The Ghost of Barber Fred by Gilbert MiltonSnodgrass

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Acquiring the property on E. Partition Street had been a coup for Chad. For years, the location had served as the shop of one Barber Fred, a barber famous for his traditional men’s cuts, with a specialty in flat tops. His #flattopfriday Instagram posts were liked by thousands of people the world over and his books were full for months on end with dozens of eager men to try the classic haircut rendered as only a true expert in his field could do. Despite his numerous tattoos and devil-may-care attitude, Barber Fred took his craft seriously and the men who came in for a cut always left happy, freshly converted to a life of brutal landing strips and crisp, boxy horseshoes. So when the shocking news of Barber Fred’s death was announced, it sent waves of grief through the entire barbering community. Except for Chad.

Ever the opportunist, Chad jumped at the chance of a lifetime. While the online tributes to the legendary barber were still being posted, Chad made an offer on the property where Barber Fred’s shop stood and snapped it right up. After all, Chad had plenty of family money to burn through and what realtor would balk at a cash offer on an expensive property such as this? Before Barber Fred was even cold in the ground, Chad had set to work on remodeling the place and reinventing it in his image.

Chad’s Place was a different kind of shop. Far from the classic barbershop vibe that Barber Fred had worked so hard to instill, Chad’s Place was the latest in the trend of blow out bars that simply specialized in blow drying women’s hair before a night out on the town. None of that razor shave this and classic cut that. This was a luxe experience for women who wanted to be pampered. From the complimentary foot baths to the chilled prosecco, this was more spa than salon, which was fine with Chad anyways. After all, he had never shown any actual skill with cutting hair and was thrilled when this trend took off since he knew he could thrive without ever having to perfect his abilities. Not that his blowouts were even that good but the shi-shi experience would cover up the lack of precision and for his specific clientele, that seemed to work.

Chad was closing up shop after a second successful week when he heard the noise for the first time: a loud buzzing coming from one of the old storage cabinets. He opened it up to find a pair of bright red Wahl 5 Star Series Magic Clip clippers turned on and rattling around on the shelf. These weren’t Chad’s. He would NEVER use clippers on one of his clients. They must be leftover from Barber Fred but… surely the charge would have run out by now. Chad picked up the clippers and grumbled to himself, "Awful brutish instrument!" He took the clippers and tossed them into the dumpster behind the shop. Good riddance! He headed up to the small apartment above the shop he had moved into to prepare his vegan dinner and relax with a new episode of
. He wouldn’t dare miss a single episode.

The next morning, Chad awakened early, a brisk chill running across his head and the remnants of his prosecco hangover muddling his mind. Groggy headed, he rushed into the shower to try and shake the cobwebs loose, carefully avoiding getting his hair wet as his perfect blown-out style was too precise to get wet regularly. As he exited the shower, the bathroom thick with steam, he noticed something shocking. On the sink counter lay the bright red Wahl 5 Star Series Magic Clip clippers he had chucked in the garbage last night. Chad jumped. What were they doing here? He felt his heart racing and as he wiped the steam away from the mirror, he nearly fainted.

Where once had been long layers of luscious locks, Chad’s head was now adorned with a crisp and extremely boxy flat top haircut. The sides were shorned to precision and the top was flat and level enough to hang a picture by! Tears filled Chad’s eyes. He couldn’t understand what had happened! Years of growing out his hair and treating it precisely all down the drain in one night! Now he looked like one of Barber Fred’s loyal and obedient flat top boys… and he hated it!

He snapped out of his sorrow as loud noises began blaring from his television. He ran out of the bathroom, the full glory of his well-maintained physique on display, to see the opening moments of the 1985 classic
on the screen. He groaned and turned the TV off. He would never watch something like that! In fact, the only person he knew that really liked the film was… Barber Fred! From the many times that Chad had hate-watched Barber Fred’s Instagram stories, he knew that it was Barber Fred’s favorite film. But why was it playing on the TV? And why had Barber Fred’s clippers mysteriously appeared in his house and reduced Chad’s luxurious coif to this retro paragon of squared-off masculinity!? Unless…

"G-g-g-ghost!?" Chad stammered. But no, that would have to be impossible. There was no way that the ghost of Barber Fred was haunting this place and had cut Chad’s hair off in the middle of the night… or was there? Before Chad could even contemplate this metaphysical quandary, his phone began to ding. He looked in confusion at the screen as he saw glimpses of notifications that read "WOOF" and "GOOD BOY" before he unlocked the phone and gasped in horror.

