No Use for Combs

“Nothing beats this,” I said to myself after taking another trip to catch some frogs for today. I simply love collecting frogs I have gathered, and writing them into my logbook after studying them once I have got a hold of them gently in my hands. I of course have to be careful with the poisonous ones; they are no joke. Thankfully I got gloves for many reasons when it came from catching. 

Anyways, I took one look at my reflection near one of the many rivers provided in the Swamplands of Alladornis. My hair was so messy and unkept but I didn't care. This is what I live for; the thrill of catching our own nation's animals. A lot of the elders aren't too pleased with me doing this, but I promise I have never hurt one in my life, mind you. I've always been gentle. 

Eventually, I gathered myself and headed back to our village. On my way, I can tell Rowena (a girl who's the same age as me) was fussing with her hair. I don't really get the obsession about hairstyles. We are Swamplanders for goodness sake; we get dirty and muddy all the time. Why even bother fixing your hair at all? Which gives me an idea.

The first thing I did was come up to Rowena and say: “You know what's scarier than ghosts?”

Rowena looks up while brushing her hair with a bit of annoyance. Not only from the tanglement but also for my tall tale and storytelling antics. 

From what I could see, she mentally rolled her eyes, before responding: “What do you want now, Clarence?” 

“Just please humor me,” I genuinely smiled towards her. I'm not one to get easily annoyed by things or people. I just have a lot of concepts and ideas I want to share with the world, or at least to my people. 

After a couple of strokes from brushing her hair, she replied: “I don't know. What can be scarier than ghosts?”

“Combs!” I proclaimed while waving my fingers in front of us.

“Combs?” Rowena asked while looking at her brush, puzzled. “As if hair combs?”

“Why yes, Rowena! Haircombs! What else would I be referring to?”

“Well, for starters, there's honeycombs.”

“Oh, well, yeah. They like the taste of it but too much of the name just reminds them of what they can't have. They even shutter and get chills thinking about it. Even the noise when one skid across the plastic.”

“What’s the thing that reminds them they can't have, Clarance?”

“The ability to brush their own hair of course!”

She looks at me with the most confused face before answering: “I don't get it.”

“Alright, then let's make a story out of this. Once upon a time, there was a hairstylist who was obsessed with hair. For many years, customers would come, and go through his barbershop telling them all sorts of stories. Not only was he always willing to help with people’s hair, but he often would style his own any chance he got to.  

“It became such an obsession, it also eventually became a habit. He used all kinds of combs for different things. Either that being a simple combover, pompadour, any hairstyle you can think of, he will do it! The hairstylist would take a lot of pride into his work, and would never think of changing careers. 

“One day, he passed away and became a ghost. Now, normally you think a ghost would be worried so much about their hair, since they are already dead, but the hairstylist wasn't having it. As soon as he found out he was dead, he automatically was looking for combs. 

“Unfortunately he couldn't even hold one to begin with, considering he was transparent and all. The hairstylist desperately asked around the village but not a single living soul could hear me. Eventually he came across the other ghosts who were roaming around and as he continued pleading for any combs given from anyone at that point. 

“Luckily for him, a kind ghost often did his own comb considering he had no use for it, since the gentle ghost was bald. However, as soon as the hairstylist started to comb his hair, it remained the same as it was before. 

“Try and try again to no avail. The hairstylist couldn't comb his own hair. He got so frustrated and angry that he started just skidding his own fingers amongst the plastic making that wrenched noise. A noise where both the dead and living hate hearing. So anytime you ever hear the noise of someone skidding their fingers across plastic, that ought to be the Cursed Useless Hairstylist of the Dead.”

I finished my story and waited for dramatic effect. Rowena just looks at me with an eyebrow raised and says: “So, is that it?”

“Yes, what do you think?”

“Well, I think it's a good story in general. I think you got a lot of creative juices flowing in you. Did you just come up with that on a fly or were you having that idea in your head moments prior?”

“To be honest, I came up with it on the spot.”

“That's rather talented of you.”

“Thanks Rowena. I appreciate your feedback.”

“Don't mention it.” She started to brush her hair but then looked at it. Rowena looked like he was seeing a ghost because her skin was pale. Then all of a sudden, she drops her brush and proceeds to take her hands to mess up her progress. 

“Are you all good?” I asked. 

“Yes, Clarence. I am. After hearing such a tale of your’s, I feel like there’s no use for combs at the moment. Or at least, in this case a brush.” She even laughed at the end.

“Sometimes it’s best to leave the materials behind.”

“I can concur. So what did you want to do now?”

“Wanna play ghost in the graveyard?”

“Considering you told me a ghost story, I am in. I ain’t scared of no ghost anyways.”

“Neither a comb.”

Rowena laughed after my comment, and the two of us eventually got to playing. We both played into our “hairstylist” acting like we were looking for combs to brush our hair.