by Oisin McGann
‘What were you thinking, Melanie … I mean … I mean, what were you thinking?’ She was so angry that she couldn’t even put the words together. Her face was bright red and her messed-up hair and sleepy eyes made her look quite scary. I shrugged and shook my head. I didn’t know what to tell her, so I gave up and didn’t say a word. I could see Wayne peeking around his door to see what all the noise was about, but he wasn’t about to come out – not with Mum talking in such a high voice. He didn’t dare. Even Dad steered clear of her when her voice went like that.
In the end, everyone went back to bed, although Mum locked their bedroom door out of fear for the rest of her clothes. I couldn’t blame her. How was I to know I wouldn’t be back in there when I fell asleep again? One thing was for sure, I had to get rid of this hairdo tomorrow, before it did any more harm.
As I lay with my face buried in my pillow and my duvet pulled up over my head, I could hear my hair rustling, like when there were mice in the walls last spring. It was creeping me out, so I sat up and turned on the lamp. I let out a whimper, and jammed my fist in my mouth.
Some of my hair had fallen out. Lying there on the pillow, it had spelled out some words. They read: ‘Say goodbye to your family. You are mine … forever!’
Before I could make another sound, the hairs slid off my pillow like worms, crawled up onto my knees, over my nightdress, up my neck and back up into my head. I couldn’t even scream I was so terrified. All I could do was gasp for breath. I ran at full speed out of my room and into Wayne’s.
He got a major fright when I jumped into his bed. Sitting up, he grabbed his pillow and hit me over the head with it. But then he saw my face. He used to come into my room sometimes when he was small and he had nightmares, but he hadn’t done it for years. Now he took one look at me, sighed, and made room for me to lie down next to him. He could have made fun of me, but he didn’t. I was really grateful for that.
I hardly slept a wink the rest of that night, frightened of what my hair would do next. I was afraid that there’d be worse to come. And of course, I was right.
6
Split Ends Like You Wouldn’t Believe
I didn’t remember falling asleep, but I suppose I must have, because I woke and found the sun shining through the window. Wayne was already up; I could hear him whistling to himself in the bathroom. I went back to my room and put on some clothes, and then went downstairs for breakfast. Mum and Dad were already up and they gave me funny looks when I walked in. Mum was wearing an old bridesmaid’s gown because I had cut up all her normal clothes. Dad was already dressed for work.
‘How are you feeling?’ Mum asked, and from that sympathetic look she gave me, I knew she thought I’d gone mental.
I shrugged. It must be hard, thinking your daughter’s a nutcase.
She poured some cornflakes into a bowl and put them in front of me, but I wasn’t hungry.
‘Do you want some toast?’ she asked.
I shook my head.
Dad put down his coffee cup.
‘Mel,’ he began, speaking to me as if I was holding a loaded gun or something. ‘Do you want to tell us what you were doing with your mum’s clothes last night?’
‘I was sleepwalking, honestly,’ I moaned. ‘I’m really sorry, Mum. I didn’t mean it! I didn’t even know I was doing it until I woke up. I’m really, really sorry.’
‘Kelly’s mum rang yesterday,’ Mum said. ‘She told me you two had a terrible fight. Kelly said you pulled her hair. Is that true? Has any of this got to do with following that girl band? You haven’t been the same since you started listening to them. I mean, going off and getting your hair done without telling me like that. I’ve a good mind to take you down to the hairdresser’s …’
She was talking, but I wasn’t really listening. There was a bad smell coming from somewhere. Carefully, I sniffed the cornflakes, but it wasn’t them. I wrinkled my nose and looked around. At first Mum thought I was pulling faces at her, but then she smelled it too.
‘Is that the drains?’ Dad asked.
‘No, I don’t think so.’ Mum shook her head. ‘It smells more like rotting meat.’
She was right. It was like the stink of a bin that has been sitting around for too long. I walked around the kitchen, smelling the cupboards, but the odour seemed to be coming from everywhere. Mum checked the fridge, but there was nothing there that could be causing it. I went into the hallway and climbed the stairs; the smell was upstairs too.
Wayne came out of his room and staggered back, covering his nose.
‘You stink!’ he cried.
‘It’s not me!’ I snapped. But then I realized why I could smell it everywhere. It was me. I took a lock of my hair and sniffed it. It nearly made me sick. I started crying. This just wasn’t fair.
