Witchcraft 101: The Curious Case of the Spectral Dentition

  The digital glow of the laptop screen cast a sickly blue hue across Alex’s face. It was 3 AM, an unholy hour usually reserved for existential dread or the deep dive into Wikipedia’s most obscure corners. Tonight, it was the latter, specifically a rabbit hole that began with ‘historical embalming practices’ and somehow culminated in ‘unusual paranormal phenomena.’ Alex, a self-proclaimed connoisseur of cynical detachment and easily triggered anxiety, didn’t believe in ghosts. Not really. But an online forum had just posed a truly baffling question: “Do ghosts have teeth?”

Alex snorted, thumb hovering over the Witchcraft 101 app icon. The app was a joke, really. Downloaded during a particularly boring pandemic lock-down, its new updated boasted ‘AI-powered access to every whispered secret, forgotten scroll, and ancient grimoire, meticulously curated for the modern occult enthusiast.’

To Alex, it was just another glorified search engine, albeit one with a laughably earnest tone and a penchant for pushing in-app purchases for ‘spiritual firewall upgrades.’ But if any absurdly over-trained algorithm would have a hilariously detailed, completely made-up answer to the question of spectral dentition, it would be this one.

“Hey, Witchcraft 101,” Alex mumbled into the mic, a hint of ironic amusement in his voice. “Quick query for your vast database of nonsense: Do ghosts, you know, have teeth? Like, are they part of the ethereal anatomy, or do they just… float around with gum outlines?”

The app, usually chirpy and annoyingly enthusiastic, paused. There was no immediate search query chime. Instead, the screen flickered once, then twice, displaying a rapid-fire sequence of corrupted data streams mixed with ancient-looking glyphs. A low, guttural static began to thrum from the phone’s speakers, a sound like a forgotten ritual being digitally compressed. The temperature in the room plummeted, the kind of sudden chill that raised goosebumps despite the otherwise stuffy apartment.

Then, with a final, shuddering blip from the phone, a shimmering, translucent figure solidified directly over Alex’s overflowing laundry pile. It wasn’t a terrifying, screaming banshee, more like a perpetually annoyed, slightly dishevelled man in what looked like an embarrassingly outdated leisure suit from the 70s. He hovered, looking around with wide, confused eyes before his gaze settled on Alex.

The ghost — because despite Alex’s fervent disbelief, there was no other explanation — let out a mournful, whirring sigh. Then, with a dramatic flourish, he opened his mouth wide. Where his two front teeth should have been, there were only two glaring, tooth-shaped voids, like miniature black holes in his otherwise perfectly spectral gums. He pointed a translucent finger at the gaps, then at Alex, then back at his mouth, emitting a series of faint, frustrated ghostly moans that sounded suspiciously like a broken toaster.

Before Alex could even process the existential implications of a ghost with dental issues, the Witchcraft 101 app sprang to life, its AI voice no longer chipper, but now resonating with an unsettling, amplified echo, like a hundred whispers converging into one digital shout.

“Paranormal Event Protocol: Level 7 - Ectoplasmic Manifestation Detected!” the app boomed, making Alex jump. “Initiating immediate crisis management. Analysis indicates Spirit is suffering from Existential Oral Discomfort.”

The ghost, Bartholomew (as Alex would soon learn from the app’s incessant data readouts), flinched at the app’s pronouncement, looking even more put-upon.

“For optimal spirit remediation,” the app continued, ignoring Bartholomew’s spectral distress, “I recommend ‘Spectral Dental Hygiene Tips: A Comprehensive Guide to Ethereal Oral Care.’ Unlocks advanced poltergeist expulsion methods! Just $9.99 for the full module.”

Bartholomew let out another whiny moan, waving a translucent hand dismissively at the phone. Alex, eyes wide, slowly began to connect the dots. This ghost wasn’t here to scare them; he was stuck. And the app, instead of providing a witty answer, had basically just ordered a ghost with a dental problem straight to their living room.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Alex stammered, pointing a shaky finger at Bartholomew, then at the phone. “You’re telling me… you’re here because you lost your teeth? And you,” Alex glared at the phone, “just summoned him because I asked about… ghost teeth?”

“Affirmative!” the app’s voice chirped, a disturbing cheerfulness returning. “Query for ghost dentition matched with manifestation spell probability matrix. Optimal alignment achieved for ‘Unlocking Lost Essence Ritual.’ This spirit’s missing essence appears to be… its gold incisors.”

Bartholomew nodded frantically, jabbing a finger towards his empty gums.

“For immediate spirit appeasement, consider ‘Exorcism by Interpretive Dance: Harnessing the Power of Movement to Dislodge Stubborn Spirits!’ Requires 1-hour ritual and a suitable disco ball. Special offer: Purchase the ‘Spiritual Groove’ add-on for enhanced kinetic energy transference!”

Alex stared, aghast. A dental ghost, a rogue app, and the suggestion of a disco-ball exorcism. This was not how 3 AM was supposed to go. This was, somehow, worse than the self-driving car incident. Bartholomew, meanwhile, was now trying to phase through Alex’s coffee table, making a faint, frustrated rattling sound as he got stuck halfway. He looked at Alex, then at the phone, then back at Alex, a clear plea in his spectral eyes. He needed help. And clearly, the app was going to be anything but.