Demon Barber

Demon Barber

The Demon Barber by Sabrina S

Karen and I had longed to be invited to join Cyboids since we were in junior high, almost two years ago. Cyboids was an extremely private club, the committee and members of which were all senior students at our school. It was so private the teachers, those beings who eventually discover everything happening in the school one way or another, had no inkling of it. Cyboids was, of course, a club dedicated to downloading, hacking and cracking.

Whilst Karen and I took computer science at school, and didn’t do too badly at it, hackers and crackers we weren’t. I admired the incredible brain of Simon Carlton, who was founder and President of Cyboids. His computer skills way outclassed that of our teacher, Mr. Black.

I’d been surfing the web in the library when I noticed that whoever had logged on before me had surfed some very interesting addresses and hadn’t deleted them from the cache.

There I was, reading how to make bombs. I didn’t even notice someone walking up behind me until it was too late. Hastily I minimized the screen then breathed a sigh of relief. It was only Simon, not a teacher!

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“I didn’t realize you were into that kind of thing,” Simon said quietly.

“Er…I really like to try and find some of these hidden sites,” I said quickly, trying to impress him. As well as being brainy, he was drop-dead gorgeous: tall, broad-shouldered, short dark hair and intense navy blue eyes. “I wish I knew more about how to hack into some of these sites.”

Simon regarded me. “Have you heard of Cyboids?” he whispered.

I nodded.

“Come to this address at 5 o’clock tonight.” He scribbled his home address – I knew it by heart, I’d been lusting after him for ages! – on a sheet of paper and gave it to me.

“Can I bring Karen Richardson?” I whispered. “She’s into this too. We’re both trying to crack a downloaded copy of DreamWeaver.” Which was true. We were. We had the program but didn’t have a serial number. Like I said, our hacking skills weren’t the greatest.

Simon hesitated, then nodded. “I don’t need to tell you to keep your mouths shut, do I?”

“Not at all,” I promised. My heart was racing. Simon! Cyboids! I couldn’t wait to tell Karen!

So promptly at five that night I knocked furtively on Simon’s front door. Karen, standing beside me, started to shiver, and pulled her long, wavy fair hair around her ears and face.

“God it’s got cold, Lucy,” she muttered, hugging her coat tighter.

It rarely snows in Vancouver but hell, it felt like snow tonight! My family had moved across from Montreal five years ago, and I used to brag that I didn’t feel the cold living on the west coast. Obviously I was getting acclimatized. My fingers were frozen in their gloves. I pulled my trendy black velvet hat down over my ears and debated whether to let my hair loose from its long ponytail.

After a couple of minutes, Simon came to the door. “Sorry for the delay, I was just downloading something. Come on in.”

He took us to the basement, where we gratefully shrugged off our winter gear.

Lounging around on the floor or the two saggy sofas were other people we knew: Sarah, James, Josh, Gabby, Rex, Robert and Gary.

“OK, you all know each other. So we have three new people who want to join Cyboids: Lucy, Karen and Robert,” Simon said. “What do you think, Committee?”

“Okay by me.”


“As long as their computer skills are up to date.”

“No problem.”


“As long as they complete the initiation successfully.” This last was from Rex, whom I’d never really liked. He reminded me of a weasel, all pointy nose and red hair.

“Speaking of which.” Simon picked up two blank envelopes from his desk and handed one to Karen and I and one to Robert.

“That’s your instruction for your initiation. Don’t open it till you get out the front door. If you come back with any questions, or don’t go through with it, you’ll never join Cyboids. It’s late night shopping night, so you shouldn’t have any problems. I need you back here tonight between eight thirty and nine p.m. with proof that you’ve achieved your initiation.”

Karen and I looked at each other blankly. Initiation? Robert had a bemused expression on his face; he ran his fingers into his floppy brown bob and pushed it out of his eyes.