Right there on his main page, he had posted a full eight-shot series of his brand new flat top on Instagram. The post had already been liked thousands of times and shared dozens more. Several popular flat top accounts had reposted it to their followers and Chad’s inbox was filling up with lewd messages from all kinds of strange faceless profiles! They called him "good boy" and told him he would "never have anything but a flat top ever again." This was wild! Just because he had a flat top these men felt comfortable messaging him all these controlling things? The worst part of all was that Chad sort of liked it. His groin stirred reading all these dominating messages. But no! Chad couldn’t enjoy this sensation! It was kinky and strange and Chad prided himself on being vanilla and assimilationist! One particularly perplexing message came through from a user called MILITARYFELTPELT that read, "Good boy ! You look,, much better wit yor flattop next time will be a nice BRUTAL horseshoe ,,." Chad threw his phone across the apartment and collapsed in a heap on the floor.

Chad dreaded opening the shop on Monday morning and hearing the reactions from his usual clientele, and he was right to be worried. Most of his clients just laughed at his haircut and asked why he had f***ed up such a perfect head of hair. A few clients saw his new flat top, gasped, and walked right out the door. After all, how could they trust someone with such a retro boxy haircut to give them the soft coiffed hair they so desperately wanted? After a brutal day in the shop, he headed back upstairs and cried himself to sleep.

At the crack of dawn, a loud buzzing noise awakened Chad from his slumber. He didn’t have his contacts in so he grabbed the thick clunky glasses he had on the bed side table. Lord, he hated how dorky he looked in these glasses and he was so glad he could just wear contacts every day. But as everything came into focus, Chad was filled with dread. In his bed next to him were the clippers, vibrating loudly with a life of their own! And all over his pillows were tiny little strands of hair. Had he cut it again? Had… the ghost done it?

He bolted into the bathroom and nearly cried when he saw his reflection. The first flattop had been bad enough but now Chad was decked out with a brutal horseshoe flattop. A large glistening landing strip topped his head as the bare flesh shone bright and pale. The sides had been brought in even tighter and what little hair he had left on top stuck up at a stiff and waxy 90 degree angle. Chad had only seen flattops this brutal on Barber Fred’s page or in old pictures from the 1950s. And now, he looked like the flat top poster boy. But this was just the start of his problems.

As his phone started dinging again, Chad felt his stomach sink as he checked the notifications. Another 8-shot spread of his new brutal horseshoe had been posted on his instagram and again the unwarranted messages and comments were rolling in. But the most shocking of all was an exchange between him and @MILITARYVELVETPELT. What had started with @MILITARYVELVETPELT calling Chad a "good , obedent boyy [sic]" had progressed into an ongoing exchange where Chad thanked him for calling him that and expressed desire to be the stranger’s obedient little flat top slut. Chad couldn’t believe he would ever say anything like that but the messages were there, laid bare in front of him! A mysterious laugh rang out through Chad’s apartment.

The ghost!

Had the ghost cut his hair again last night? Did it take all these pictures of Chad’s new haircut and post them on the internet? Had it possessed him and made him send all these submissive messages to a strange faceless profile on Instagram? How could he make this torment end!?

Chad wiped a tear from his eye as his alarm went off. S**t! He had to get showered and get down to the shop to open. He threw off his glasses, put in his contacts, and got ready for the long day of work. He grabbed his purposely distressed jeans, an Opening Ceremony t-shirt, and his designer sneakers and headed downstairs.

As stressed as Chad was, there was a bright spot in his day. His 3pm was Lynda with a Y, a long time client who Chad considered a good friend at this point, even though he hated everything about her. Lynda with a Y just laughed as she walked in and saw Chad’s new ‘do.

"I saw you had tried something new," she chuckled as he took his glass of complimentary prosecco and sat in Chad’s chair.

"Yeah I, uh, figured I would shake things up, but I don’t really like it that much," he said.

"Well then why did you post so many pictures of it and caption it with like 40 different hashtags and tag all these different flat top accounts in the picture?" asked Lynda with a Y.

"Oh well, you know," stammered Chad, "90% of hairstyling these days is hashtagging so uh, even if you don’t like it, you still have to promote it! After all, what good is a hairdresser if he doesn’t advertise on Instagram?" Lynda with a Y just rolled her eyes and took a long sip of prosecco.

"Mhmm."

