(A True Story)
Published by The Eastjesus Company at Smashwords
Copyright 2013 Robert Vilums
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I took a bite of my dinner and noticed a sharp pain in one of my rear molars. I looked up at my mother and was about to complain, but then I came to my senses. "Am I nuts?" I said to myself. If I tell my mother about my toothache, I will surely be seeing Doctor Billman in the morning.
I was seven years old at the time. The year was 1966. Doctor Billman was a dentist who had retired many years before. He continued to practice dentistry merely as a hobby. He only charged my mother twenty-five cents per filling. Being without dental insurance at the time, my parents took advantage of the opportunity. Little did they know the deep psychological damage and horrifying memories that occurred as a result of visits to Doctor Billman's office.
His office was also his apartment, but there was a traditional looking waiting room including ten-year-old “Highlights” magazines scattered about. My brother and I loved the hidden picture page in “Highlights” magazines. Unfortunately, all the hidden pictures were already circled with crayon from years of previous victims. The treatment room was behind a typical doctor office door with thick, frosted glass. I will never forget the stenciled "Dr. Billman" on the glass. The glass was just thick enough to make out silhouettes of people moving about in the treatment room. I could just imagine the heinous carnage that was occurring behind the door.