“You have two minutes to get out the door. If you don’t go, we’ll assume you don’t want to join.” Simon’s eyes were hard; gone was the computer whiz. This was the company president.

“Come on.” I grabbed my coat, hat and gloves. Karen, my dutiful shadow, followed. We galloped up the stairs and out into the frosty air.

Robert followed. He looked furtively at us, envelope almost crushed in his fingers, and we watched as he walked to the nearest street light and opened it.

“You’ve gotta be joking!” we heard him moan. Then he walked off shaking his head in what appeared to be disbelief.

Sheltered in the relative warmth of Simon’s porch, we opened ours.

There was a single sheet of paper inside with a single sentence typed on it in Hattenschweiler 24 point: Get a haircut from The Demon Barber – barber’s choice as to which haircut you get!

Karen gasped, and my heart sank. The Demon Barber! We all knew the Demon Barber; some boys crossed themselves when they walked past his shop!

Of course The Demon Barber wasn’t his real name. His real name was Guy Martin and the shop was called Guy’s Barber Shop. But everyone in North Van called him The Demon Barber because he really only knew one way to cut hair – mega short! If you sat in his chair and asked for a trim you got what he and his clippers gave you. According to everyone at school who’d had a haircut there he really enjoyed cutting off your hair. Karen’s older brother had suffered from Guy as a child until he was old enough to go for a haircut by himself (and has from that day on gone to Over The Top Unisex Salon where he gets his hair trimmed carefully with scissors by Laura).

“Lucy, we can’t!” moaned Karen. “You know what he’s like!”

“We’re girls,” I reasoned with her. “He won’t cut our hair short!” I crossed my icy fingers. I wanted desperately to be a part of Cyboids! If it meant crazy Guy hacking six inches off my waist-length hair it wasn’t a disaster! Six inches was nothing! And as if The Demon Barber would take the clippers to our hair! Of course he wouldn’t! He’d probably just take a bit off the bottom and tell us to get out and not come back unless we wanted a real haircut!

“Come on, Karen!” I said. “Let’s go and do it! How bad can it be?” I clattered off the porch, my heart thudding at the thought of putting my hair in the hands of the Demon.

Karen, groaning, followed. “I hope you know what you’re letting yourself in for!”

Twenty minutes later we stood outside The Demon Barber’s shop, our hot breath white in the night air. Red and white poles were painted each side of the window. Inside the harsh fluorescent lighting showed Guy happily shearing a young boy while a man, presumably the father, waited for his haircut, reading a car magazine. There was nobody else in the shop.

Taking a deep breath, I walked up the two steps and pushed the door open. The hinges squeaked and Guy lifted the clippers from the child’s head and glanced in our direction.

Karen smiled weakly. I did the same. In silence we took a seat next to the man and let Guy get on with it.

Guy was somewhere in his forties, dark and swarthy. His own hair was thinning on top and he wore the sides over the top of his ears and the back to his collar as if in compensation. A lush moustache grew over his top lip, proving he could grow thick hair somewhere on his head. His hairy hands looked huge on the little boy’s head as they steadied it and pushed it to one side.

We watched the clippers rip through the boy’s hair, trimming it to a crew cut. In another two minutes the boy was done. Grinning and rubbing his newly mown hair, he jumped from the chair. “Your turn, Dad!”

His father settled himself easily in the chair. He was middle aged, like in his thirties, but had really good hair: thick, mousy brown and conservatively cut.

“Just a trim, thanks,” he said as Guy tucked the paper around his neck and followed it up with the plastic cape.

Guy grunted and nodded. We expected him to pick up comb and scissors, but instead the clippers came out again. Guy oiled them, switched them on with a “pop!” and pushed the man’s head forward. The sound of the clippers was loud in the shop; there were no wall or window coverings to deaden the noise.

“Just a trim” resulted in The Demon Barber buzzing the man’s hair so short at the back you could see his scalp through it. We watched in horror as almost two inches of hair fell away, and a plough mark ran all the way to the man’s crown.