Halfway through Lynda with a Y’s haircut, Chad had to run into the back to get some styling product. As he rifled through the storage cabinet, he gasped. There on the shelf were the bright red Wahl clippers. A gentle laugh run out in Chad’s ear--just like the laugh from earlier in the morning--and he felt suddenly woozy and lightheaded, as if he was having an out-of-body experience.

The next thing he knew, Chad was being chewed out by Lynda with a Y.

"What the ever living f*** were you thinking, huh? You think because you look like this that everyone just wants to look like this???" he yelled. Chad snapped to it and gasped in horror as he looked at his favorite client. The glaring strip of flesh from the landing strip of Lynda with a Y’s fresh horseshoe taunted him. He had given his most reliable customer--a women well known for her fabulous blowouts--the same brutal haircut that he currently sported and she was understandably furious.

"Do you know how many followers I have on Instagram? How much Yelp clout I have?? If you think for one moment I’m going to let this slide, well you’ve got another thing coming!"

"I’m so so sorry," Chad said, so weak he could barely speak. What had happened? What force had possessed him to do this? "Of course you don’t have to pay for this…"

"Pay for this? Of course I’m not going to pay for this! But you know who is? You are! Oh you’re going to pay BIG TIME!" Lynda with two Y’s cackled as she pulled out her phone and started furiously tweeting. "You won’t be seeing me or my money ever again!" The angry woman grabbed a bottle of prosecco and stormed out the door.

Chad slumped into his chair and sighed. This was not good. Lynda with two Y’s had enough clout to fully sink his business. In fact, over the course of the day, most of Chad’s clients no-showed. Hell hath no wrath like a homosexual scorned.

The next day was even worse. Chad sat and waited in an empty shop as his clients simply refused to show. He had one walk in at noon who saw his haircut and immediately turned to leave. He began to cry. At this rate, his business would go under in no time. He decided to close up shop early but as he went to flip the sign, an imposing figure barged in.

He was an older man, in his mid 50s, and he towered over Chad’s modest 5’10" frame. He wore a much-distressed leather jacket, skintight black jeans, and Doc Marten’s. And atop his head was a brutally precise silver flat top with slicked fenders held in place by an abundance of wax. A large but well manicured beard framed his face perfectly. He removed his aviators and Chad suddenly became aware of the man’s overpowering cigar scent.

"You’re Chad, right?" the man said with a wicked smile as he walked over to the windows and pulled the blinds shut.

"I am and this is my shop. What are you doing?

"You may know me better by my online handle," the man said with a grin. "I’m @MILITARYVELVETPELT, and you’re my boy now."

"Your… boy? I don’t think so!" Chad scoffed.

"Well you were begging for it last night," the man said. "You wanted me to take you over, control your life, and keep you in a flat top every day."

"I would never say that!" Chad exclaimed.

"Check your DMs," the man said as he closed the final set of blinds. Chad pulled out his phone and scrolled through their conversation. He felt humiliated. He had sent @MILITARYVELVETPELT dozens and dozens of compromising photos, had practically begged him to dominate him in "ways he had never felt before," and swore that he wanted to be his good flat top boy forever. But that wasn’t even the worst part, oh no. Whatever had possessed Chad last night had promised to give @MILITARYVELVETPELT complete ownership over not only him, but the shop as well.

"Listen, Mr. @MILITARYVELVETPELT, I know I said some things last night but I didn’t mean them! You can’t just show up and act like you own this place." With that, @MILITARYVELVETPELT just laughed.

"That’s where you’re wrong, boy, and you will address me as FATHER" he said as he pulled some papers out of his jacket and showed them to Chad. They were a transfership of property, giving @MILITARYVELVETPELT complete ownership of the property on E. Partition Street. "You faxed these over to me last night. You didn’t even put up a fight. Sure, you complained about having to find a fax machine and asked if you could just email things over, but that’s not how we did things in my generation. You’re going to learn how to respect the old way of doing things, and that includes using a fax machine."

"You came all this way to dom me into using a fax machine?" Without even a reaction, @MILITARYVELVETPELT slapped Chad across the face.

"You came all this way to dom me into using a fax machine,
!" he corrected. "And I’m here to teach you more than that. On your knees, boy." Chad just scoffed but felt something ghostly kick him in the back of the knee and he collapsed to the ground. "That’s better, boy."

