Hair Doesn't Kill People

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
This was written for Rebecca1994's phobia contest. Hope it makes your head itch as much as it did mine.

Submitted: August 03, 2013

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Submitted: August 03, 2013

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I run the razor very, very carefully across my head. I look in the mirror and see no dark spots on my smooth head. I look in the mirror behind my head, reflected in the first, and still see none. Good…

That was close. I had to work longer than normal today. Almost forgot to shave. That would have been bad. I can't stand hair in the least. There are things that come naturally to the human body that just aren't right. Hair…

Any kind of hair is sickening. Fine, smooth hair that runs through fingers like water, for example. By God, it feels like it's an evil, silky demon that I just can't keep in my grasp, that's going to get away from me and attack me. Thick hair that tangles… Holy shit, it traps my hands, tries to pull me in, to devour me whole…

I know it isn't true. I know hair is harmless, and perfectly normal. Of course I know that. Seventy percent of men have hair most of their lives, and most women have hair as long as they live. Hair doesn't kill people, I know.

But it does. I know it does. I've seen it, for God's sake!

All I ever wanted to be when I grew up was a barber. I loved hair, and everything about it. It fascinated me. There were so many different hairstyles, so many different colors… It was my obsession for most of my life. Of course, it still is my obsession…

My dream came true. I was a real barber, cutting hair all day, loving every minute of it. I greeted customers with a smile, and I met more than a few really interesting people on the job. It's amazing how well you can talk to strangers once you get going. Barbers know this better than anyone. But there was that one stranger…

He haunts my dreams. I see him all over; on my way to work, in the cubicle, in my home… But mostly my bathroom. He's always there, grinning that evil grin full of cracked, yellow-black teeth, his beady black eyes locked on mine. He has the beautiful golden hair… It's in his hands, spilling over, falling on the floor. I can still hear the screams…

He came into the barber shop one day, when it was empty, but he was totally bald. I asked what he needed, and he grinned and pulled out a straight razor. I stopped where I was and stammered out some kind of surrender while I reached for the cash register. He laughed and told me to keep my money.

He charged at me, bowled me over. I was almost unconscious… Almost. I wish I had been. He wanted her. The other barber in the shop. She was a tall blond, with a sweet personality and a glowing face. Oh, but her face didn't glow that day…

He grabbed her by the hair and threw her to the ground. The straight razor hacked into her head, gouging out chunks of scalp. There was no one around to hear her screams… No one but me.

He didn't kill her with the razor. He used her hair. He chopped it all off and fashioned it into a cord. He strangled her with it. Her screams stopped. It all stopped, for a moment. Nothing moved, nothing made a sound. Then he let go. She slumped to the floor. He let out a dry, windy cackle. Then he looked at me.

He called me some nasty word. I don't remember what. But he didn't kill me… I wish he had. No, he threw her hair on me, all around me. It was fine and smooth, and it slithered all about my face and neck and arms. Pieces of bloody scalp fell on me, everywhere. I opened my mouth to scream, and he stuffed a chunk of bloody hair into my mouth.

God, I wish he'd killed me. But he ran out. The police never found him, but I know he's here. He's here now, as I shave my head once again. He watches me. The golden hair slinks out of his hands. But he isn't real… No, he isn't real. Dr. Stevens told me so. He's a figment of my own imagination, produced by my chaetophobia; my irrational fear of hair. The doctor said it was perfectly normal.

But I don't know… He moves closer now. He's never done that before. Why is he doing that? God, he's close. I can hear the hair move in his hands. I'll ignore him. That's what the doctor said. Ignore him, he isn't real. He's an illusion.

Is he an illusion? God, no. He isn't. He's here, and he wants to finish what he started. I know it. I can feel it.

He dumps the hair on me. I can feel it. It's back. It slithers on my skin. It's so fine, so smooth… My skin is itching violently. I can feel the itch in my bones. I have to scratch it.

I do. But the hair… It grabs my fingers! It holds onto my hands. I can't move them. It coils around my neck. The itch is burning even more now. It tightens… I can't breathe.

His dry, hollow, evil laughter echoes in the small bathroom. He's done it… He's finally won. He's got me.

The hair moves up my face. It slips into my mouth, down my throat. I can feel it forming a knot down there. It moves higher. Into my nose. It connects with the knot, and the knot grows. Even higher, into my eyes. It wraps around my eyeballs. It squeezes…

I can feel it all over my neck and head. I let out a bloodcurdling scream and try to sit up. But it's everywhere! It covers my entire body. I can't move!

Several minutes of fighting for my life pass before I'm really awake. No… Not hair. The blanket. Of course, the blanket… Only a dream. Not real, just like the doctor said. Hair doesn't kill people.

But it does…


© Copyright 2020 Zak Magick. All rights reserved.

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