Hairy

"Hey, Andrew, I been meaning to ask you. What the hell do you do with all this fucking hair?"

"If I told you that, Melvin, I'd have to kill you."

"Oh, funny guy. No seriously. You'd have to have about thirty bags of hair in that damn closet. What, you building yourself a fucking house out of it, or something?"

Andrew grins as he continues sweeping.

"Or something."

Melvin sits up.

"Well good luck with that shit. I might just have to send that wolf bastard over to fuck that shit up like he did to those three little pigglies."

"I'm guessing he already knows about it, Melvin."

The old black man raises an eyebrow.

"You're one freaky motherfucker, motherfucker."

"And you still cuss like a drunk old sailor, even though I've told you, that you have to watch your language in my shop."

"And I've told you motherfucker, that I don't cuss like some faggoty sailor. I cuss like an old fucking pilot, because that's what I fucking am. You fuck."

The barber stops sweeping the floor for a moment.

"Alright Melvin. I'll let all those "F' bombs pass, but can you at least not say faggot. Could you imagine if Jackson heard you say that?"

The skinny septuagenarian snickers.

"Yeah, okay. That old fruit would probably have another coronary if he heard me slight his fucking people. Not allowed to say fucking anything anymore. Hey, Andrew, where is that fucking cocksucker anyway?"

"I don't know, I hope he comes soon though. He told me that I could borrow his van for the night."

"Oh so he's helping you to build your little fucking hair-house, is he?"

"I don't need this kinda crap from someone like you."

Melvin gets to his feet, his mouth barely able to hide his grin.

"What do you mean by someone like me? Fuck you, you racist fuck. With your little cracker-ass barbershop fucking shirt, and your tight fucking pants. Let me ask you this boy, how small's your little pecker gotta be to squeeze into them pants? Hmm?"

"Alright, that's about all I can take for one day. Good night, Melvin."

"Yeah, good fucking night to you too, baby-dick!"

As soon as the old man grabs his hat, young Eli Roche, the paperboy, swings the door open wildly.

"You guys have to get out of here. Haven't you heard? Big hairy monsters are attacking people in the street."

Andrew stops sweeping and slaps his broomstick handle over his shoulder like a baseball bat.

"What kind of monsters?"

"I don't know. The ones I saw were hairy, and ugly, and fast, and one of them was running on all fours, like a dog."

Melvin shakes his head as he puts his hat on.

"You telling us, there's a bunch of fucking werewolves running around attacking people? Because I'll tell you, it sounds like all that dope has fucked your brain up something fierce."

Andrew chuckles.

"So it's come to this has it. The children of the night have finally done it. Oh god!, Jackson's fucked us over."

Melvin and Eli stare at the barber as he walks to the glass panels.

"What the fuck are you saying Hoss?"

"I gave him their payment last week. All he had to do was go up there and hand it to them. Jesus Christ! He couldn't even handle one simple job."

Eli runs away as a loud cacophony of terrified screams echo loudly from afar.

"Talking about fucking night childrens and such. I gotta tell you, Andrew, I don't fucking understand what the fuck you are saying."

Andrew chuckles again.

"I guess there's no sense in hiding it anymore. You know how you were asking what I do with all of that hair in the back? I give it to some hill-people up near Lockwood Heights, so that they can keep the children of the night in check."

The elderly black gent storms up to Andrew, turns him around and shakes the younger man's shoulders with a mysterious old school strength.

"There you go again with that children of the night shit. I don't fucking know who these fucking night-kids are! Explain it to me, would you?"

The barber looks unhinged.

"Sorry, I forgot you only moved here a couple of years ago. Everyone around here knows about the legend of the children of the night, it was some old boogeyman story parents tell their kids so that they wouldn't stay out after curfew. Well, it turns out they're real. Big furry beasties with rows of razor-sharp teeth like a shark, and claws the size of steak-knives. How did that old nursery rhyme go?"

"Fuck your nursery rhyme, this isn't sing along with Andy-Pandy time! What the fuck do the bags of hair have to do with these fucking monster things?"

"Hair is the town's sacrifice to appease these foul creatures, has been for hundreds of years now. My family has supplied it since we moved here in the late seventeen-hundreds. I've heard tell that they use the hair to create more of their kin, although I don't really know for sure. This'll be the first time we've missed a payment in over two-hundred years."

"Well if it's just hair they want, let's fucking give it to them."

Andrew tilts his head.

"They'll be wanting more than hair now. They've tasted our flesh. My papa once told me that they wiped out his grandfather for missing a payment as well as everyone else in town. He only survived because he was visiting his girlfriend in Scotsbury."

"Great. Wonderful. Let's fucking pack it up and run to Scotsbury then. It's only what, like three, four clicks up the road there, ain't it?"

Buildings tumble in the distance, the panicked screams increase in volume.

"It's no use Melvin, they're attracted by the scent of hair. They'll be upon us soon. I'm sorry my friend. There is no running from them now."

Melvin opens the door a sliver, a strange screeching noise starts to grow louder.

"You fucking asshole. You know what my dad told me years ago? Hanging around them white boys is gonna get you killed, now look. The god-damn prick was right! Fucking dirt-bag, street walking son of a bitch."

Andrew shakes his head, then runs past Melvin.

"I know Melvin. Come give me a hand. We'll put the hair out in the street, maybe they'll leave us alone if we pile all the hair out the front and lock ourselves in."

"Now your thinking. Wait, didn't I tell you to do that just a minute ago?"

The two men begin dragging the heavy bags outside of the shop.

"You clever motherfucker. I don't know why you didn't think of this before. I knew you wouldn't just let us fucking go out like that!"

"Uh-huh. Well you can thank your dad for giving me the idea."

The sound of an inhuman howl quickens their pace.

"My dad died a long, long time ago."

"Well when you see him next tell him I said thanks."

The pair grip the last bag and begin dragging it out to the footpath.

"Why's this last one so much heavier than the rest of these motherfuckers? Did you fill this bag with bricks or-"

Before Melvin could finish his sentence, Andrew plunges a large pair of scissors into his chest.

"Sorry. The hair alone wouldn't satiate them. I just hope that you'll be a decent enough sacrifice for them."

Shocked, the dying man glares up at the barber from atop the garbage bag where he fell; Andrew yanks out the scissors and impales them into his foul-mouthed black friend's leg.

"H-hey, Andrew?"

The barber stood over him in silence.

"This is fucked man, fuck you!"

"No, Melvin. I think you're the one who's fucked."

Andrew reenters the shop and locks the door behind him, .

The sound of fast footfall, flesh tearing and plastic ripping followed by thick paws banging against the heavy security-glass leads Andrew to dance around in fright; they didn't accept his sacrifice.

His sealed shop now imprisons him, as the children of the night clobber through his pitiful defenses.

The barber knows that his time has come; these hairy ancient beings are coming to devour him and there is no stopping them.