Karen turned to me. “Let’s get out of here!” she hissed.

Visions of Simon sneering at me and Cyboids membership lost to me forever got the better of me. “Karen, it’ll be okay. And we both want careers in computers. Simon can teach us all kinds of things.”

The Demon was buzzing all over the poor man’s head. He’d finished the back, with the top left slightly longer than around the hairline. Now he was clipping away on one side.

We could see the victim’s face in the mirror. He looked impassive as his hair was shorn away to nothing around his ears, the cut hair falling in clumps over his shoulder and lap.

Then Guy swung the chair around and attacked the top of his customer’s head. We couldn’t see what was happening as The Demon Barber himself blocked our view. We could only hear the clippers howling away as they chewed through the hair. But sixty seconds later we saw the result: the guy’s hair was a quarter inch long at the most. His forehead, which had been covered in a floppy forelock, now looked naked with the hair clipped off to the hairline.

Karen had gone white and I felt a bit sick. But nah…Guy wouldn’t do that to a girl!

After some cursory snips with the comb and scissors Guy lathered around the man’s neck and ears and shaved the hair away with a razor. Then, with a white high-water mark where his hair had grown long and covered his neck until now, the man was released. He actually seemed quite happy with his clippered scalp and was grinning as he paid Guy. Father and son, denuded of their hair, left the shop.

Which left Karen and I sitting nervously on the awful black vinyl seats.

“Who’s first?” Guy said frankly, assessing us. We must have looked terrified. He made the decision for us. Flourishing a plastic cape like a matador, he pointed to Karen. “Come on. Get in the chair.”

Giving me an agonised look, Karen slowly got up and walked across the linoleum. Her boots sounded loud.

Karen sat uncomfortably in the chair. Like me, she’d never had a haircut in a barber’s shop. Her feet rested on the tilted footrest and her hands clenched the arms of the brown leather chair.

“What kinda cut you want?” Guy asked, lifting up the mass of Karen’s hair and tucking in one of those little paper towel things. He fastened the cape around her and lifted her hair out so it spilled over the back of the chair.

“I – I – I don’t know,” Karen said lamely. “Er… what do you think?”

To give him his due, Guy studied her for a minute, lifting up her hair, tilting her chin up to him to see the shape of her face.

I saw fear on my best friend’s face, reflected in the mirror. Guy must have seen it, too, because he smiled, and it wasn’t a particularly nice smile.

I watched in what was almost slow motion as he picked up his big clippers and hit the switch.

Pop! Bzzzzzzzzzzzzz!

Karen gasped. She moved in the chair as if about to get up and run, but Guy was too quick for her.

Before she could even push herself up, the clippers sank into her hair at the nape of her neck and ploughed sideways, shearing off her hair into a rough bob. Karen’s mouth opened in shock as her wavy hair sprang around her jawline. “Shit!” she cried.

“Don’t worry,” Guy said consolingly. “I haven’t finished. It’ll look really neat when I’m done.”

And with that he grabbed her head with his left hand, pushed it firmly forwards and brought the wicked clippers up to her nape.

Horrified, I could only watch as Karen’s lovely hair went the way of the last customer’s – on the floor!

The clippers screamed as they attacked her thick, fair waves. The underneath layers were quite dark where they were never exposed to the sun. One pass of the shears and Karen was left with a mousy pelt running right up the middle of the back of her hair.

“Oh God!” Karen moaned. I could hear her crying but couldn’t see her face as her head was held firmly down.

But I could see Guy’s face. He was enjoying this! A smile twisted his lips under that creepy moustache as he looked down at the mound of long hair lying on the floor behind the chair.

Surreptitiously I glanced at his crotch and yep! The guy had an erection happening in there. He was getting off on buzzing my best friend’s head!

