Bogleech.com's 2013 Horror Write-off:
" Hair "
Submitted by Ranger Kasdorf
I know. I know. I have to tell the truth. Why I did it. Well, fine. Even though I have tried to explain what I did and why I did it several times and nobody would let me, I will say it once more. You see, some people say that all murderers are motivated by one or more of three things: anger, belongings, or mental illness. They are wrong. The woman I killed had nothing I wanted. I did not hate her. She seemed quite nice, in fact. And I am not mentally ill.
You see, I hear things. I hear a voice. Many people think that if a person hears voices, then they are insane. And that is true. But I do not hear voices. An insane person hears many scrambled voices, whispering to them to do horrible things to others and themselves, and these people do them to get rid of the voices. But I did not hear these voices. I heard one voice, loud, distinct, and polite. It sounded like the voice of an old man, an old man with a very calm tone to him, firm but patient. He did not demand things of me, he requested them. He did not shout at me, he had conversations with me. They were somewhat one-sided conversations, but they were conversations nonetheless.
Another difference between this voice and the voices insane people hear is that this voice came from somewhere. If I were insane, the voice would have come from everywhere, penetrating my ears from all sides. This was not the case. I knew precisely where this voice came from. It came from hair. Not the hair many people have all over their body, but the hair that perches atop peopleís heads like hawks, waiting to swoop down and end the life of a nearby mouse or ferret. This hair was not speaking to me. That would be ridiculous. Hair has neither a mouth nor vocal chords. Rather, my hair, and other peoplesí hair, had the old manís voice inside it, for reasons I do not dare question.
The voice was helpful at first. He would lend me advice when I performed difficult tasks during the day, and serenade me to sleep in the evening. But soon this proved tiresome. I was foolish and naÔve at the time, and assumed that the hair wanted something of me. I thought maybe that was the reason it chose to visit me. Maybe I had something it wanted that only I could give it. I now know that that is not why the voice chose to come to me.
I remember my attempts to please it. I devoted my life to the hair, worshipping it at all times, as it seemed to be able to possess any bit of hair, so long as it was from a personís head. By now I had shaved my head, so that I could scatter its presence through the house. I stopped coming to work, trying to fit in more time for the hair. I fell ill from malnutrition, having slowed my food intake, daily consuming little more than a few crackers and a shot of water. There was no time to eat more than that.
This did not work when I tried it for a few weeks, so I decided that maybe it wanted my possessions. I made a large clump of my hair and stuffed all of my money and valuables into it, but still it would not stop. So, I decided that there was only one thing that it could want.
I was very careful in setting up my final gift to the old man. I went onto the internet and found a dating site that would contain a suitable present. After searching through many different pages, I found one. She was somewhat obese, and she did not seem like someone who would be missed by many. I would not be cruel to anyone while I was preparing to end the voiceís stay. I spent many an hour chatting with the woman online, and I will admit that she did keep my attention for a while. I didnít consider not going through with my plan, though. I had to commit to pleasing the voice.
After many weeks of making myself as appealing as possible to the woman, and eventually asked her to move in with me. She immediately accepted, and I gave her my address, calm knowing that soon the voice would be gone. When she arrived, I forced myself to kiss her, then showed her around the house. I showed her her sleeping quarters, and kissed her goodnight. At midnight, all was ready.
I had already bought some supplies from some people online, and I was finally able to put my plan into action. I slowly crept up the stairs, with a piece of thick fabric measuring around six inches wide and two inches tall. Entering meticulously, I walked to her bed, and looked at her peacefully sleeping face. And here, you see another difference between me and insane people. An insane person would use a knife, or smother their victim, or shoot them. I did not. I was not out to be cruel. I simply wanted to take the poor womanís life. I did not want to be cruel. I did not relish in her pain, so I caused as little pain as possible.
Slowly and craftily, I pressed the fabric onto her lips, and placed my fingers firmly on her nostrils. After a few seconds, she began struggling. Her eyes opened, and I could see terror on her face. This was unfortunate. I did not want to scare her, I simply needed her dead. She did put up a fight, but I held the fabric on, and within minutes, she was dead.
And so, you see the last difference between me and an insane person. An insane person does not reason. He thinks that he has done the right thing. He does not realize the error of his ways. But I do. I realized that what I did was not right. It did not help. Poor, foolish me. I thought this would end the voice. But it did not. How could it? I used to think that it was a matter of the voice being dissatisfied. But that was not the case. I now know the truth. The hair does not want. The hair does not need. The hair will not go away. No matter who it takes, no matter what I give it, it does not go away.