tongue, I managed to dislodge the intruder and spat out a few bloody specks into the sink.

I stopped when I heard a voice penetrate my thoughts with a firm command, “Cut it out.” The voice was unfamiliar, and the fact that I lived alone made it even more unsettling. It sounded like a gruff, masculine tone.

“Look, Marcy, I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. I just got here,” the voice continued.

It knew my name! My jaw dropped open as I tried to comprehend what was happening. That’s when I saw it—the supposed piece of spinach or seaweed from the previous night had little red eyes and was staring straight at me.

I quickly shut my mouth and shook my head in disbelief. “It’s just my imagination,” I tried to convince myself. “It’ll disappear on its own.” But the next day, the pain in my mouth had intensified twofold.

As I examined my mouth in the mirror, I winced in pain every time I tried to open it wider. In the back of my mouth, that dark greenish thing was making a home for itself. The gum around it was eroding, and the pain was doubling with every passing minute. The thing was humming a jolly tune while slithering comfortably between my teeth.

“You’ve got a lovely mouth,” it said. “I’ve scouted thousands of others, but yours is the perfect place for me to settle down. So nice, so nice.”

I shivered.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of, my dear lady, because this is the beginning of a beautiful relationship. You will benefit so much from me.”

“Me getting something good out of this? You’re living in my mouth! Who knows what sort of bacteria you’re brewing in there.”

The creature chuckled. “I wouldn’t do anything to harm my own living space. And the way I see it, you do need me. Look in the mirror, Marcy. What is it that you see? Hmm?”

Sighing, I glanced up to see the dreadful sight. A morning train wreck.

“A train wreck,” the thing repeated as if it had read my mind. Its voice dripped with disdain as it continued to taunt me. “The years haven’t been kind to you at all. You’re almost 30 and a sack of molded and sprouted potatoes has much more sex appeal than you. You work at an office doing nothing of value except to earn enough pennies to scrape by. You’ve no friends and your colleagues are distant. After work, you buy a TV dinner at the convenience store then head to your run-down apartment where you pay an exorbitant monthly rent. Every day you wonder aloud—what is it that I am living for? But you’ve no answer to your question.”

“Okay, thanks for that, though terribly rude and completely untrue.”

“Is it? I’m only saying what I’ve observed for many weeks now,” it went on. “And my God, oh you poor dear, you certainly need someone like me.”

I shook my head at the creature’s words as I started brushing my teeth. “No, I do not need someone like you,” I mumbled with my mouth full of minty foam.

I stared down at my reflection in the mirror, wagging an angry finger as if it were a rude stranger who couldn’t mind their own business. The creature tried to shout something, but its voice was muffled by the foam.

It sputtered and gasped for air.

“You certainly do need me!” it exclaimed once I cleared the foam. “All your life, you allowed people to step on you, use you, swindle you, and mock you. And what do you do? Nothing. You shy away into your quiet corner because you, Marcy, don’t have a backbone.”

“It’s hard for me to say what I feel or think; I don’t want to upset anybody.”

“I think it’s time for you to do exactly that.”

“Do what?”

“Upset somebody.”

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It was right. I had been holding back my thoughts and feelings for far too long. There were a lot of things I wanted to say and do but I couldn’t. For so many years, I kept all my words and what I felt inside bottled up, and whenever they bubbled up to the surface, I pushed them back down. I didn’t want to hurt anybody. I didn’t want to make anybody mad. It was just my nature to avoid confrontation. I’d been trained by the best to tiptoe on a floor made of eggshells.

I laughed to myself. Maybe I should’ve pursued a career in ballet.

“What can you do for me?” I asked.

I couldn’t help but recoil as the Thing wriggled across my palate, its beady ruby eyes gleaming with excitement as it peered through the gap in my two large front teeth. I caught a glimpse of its smile in the mirror and shuddered at the sight—it was as rough as a strand of wiry black pubic hair.

“Let me live here for as long as I want, and I can do for you all the things you wish you had the courage to do.”

“What should I call you?” I asked.

“Call me Whisper.”

The corners of my mouth twitched. Then, gradually, a smile grew.

“Whisper,” I repeated. “That’s a nice name. I like it. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Whisper.”

*****

Whisper had a way with words that always seemed to connect with people. I typically didn't greet my co-workers when arriving at the office. Instead, I'd offer a quick nod of acknowledgement before I make my way to my own small cubicle swallowed up by the monotonous gray expanse of cubicles like a small fish in a vast, featureless ocean.