Then I heard the clippers make a throatier sound, and my eyes were drawn back to Karen. The blades were at her nape, guzzling her hair away. Unable to look away I watched Guy push the clippers languorously up Karen’s head; watched the cut hair rain down in clumps over Karen’s back; watched the ever increasing patch of short, short hair appear.

Do you know, I was actually getting turned on myself! Having had long hair for years I had never, ever considered cutting it short. In fact, I loathed crew cuts both on men and women. But maybe that was my mind battening down the hatches to a deep seated desire. I couldn’t believe it: I was absolutely fascinated by Karen’s haircut, by the brutality of the clippers as they sheared her locks away so quickly and heartlessly. I LONGED to know what it felt like, whether it tickled, whether it pulled. And judging by the speed of Guy’s haircuts, I wouldn’t have long to wait to find out!

Guy was leaving Karen’s hair longer near the top of her head. At her crown it was almost an inch long, and stuck up as if in disbelief that it had been cut so short. But at her nape it was nibbled away to a quarter inch, revealing the “M” of her hairline.

The Demon Barber had clipped the back and Karen, with relief, was able to put her head up straight again. I saw her face in the mirror and it was red and blotchy, with tears running down her cheeks.

“Don’t cry,” Guy said softly, taking a comb and combing some of the top over to one side. “You’ll look great.”

In reply, Karen sniffled.

The Demon Barber blew hair from the clipper blades and went in for the kill again behind Karen’s ear. He held her ear forward to get in close. Wavy hair fell down onto Karen’s shoulders as it was clipped from her head. I watched carefully. He was tapering it close at the bottom and skillfully leaving it a little longer as he moved the clippers up. He wasn’t using a comb or a guide on the clippers themselves. We all might call Guy crazy, but the man was an expert with the shears.

Then Karen lost the hair in front of her ears and up around her temples. She gasped as she realised how truly short her hair was being cut. “Oh, God!” she moaned, and burst into even heavier tears.

Guy was unmoved. He simply moved around her head, brushed the hair on the top over to the clipped side, and started behind her ear again. In another minute both sides had been nuzzled by the humming blades, and Karen’s lap was full of thick mounds of hair.

There was only the top and Karen’s bangs left to cut. I watched, intrigued, wondering what would happen.

Guy gathered the long hair that was left and pulled it straight up above Karen’s head. It was still several inches long.

Then he severed it with the clippers about an inch and a half away from Karen’s scalp, throwing the cut hair on the floor behind the chair. Karen’s hair stood up in spikes like a newly hatched chicken.

Swiftly Guy wet the top of her hair and began snipping it with the scissors, cutting it into inch-long spikes. He didn’t bother with the comb but simply ran his fingers into it and cut off whatever was sticking out, snipping across then into the hair from the top. Then he got the comb and graduated the sides to the top. Finally he worked on Karen’s crown, cutting it shorter near the back of her head.

Karen had stopped crying and was watching her new look with less than enthusiasm. She sat motionless as Guy snipped her sideboards into points, and flinched mildly as he lathered her neck and shaved it.

I shuddered as I watched the razor glide down Karen’s neck. Was that a treat I was in for too?

Then Karen was set free. The cape was removed and her neck and face dusted with the big, soft brush.

Trembling, Karen sat beside me, a reproachful look on her face. This is your fault, her eyes said clearly. I look like a boy and it’s all your fault!

“You look great!” I said truthfully. She did, too. The super short sides really suited her, and the spiky top softened the clippered look. I never knew Karen had such great cheekbones. The girl would get guys lining up to go out with her now!

I couldn’t resist touching her hair and gasped as I felt how soft and velvety it was. I felt a rush between my legs and knew I was blushing like mad.

“Next!” Guy was standing in front of me. I knew he hadn’t missed my reaction to Karen’s haircut.

Slowly I unfastened my ponytail and threw the pretty, fabric covered elastic into the trash can. I wouldn’t be needing it for quite a while! Then I shook my hair free, and walked to the chair.

