The thing that held Craig's wrist was covered in teeth.

Teeth jutted out from every part of its body, covering every nook and cranny from head to toe. Incisors, molars, bicuspids. Teeth of every shape and size. Many were small, deciduous, but others had been permanent teeth. Some were white, well cared for, brushed regularly, while others were yellowed and decayed. It breathed, teeth scraping against each other as its folded wings slowly rose and fell with each breath.

The creature blinked, tooth-covered eyelids sliding over slate white enamel eyes.

It pulled him close to its studded body until they were face to face. Its lips pulled back into a snarl, revealing a mouthful of perfect teeth. The cleanest, whitest teeth he’d ever seen. And razor sharp. Its mouth parted, and inside, Craig saw that its palate, tongue, the insides of its cheeks, even the little piece of flesh that hung in the back of its throat (it was called the uvula, he thought, one of his fifth-graders was asking about it the other day) were covered with teeth. As it slowly closed its jaw, the teeth moved together like clock gears. A machine made to render and chew.

Its enamel eyes stared into his, waiting. A white- knuckled fist squeezed Craig’s heart. His lungs tightened. He fought for breath, struggling to free him arm, but the creature’s grip was too tight.

“I told you, I don’t have her tooth!” he screamed.

Davis threw the switch, giving Parks the first of four 2400 volts sets. The chamber lights brightened. Parks stiffened in the chair, his back arching as far as the straps would allow. His fingers twitched, and there came a sizzling sound, like bacon frying.

The guard cut the current, but not before the smell, the sickly sweet odor of burning flesh, permeated the small room. Gene checked the time again, then gave the signal to continue.

Parks's skin turned red, swelling against the straps. Vomit and blood ran down the front of his coveralls. Smoke curled up from the electrodes. Sparks burst forth from the metal cap, showering like fireworks. I had seen this happen before, as though the chair had its own plan for each prisoner. For some it was quick, seemingly painless, but for others death came slow and messy. It was worse on humid nights. The muggy air seemed to steal away half the current, leaving Parks with a slow coming dark.

David shut off the voltage again, but Parks continued to twitch. He was still alive. “Dear God,” I prayed.

Davis gave the third jolt. I broke out in a sweat, yet the room now felt strangely cool. Goose pimples covered my arms, and I had the feeling my hair was standing on end, as though an enormous pressure was building up. The air suddenly turned dry, as if all the moisture had been sucked out of the room, leaving only charged static behind. The lights grew brighter, and then blinked out.

I couldn’t see anything for a moment. My eyes gradually adjusted to the darkness, and I staggered backwards, unable to believe what I saw…