I was on my way to take a bath when I heard Mum screaming and Dad shouting. Wayne ran to the top of the stairs and I hurried to his side, but he made a face and pushed me away.
Then I saw why Mum was screaming. There was a stream of rats rushing into the kitchen through the back door. They spread out through the house, but most of them started to scamper up the stairs. Wayne shrieked and ran into Mum and Dad’s room. I followed him in and slammed the door behind us. We both leaned against the door and listened to the little monsters scratching at the other side.
‘What do they want? What are they doing here?’ Wayne sobbed.
I was going to say I didn’t know, but I did.
‘My hair,’ I said. ‘It’s my hair, I think it has … like, a mind of its own and it’s using the smell to call them. It wants to keep me for itself. It wants to get rid of the rest of you.’
‘What do you mean … you … you mean it’s alive?’ He stared at me. ‘And what do you mean get rid of us? How?’
I bit my lip and nodded towards the scratching. Wayne went very pale.
‘I’m going to get eaten alive by rats, because your hair wants you all to itself? How is that fair? I’m telling Mum and Dad. You’re going to get in so much trouble!’
‘Why don’t we worry about the rats chewing through the door first?’ I snapped at him. ‘Then you can tell Mum and Dad. If the rats haven’t got them already.’
Wayne started to cry. I put my arm around him, but he slid away, holding his nose. I wasn’t sure what to do next. How were we supposed to stop the rats? The scratching and gnawing was getting louder. They were almost through the bottom of the door. Then I saw something silver shining under Mum and Dad’s bed. I leaned over slightly and there, under the edge of the duvet, were the scissors I had thrown away last night. Keeping my weight against the door, I nudged Wayne and pointed towards the scissors.
‘I’ll hold the door,’ I whispered. ‘You go and get them.’
He dived over to the bed and grabbed the scissors.
‘I can’t stop all the rats with this,’ he complained.
‘It’s not for the rats, stupid,’ I growled. ‘I need you to fixmy hair!’
At that, the evil hairdo started to fight back. It stood out straight from my head as Wayne came at me. He raised the scissors to make a cut, but the greeny-black hair jabbed him in the hand and he dropped the scissors with a yelp.
‘It’s as sharp as needles!’ he gasped.
And it was only getting started. As we both watched in horror, the hair started to grow. In weaving strands, it stretched, and swelled, and slithered down my head on all sides. If somebody could make hair extensions like that they’d make a fortune. But for me it was terrifying. The hair stood out from my head, and in seconds it was so long it had reached the floor. My wild new locks braced themselves, and I felt myself lifted off the floor, so I was dangling by my hair roots.
I screamed my lungs out at it, but it was turning towards Wayne. The hair let out a cry like a strong wind through a thousand combs and lurched towards my brother. It was as if I was hanging by my hair from some giant spider’s belly, and I had to hang on to it, or have my head pulled off. I screamed again as it tramped cl
umsily towards Wayne.
That little brother of mine had more guts than I thought. Snipping with the scissors, he tried to reach me, but the hair stabbed his shoulder, and this time he shrieked as it drew blood. I tried to fight the stinking, living hair, but it wouldn’t hold still. It pinned Wayne to the floor, knocking the scissors from his hand. Raising its points like spears, it was about to plunge them into his chest. I let out another scream.
7
Really, My Dad Is So Cool
‘Melanie! Wayne!’ It was Dad, outside on the landing, among the rats. ‘Get away from my children, you … you … you rats!’
And I know it’s not cool to say it. But as the rats were eating through the door, and my hairdo tried to kill my brother, I had to admit it to myself; I loved my daddy. A buzzing, growling started up. It was the sound of the leaf-blower, which Dad used to clean up the leaves in the garden in autumn. Except this time he was using it to clean up rats. He got close to the door and was pushing it open when my hair turned so quickly, it yanked my head around. It whipped out as Dad’s hand reached through and stuck its sharp points into his arm. He let out a yell and his hand disappeared. The hairdo went after him, but just as it was carrying me through, I kicked at the door with my feet, and slammed it shut, trapping the hair against the frame. It was now jammed in the closed door.
‘Now, Wayne!’ I shouted. ‘Hurry!’
Wayne raised the scissors and started snipping. The hair was tough and wasn’t going to give up without a fight, but it was trapped and Wayne kept cutting until it was all either lying in pieces on the floor, or hanging where it was still caught in the door. Dad pushed the door open and the last clump fell to the floor.