It felt odd. The chair was surprisingly comfortable, quite unlike the basic, almost typist chairs in the salon I usually go to for a trim. My feet settled happily on the footrest, and my arms relaxed on the armrests. Guy used a foot lever to bring the chair a little higher – I was shorter than Karen.

“What kind of haircut do YOU want?” Guy asked me.

I was still blushing. “I don’t know,” I replied. “Do you have any ideas?” My heart began to beat as Guy lifted up my heavy hair and studied my face. He pushed my hair behind my ears and I knew I was in for the haircut of my life if he was checking how much my ears stuck out.

Wordlessly Guy tucked the paper into the top of my sweater. It felt warm against my skin. Then the black cape was fastened tightly and my hair lifted up and out for what was bound to be the last time.

I looked in the mirror. My hair hung in dark brown sheaves over my arms and breasts, almost to my waist. I had last had hair cut above my shoulders when I was eight and my mother’s attempts at home haircutting resulted in being fixed up at the hairdresser’s with a bob.

Guy was fixing a guard onto the clippers. I could hardly breathe as I waited for him to begin.

After what seemed an age, but was probably only a few seconds, I was rewarded.

“You could have left your hair in the ponytail,” Guy commented, gathering it tightly at the back of my neck. I felt his fingers warm against my clammy nape.


With his left hand he held my hair and with his right pushed the clippers into it. I could smell the fresh oil as they attacked the thick ponytail, ploughing through it. The clippers screamed with the effort of cutting off my hair.

I felt a slight tug and then a giddy lightness as the weight of my hair was cut off.

Guy dropped the ponytail – about twenty inches or more of hair – onto my lap. I looked at it in disbelief. Heavy and silky, it slid gently over my legs and feel and onto the floor.

I brought my eyes to the mirror. My hair was hacked off in a short bob. I didn’t have time to examine my interim new look though.

Guy’s hand was firm on the top of my head; he pushed it forward and I obediently brought my chin almost to my chest.

I was sure my heart was beating even louder than the clippers as I waited to feel them on my neck.

The buzzing noise got louder; then I felt the vibrating blades against my skin and gasped.

Slowly the clippers moved up my naked neck and into my hair. The timbre of the clippers changed, became lower, more angry as they encountered my thick tresses.

I shuddered as the first locks were clipped off, and was aware of goose bumps flooding all over me.

Oh God, Guy was cutting it short! Shorter than Karen’s! I could almost feel cool air on my scalp where the hair had been shorn.

The clippers moved up the back of my head, and my scalp tingled in their wake. The whole experience was an incredible assault on the emotional and physical senses, I discovered. Firstly the emotions: here was I getting my gorgeous long hair cut savagely short, shorter than any girls’ I knew. And the physical: the blades vibrating close to my scalp and the hair feeling tight and funny where it had been clipped.

Guy had finished the first pass up the back. He’d cut right up the middle and I could imagine from Karen’s haircut how funny I must look at the moment, with a strip of buzzed hair in the midst of shining locks.

“It’s short, Luce,” Karen informed me querulously. “I think it’s shorter than mine.”

I had a feeling The Demon Barber was grinning. I was half scared, half delighted.

The clippers were at my nape again, revealing my hairline to the world. Tantalisingly slowly they crept up the back, over that bumpy bone and all the way to the top of my head. It was the most unbelievable, indescribable feeling. I didn’t realise I was holding my breath until I felt dizzy and let it out with a sigh.

I felt hairs falling on my neck, light and ticklish.

Guy clipped another path up the back of my head. He was humming under his breath but I couldn’t make out the song. I closed my eyes and savoured the blades nibbling my hair away.

Then Guy was straightening my head.

I looked in the mirror and caught Karen’s eye. She looked astonished – probably because I wasn’t crying.

Guy pushed my ear forward. Nobody had ever pushed my ear forward before to cut my hair; it was a curiously intimate gesture.