As I walked into the office, my jaw muscles finally relaxed, and my lips turned upward into a smile. “Good morning!” I chirped, surprised by the sound of my own voice. It was different, but in a good way. It was light and airy, like the birds that sing at dawn. I couldn’t recall ever sounding like that before. My throat was a bit sore from the unexpected burst of energy, but it felt invigorating.

Startled, they glanced around to see who spoke. Their eyebrows furrowed when they realized that the greeting came from me. I had to admit that I didn’t know what else to do. I froze and waited for their response.

They eyed me with suspicion before returning the greeting, “Morning…” They paused, seeming unsure of my name. Their eyes scanned my employee ID hanging on my lanyard. “Oh, Marcy.”

“How’re you?”

“Good.”

Then, with their noses down and file folders tucked under their arms, they headed towards the copy machine.

“They hate me,” I said to Whisper. “Why did you make me say those things?”

“Oh, have patience! They will warm up to you,” said Whisper.

Later that week, they did. Whisper picked the right words and delivered them with the perfect tone. I caught their attention. Their lips curved into smiles, and they nodded in recognition, acknowledging my existence.

“Oh, hey, Marcy,” said Steve, whose cubicle was across from mine. “How’s it going with you?”

“Things are great! Thanks for asking.”

Most days felt like they dragged on forever, but this time was different. There was a bounce in my step as I made my way from my desk to the copier and back again. Nothing could kill my vibe, not even Cara, whose cubicle was next to mine.

Of course, I spoke too soon. The heat on the top of my head grew hotter as I noticed her giving me suspicious glances out of the corner of her eye. My body tensed up when I saw her peering over our shared half-wall one day.

I wondered what she was going to say. She was always bubbly and happy-go-lucky, but her cheerfulness often felt forced. If you didn’t return her greeting, she’d say that you were being a ‘grumpy Humpty Dumpty.’ She'd say it loud and clear for everyone to hear. She’d use a tone too, one that's used when speaking to a naughty and disrespectful child. I did my best to avoid her.

“So, what made you decide to start talking to people?” she asked. “It must be those self-help books you read so much.”

She pointed to the small group of books filed in the corner of my desk. She was wrong, of course. I hadn’t cracked them open in ages. I found most of the tips in the books to be useless.

“Well,” I said, “I just wanted to try something different, I guess. Shake things up a bit. I shrugged, hoping she’d be satisfied with my answer and leave me alone.

She leaned in closer. “Sorry, what?”

“A change.”

“You’re mumbling. Can’t you talk properly? And speak a bit louder.”

“I said that I wanted a change.”

Cara’s eyes bulged, and her face twisted in disgust. She covered her nose with her hand and stepped back.

“Oh my God, your breath!” she screeched, attracting the attention of a few colleagues. “You know, it wouldn’t kill you to brush and gargle some mouthwash!”

Heads popped up like curious gophers, and all eyes were on us—no, I mean, on me. They were probably wondering if I had bad breath too. I tightened my grip on the pen, while the other curled into a fist. Trying to keep my composure, I kept my eyes on the computer screen, pretending to work.

Cara paced around in her cubicle, fanning herself with her hand, and taking deep breaths.

“Can we open a window or something? Let's get some fresh air in here," she requested of the colleagues standing near the window. But no one budged. She let out a frustrated sigh and walked over to open the window herself.

“My, my, Marcy, you’ve got quite a dark imagination,” said Whisper.

“Oh, so, now you can read minds?”

Whisper chuckled. “I know that you want to take that stapler off your desk, walk up to Cara, and start beating her pinched, snobby face with it. I could smell your adrenaline rush.”

The stapler’s cold, metallic surface called out to me. I couldn’t resist. My fingers slowly inched towards it, until they were caressing its smooth exterior. Its two tiny fangs poked at my fingertips.

“But don’t do it,” advised Whisper.

“Why not?”

“Have a little patience.”

“Do you have a plan?” I muttered, wincing in pain as the demon hammered away at my molar, making a racket that felt like a drill boring into my skull.

“I do.”

“Aren’t you going to tell me?”

“I will.” Whisper was brewing something special for Cara. The concoction wasn’t quite ready yet.

“Are you alright?” Suddenly, I heard another voice, and I looked up to see Steve. He was peering over the half-wall from his cubicle across from mine. He looked worried, with his eyebrows all scrunched up.

He asked, “Was a client giving you a hard time?”

“I wasn’t on the phone with a client.”

“Then who...” he scratched his head. “Oh, well, never mind then. But really, are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?”

“Yes, I’m fine, and no, I’ve nothing to talk about. Thanks for your concern.”

I tried to smile, but the throbbing pain in my mouth was a raging inferno that twisted the grin into a grimace.