Squatting on the pine floorboards, it turned this way and that and then started shuffling out into the hall. Dad rushed in, and it got caught under his feet as he lowered the leaf-blower. With the blast from the blower, the room filled with flying hair and Wayne and I had to get out as Dad chased around the room, looking for the rats he thought were attacking us.
The last piece of the hairdo scampered across the floor like a bristly mouse. Dad chased after it, but a rat beat him to it, grabbing the hair and racing down the stairs with it. The rodent disappeared out the back door with the clump of hairdo still in its mouth.
Dad sighed, took one more look around for any rats and then put down the leaf-blower. Sweeping us both up in his arms, he kissed and hugged us.
‘Thank goodness you’re all right!’ he gasped. ‘We were terrified when we saw the rats go upstairs after you.’
‘Are they gone, Daddy?’ I asked.
‘They are. They’re all gone, sweetheart. It’s okay now.’ He hugged me tighter, and then put me down.
‘There isn’t a sign of them,’ Mum said as she came up the stairs. ‘It’s like they were never here. Wasn’t that the oddest thing? I’ve never seen anything like it …’
She stopped when she saw me. I was sure that she was going to blame me for all of this, but instead, she pulled gently on a tuft of my newly-cropped hair.
‘I suppose this is the new look?’ she groaned. ‘Honestly, Melanie. I do wish you’d ask me before going and doing things like this. What puts these ideas into your head?’
I glanced at Wayne, who was behind her. He shrugged.
‘I think I was just having a bad hair day, Mum,’ I replied.
***
Mum and Dad never really got what happened, and I just couldn’t come up with a way to explain it that grown-ups would understand. The hairdo was still alive out there somewhere. At least it wasn’t attached to my head anymore, but I was worried that Gail might still be making more of the horrible things. I figured there was no way that the real WitchCraft stars could be mixed up in such a nasty plot, but something had to be done about that dodgy stylist. So the next day, I decided to show Wayne where I’d got the evil hairdo.
When we reached the salon, it had changed completely.
It wasn’t a salon anymore; it was a music shop. And there was some kind of gig going on to celebrate the opening. Loud, romantic pop music drifted out. There must have been two hundred girls in and around the shop, screaming and crying. Curious, I wandered closer, trying to see inside. Wayne moaned a bit, but followed me anyway. I pushed through the crowd, drawn by five beautiful voices.
And there they were, singing and doing a dance routine in the middle of the shop – five boys. The banner above their heads read: ‘From the people who brought you WitchCraft. The new Hit Sensations: Spellbinder!’ They all had cool haircuts and really happening clothes. The lead singer looked out from under his dark, almost metallic green hair, and caught my gaze with his emerald eyes. And he winked at me. He winked right at me.
‘We’re getting out of here,’ Wayne declared, dragging me back.
And that was when it hit me. Boys weren’t all bad. Some boys had a certain something to them. In fact, when I really thought about it, some boys could be absolutely, drop-dead gorgeous.
But not Wayne.
OISÍN McGANN has also written The Poison Factory and Wired Teeth, two more books in the ‘Forbidden Files’ series. He is the author of five Flyers: Mad Grandad’s Flying Saucer; Mad Grandad’s Robot Garden; Mad Grandad and the Mutant River; Mad Grandad and the Kleptoes; Mad Grandad’s Wicked Pictures and a number of acclaimed novels for older readers: The Gods and Their Machines; The Harvest Tide Project; Under Fragile Stone, Small-Minded Giants and Ancient Appetites.
About the Author
OISÍN McGANN grew up in the suburban backstreets of Dublin and Drogheda. He has never had a proper job, but he has written and illustrated numerous children’s books of questionable quality. McGann is known as a loner with few friends. If you should see this man, do not approach him, as he may be rude.
Copyright
This eBook edition first published 2012 by The O’Brien Press Ltd,
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Tel: +353 1 4923333; Fax: +353 1 4922777
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Website: www.obrien.ie
First published 2006
eBook ISBN: 978–1–84717–492–5
Text & illustrations © copyright Oisín McGann 2006
Copyright for typesetting, layout, editing, design
© The O’Brien Press Ltd
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British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
McGann, Oisin
The evil hairdo. - (Forbidden Files)
1.Hairstyles - Juvenile fiction 2. Horror tales
3. Children’s stories
I. Title
823.9’2[J]
The O’Brien Press receives assistance from
Layout and design: The O’Brien Press Ltd