For the first time I saw how short my hair was being cut.

Guy must have put a quarter-inch guard onto the blades, for that’s how short my hair looked after he’d buzzed behind my ear and up to the top. I watched dispassionately as shiny dark locks dropped onto my shoulders.

Then the clippers howled in my ear. I gazed, entranced, as the blades sank into my hair and crept up the side of my head, buzzing away the locks that brushed my cheek. I was left with dark fuzzy felt in place of long, glossy tresses. The blades felt very close to my eyes as Guy clipped my temple. When he’d finished the first side my hair was shorn so close to my head that my ear (well-shaped, flat against my head) looked like it stuck out.

While Guy moved around to the other side of me I turned my head to one side and looked in the mirror. My haircut was so short I could see my skin through it; my hair seemed several shades lighter. And without the heavy weight of my long hair, my head itself felt feather-light.

Now The Demon Barber raced his clippers up behind my other ear, shearing off my hair and tossing it in a clump on my lap. I gazed in the mirror, awestruck, as he brought the clippers to my cheek and buzzed away the remains of my bob.

All that was left was the top. Would I get a cut like Karen’s?

Guy switched the clippers off and changed the guard to a longer one. I waited in anticipation, my bangs hanging over my forehead and long, uneven hair lying on top of my head.

Guy swung the chair around so I couldn’t see myself in the mirror any longer. With a flourish he popped the clippers into life again.

His left hand lifted up my bangs. His right hand – his clipper hand – came closer and closer. I was almost cross eyed watching it approach my hairline.

Then the blades howled, and I felt the clippers move through my hair, tickling as they ploughed across my head. In three swift passes that seemed to last forever, I had lost my bangs.

Guy switched the clippers off and picked up a smaller set, and a comb. Again he came to my forehead and placed the comb horizontally in my clippered hair.

Pop! BZZZZZZZZZZ! The clippers had a higher pitch and crackled when they bit into my hair.

I watched a shower of tiny hairs fall in front of my face, and closed my eyes. The little hairs fell everywhere as my hair was clipped even shorter. Blinded for fear the clippings would get in my eyes, I had to rely on my other senses. Immediately the noise of the electric shears was louder, and I was even more conscious of the warmth of Guy’s fingers so close to my skin.

The comb moved through my hair, and the clippers with it. The top of my head was very sensitive, and I almost squirmed with the tickling sensation. By the time Guy reached the crown, my scalp was tingling.

I opened my eyes as The Demon swung me back to the mirror.

“Oh!” I gasped. I had a flat-top! A super flat flat-top! My hair stood up in a little brush on top of my head. I bent my head forward and could see my scalp through the cropped hair in the middle, where my once crowning glory had been shorn away to almost nothing.

“I haven’t finished yet,” Guy said, watching my reaction. My eyes were huge saucers in my face. The masculine haircut actually suited me very well!

The clippers were still running. Guy steadied the top of my head with one hand. His skin felt hot against mine now there was very little hair left to cover my scalp.

Then the clippers nuzzled my nape again, closer this time. They snarled and snapped as they encountered the short hair at the back of my neck, and clipped it even shorter. I could actually feel the blades against my skin, and realised that The Demon Barber was shaving away some of my hair; not just cutting it. I caught my breath.

Karen gave a squeal. “Lucy! He’s shaving your head!”

“Not completely,” Guy said with a grin I saw in the mirror. It was probably the most comforting thing he’d ever said to a customer in his life. “I’m tapering it.”

I felt the clippers lift away from my head, then attack my nape again. Over and over Guy clipped the back of my head; obviously he had exacting standards. My skin almost burned with sensation as he sheared behind my ears. I realised as he came to the side of my head that he’d clipped and shaved and tapered half way up the back…for he brought the clippers in front of my ears and shaved off the little sideburns he’d left, and clipped away my hair to nothing up above my ears. My skin was almost pure white where my head had been shaved.

