What’s in My Mouth?

📅 Published on May 6, 2021

“What’s in My Mouth?”

Written by Elias Witherow
Edited by Seth Paul and Craig Groshek
Thumbnail Art by Craig Groshek
Narrated by N/A

Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on CreepypastaStories.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed, adapted to film, television or audio mediums, republished in a print or electronic book, reposted on any other website, blog, or online platform, or otherwise monetized without the express written consent of its author(s).

🎧 Available Audio Adaptations: None Available

ESTIMATED READING TIME — 5 minutes

Rating: 10.00/10. From 3 votes.
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I flipped through the channels, eyes glazed over, not really seeing what was on the screen.  I was tired, a long workday behind me and an even longer one in front of me.  I considered going to bed, but didn’t want to bring on a new day any sooner than I had to.

I looked around my sparse apartment, searching the floor for my half-finished beer.  I spotted it by the couch leg and picked it up, draining the lukewarm contents in one swig.  I grimaced and scraped my tongue along my teeth.

The TV volume was low, the images on-screen making tiny muted sounds as explosive action danced around the four corners of the Sony.  I wiped the taste of beer off my molars with my tongue, regretting even drinking it.

My tongue paused on the right side of my mouth, prodding the empty space behind my molars on my lower jaw.  The skin was sensitive and inflamed.  I thought back a couple of years and remembered getting a wisdom tooth pulled from that spot.

I explored the space a little more with my tongue and winced, pain spiking along my jawline. What the hell?  It felt like there was a cut, the skin slightly separated.  I didn’t go to the dentist really, but I always thought I took care of my teeth.

I got up and went to the kitchen.  I pulled a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water, then salt.  Something my mother always recommended whenever I had a canker sore.  I swashed my mouth and spit.

I went to my bathroom and brushed my teeth, finally giving in to the late hour.  I went around the apartment and turned off the lights, made sure the door was locked, and then turned in for the night.

I’m not sure how long I was asleep, but when I awoke, my head was killing me.  I blinked a few times in the darkness.  Why was I awake?

Then I realized my mouth was killing me, a pulsing ache in the same spot as before.  I gently tested the area with my tongue and immediately pulled away.  It was a hot pain, sharp and throbbing.  Even moving my jaw was agony.  I pulled my covers away and went to the bathroom.

I flipped on the light and leaned in towards the mirror, stretching my mouth out.  I tilt my head up so the light would shine on my teeth.

As the back of my mouth was illuminated, my eyes went wide, and I felt a scream crawl up my throat.

Sticking out of my gums, behind my molars, was a tiny finger.  It was slowly emerging from the irritated skin like a fat worm, sliding and prodding itself out.  Blood squirted from my gums as it wriggled its second knuckle free.  It was about an inch long, maybe two, and slender like a newborn’s pinky.

I screamed, falling back against the wall.  I clutched the side of my mouth, heart thundering. What the fuck? WHAT THE FUCK?!

Hands shaking, I stepped forward and back into the light, parting my lips again.  There it was, twisting and wriggling on its own accord.  I could feel it stroke the side of my cheek from the inside.

I suddenly leaned into the sink and vomited, disgusted by the sight of it.  I felt the finger recoil back into my gum as the torrent of bile splashed from my mouth.

I wiped my lips, chest heaving, and turned on the sink.  I watched as the water washed down the chunky yellow globs, my stomach churning.  I could feel the finger tapping my teeth, and I cracked my jaw open so fast I heard it pop.

The finger was trying to touch my tongue, but I crammed it over on the other side of my mouth. I was shaking so hard at the sight of it that my knees knocked together.  It was like seeing a spider dangling over my face; I needed to vacate the space as fast as I could.

Get it out of your mouth, I thought, get that fucking thing out of your mouth!

Slowly, I reached inside my mouth.  I didn’t want to touch the wretched thing, but my mind was having a meltdown.  I felt like I was going to pass out, the shock and horror of what was growing out of my gums overwhelming my senses.

I gripped the little bastard, fighting the urge to recoil as the tiny finger flopped around in my grip like a caterpillar.  I pinched it between my fingers, capturing it between thumb and pointer finger, and pulled up.

I let out a howl as pain erupted like lightning, spreading across my mouth and down my throat. I released the finger and stood panting over the sink, drool leaking from my lips in long thick strands.  I had to get this fucking thing out of my mouth RIGHT NOW.

Suddenly, a new pain blossomed.  It was sharp and piercing, quick stabs of pain along the inside of my cheek.  I cried out and opened up, my bloodshot eyes staring into my gaping mouth.

The finger had grown a long sharp nail and was poking me with it.  I jerked my head back in agony as it drove its needle-like fingernail into the bottom of my mouth.  I coughed and spit out a wad of blood and saliva, head pulsing.

Before it could do it again, I looked back into the mirror and grabbed the finger.  Squeezing my eyes shut, I began to pull.  A scream rattled my throat as I increased the pressure.  I felt my gums splitting as I attempted to uproot the thrashing finger.  I knew if I let go, it was all over.  I wouldn’t be able to do it twice.

Tears streaming down my face, I heard a sound, like grass slowly being pulled from the earth.  I forced my eyes open, blood dribbling out my mouth and down my chin.

In the mirror, I saw that my gums were ripping open, making room for the rest of the fingers.

I had a whole hand growing in my mouth.

I gagged on my own blood and spit, watching as the other four fingers balled into a fist.  It was trying to make it harder for me to rip it free.

With my other hand, I gripped the one holding the finger, and together, I tugged as hard as I could.  I saw stars as my vision blackened with pain, my screams deafening.  I felt warmth pour from my ruined mouth in thick wet streams.

Suddenly, and with a sick sucking noise, like pulling your foot free from thick mud, I pulled the squirming appendage from my mouth.

Still screaming, fighting a full-on blackout, I looked at it.

It was covered in blood, its white skin reminding me of uncooked dough.  A tiny wrist bone protruded from the hand, flayed with strips of wet flesh.

Balling the monstrosity in my fist, I threw it into the toilet.  I slammed down on the lever and watched in trembling relief as it began to swirl around the bowl.  It scrambled like a spider, frantically trying to gain traction and not be pulled down into the depths of the sewers.

Still struggling, I watched it disappear into the toilet as the bowl emptied.

I flushed that motherfucker eight more times just to be sure.

When I was convinced it wasn’t going to come crawling back up, I went to the sink to clean up.  I washed my mouth out and looked at my busted gums.  I felt sick, my stomach full of blood, swallowed during the ordeal.

More blood pooled from my ruptured gums.  They were cracked and torn open, and I knew I needed to go to the hospital. I felt dizzy, lightheaded and sick.

I went to get my keys, but collapsed on the floor as a new pain shook my body.

Groaning, I tried to stand, but curled in on myself.

It felt like there was something trying to claw its way out of my stomach.

Please, no…

Rating: 10.00/10. From 3 votes.
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🎧 Available Audio Adaptations: None Available


Written by Elias Witherow
Edited by Seth Paul and Craig Groshek
Thumbnail Art by Craig Groshek
Narrated by N/A

🔔 More stories from author: Elias Witherow


Publisher's Notes: N/A

Author's Notes: N/A

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Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on CreepypastaStories.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed, adapted to film, television or audio mediums, republished in a print or electronic book, reposted on any other website, blog, or online platform, or otherwise monetized without the express written consent of its author(s).

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Nessy
Nessy
4 months ago

I felt actually sick to my stomach reading this. This may be short, but there’s clearly care put into it. The story is very original; I’ve never seen anything like it done before. Keep writing!

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