My scalp felt cold now and my ears were freezing. As Guy tapered the other side of my head I was glad I’d worn my hat tonight.

Finally, when I felt that I didn’t have much hair left, and was actually making the move from pleasure to nervousness, The Demon Barber put the clippers down.

I heard a swooshing sound and realised he’d pumped some shaving cream from the dispenser. I shuddered as I felt the cream on the back of my neck, and in front of my ears, and gasped as the cold blade of the razor shaved my hairline and nape clean and smooth.

Guy showed me the back of my head in a mirror; it was clipped so short it didn’t look like my head at all. It was a strangely erotic feeling, knowing that my glorious long hair had been shorn away into this sharp haircut. I decided I liked my new look a lot; like Karen, I actually had cheekbones now. God only knew what my parents would think when their seventeen-year-old daughter walked into the house with an almost shaved head, but I’d cope with that later tonight!

Then the cloth cleaned my neck, and the brush dusted my face. The miniscule hairs that had been tickling my nose and cheeks were whisked away. Guy unclipped the cape and took the paper from my sweater.

Released from my hair, I stood up. My legs were trembling. I ran my fingers over my shorn scalp, disbelieving at how little hair there was to encounter. It felt like velvet, like the pelt of an exotic animal.

The floor was covered in our hair – Karen’s fair and wavy, mine dark and straight. It formed a thick mat around the chair, stamped flat where Guy had stood on it while he was clipping our heads. It was hard to believe so much hair came from only two heads.

Karen said: “I don’t know what to think, Lucy. It kinda looks good on you. Even if you CAN see your head through it.”

We paid The Demon Barber. He said to me, “Come back in a fortnight for a touch up if you want to keep it looking good.”

I thought of the clippers against my skin every two weeks, shaving my hair away and felt a rush of heat between my legs. It would be cold through winter, but like I said, I had hats!

At eight thirty precisely we headed back to Simon’s house. Robert had obviously achieved his initiation too, for he arrived the same time we did, clutching, of all things, a woman’s handbag.

“Jeez,” he said, looking at us, “What happened to your hair?”

“Our initiation,” Karen replied, touching her spikes. “We had to go to the Demon Barber.” Embarrassed, she put her hat back on. I hadn’t removed my hat at all – even with the hat on my head was cold without its long hair.

Robert shuddered. He had very glossy hair which he wore in a kind of bob. “Glad I didn’t get that! My initiation was to go down Robson Street downtown and steal a handbag from one of the shops. It had to be worth at least a hundred and fifty. Whaddaya think?”

We inspected the bag. I was astonished to discover it was a Louis Vuitton, and probably cost several hundred dollars.

“Shit!” I exclaimed. “You’re lucky you didn’t get caught! I don’t think I’d have had the guts to do that!” Which must have sounded weird considering we’d both been attacked by The Demon Barber!

We knocked on Simon’s door and waited. Undoubtedly Simon was downloading or chatting or something. It took a couple of minutes for him to answer the door.

Again we made our way to the basement and said hi to the rest of the committee.

“Well?” said Rex. “Did you complete your initations?”

Robert nodded and proudly held up the handbag. Karen and I whipped off our hats with a flourish.

Gabby shrieked and James said, “Shiiiiiit!”

“Oh my GOD!” exclaimed Sarah. “What did you do to your hair?”

Wordlessly I handed over the initiation instructions we had been issued.

Simon groaned. “Oh shit! Oh, shit, shit, shit! I gave each of you the wrong instructions! You girls were only supposed to steal a handbag! Robert was the one who had to go to the Demon Barber! Karen, Lucy, I can’t tell you how sorry I am!”

Karen burst into tears, Robert started laughing, and I shook my shorn, naked head. Needless to say, we were all immediately accepted into Cyboids.

And I wouldn’t have swapped my initiation any day.

The end.


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