@MILITARYVELVETPELT unzipped his jeans and pulled out his thick, sweaty member. He reached out for Chad’s head, grabbing him by his ears and pulling him in close. Chad wanted to fight, but he felt himself overtaken by some otherworldly force. He couldn’t help himself. He opened wide and began sucking the man’s thick penis with an absolute fervor. @MILITARYVELVETPELT grunted in traditionally masculine pleasure as he rubbed Chad’s landing strip.

"Stop!" he barked as he pulled out of Chad’s mouth. "This isn’t going to do." He snapped his fingers at Chad’s chair and Chad helplessly sat in the barber seat.

"We’re going to do this right," said the man as he grabbed some Barbisol shaving cream from his bag and began to lather up Chad’s landing strip. @MILITARYVELVETPELT pulled a straight razor from his jacket pocket and ran the sharp blade across Chad’s skull. It felt more intense than anything Chad had ever experienced and he quivered in unwanted but undeniable pleasure. When he had finished, @MILITARYVELVETPELT wiped the remainder of the shaving cream from Chad’s head and ran his finger along the smooth velvety surface.

"Much better," he grinned as he pulled his dick back out and shoved it down Chad’s throat. Chad had never experienced a face f***ing quite so intense. The man’s dick was so big, Chad could barely breathe, but everytime the silver-haired man rubbed his hand down Chad’s razor-tight landing strip, they both moaned in ecstasy. Finally, the man was ready to erupt and he pulled his spitcovered cock from Chad’s eager mouth and sprayed a heavy load of thick cum all over the boy’s landing strip as he roared in pleasure. The man sighed and took Chad’s chin in his hands and kissed him.

"Good boy," he said. "Now you need to get upstairs, unpack my bags, and make me something to eat. A steak!"

"I don’t eat meat," Chad protested.

"I just
you eat meat," the man laughed. "And now you’re going to make me some. A steak. Rare." He slapped Chad on the ass and followed him up to the apartment.

Chad had been forced to run to the nearby Whole Foods that had replaced all the local groceries and pick up an extremely expensive steak for @MILITARYVELVETPELT, or rather "Father" as he had been reminded numerous times with a stern word and a leathery palm across the face. Father had even forced Chad to eat some of the steak which had upset his stomach but that didn’t stop Father from subjecting him to another brutal facef***ing before pulling out and spraying all over the boy’s flat top again.

Chad slept surprisingly well considering the traumatic events of the day and the fact that a 6’6" man who reeked of cigar smoke now took up most of the bed. But he slept so peacefully, almost as if another person was in control of his body. He awoke at 6am after hearing that familiar laugh and got dressed for the day.

After a couple of hours of waiting for anyone to show up at his shop, Chad was relieved when two people entered the blow-out bar. But his relief turned to dread when he realized the two clients were also older men with flat tops.

"We’re here to see David," they said.

"Who?" asked Chad.

"They’re here for me," said @MILITARYVELVETPELT as he brushed past Chad and embraced the two men. "He doesn’t know me as David. He just calls me Father."

"Oh I bet he does," laughed one of the men as he walked up to Chad and rubbed his landing strip. "You’re a good boy, aren’t you?"

"Not yet," said @MILITARYVELVETPELT. "But he will be." The three men laughed heartily, the heavy stench of cigars wafting from them. "Now, how about you bring the furniture in the back?"

The two flattopped men left.

"What furniture?" asked Chad.

"Well, Chad my boy, I think it’s pretty clear your future as a hair stylist is over and, since this shop belongs to me now, I’m gonna turn it into a cigar bar for me and my friends to hang out in."

Chad wanted to protest but instead his mouth opened and he said "Very good idea, Father." The voice didn’t even sound like his.

"Now why don’t you go out back and help those two very fine men load everything in."

Chad spent the rest of the afternoon helping @MILITARYVELVETPELT and his two friends bring in new furniture. It was all beautiful vintage leather seating, deep greens and maroons, dark masculine colors. All things that Chad loathed but was powerless to do anything about as they filled his former shop.

The next few days were brutal for Chad. Father and his friends completely remodeled the shop into a manly spot with lots of dark corners, plenty of humidors, and deeply tinted windows to keep the goings-on a mystery from the outside world. Every night, the men would shave Chad’s landing strip back down to the skin and take turns using his mouth before unloading on his freshly shorn scalp. At the end of the week, just as Chad had finished another long and brutal day of painting the shop its new black interior, @MILITARYVELVETPELT pulled him out onto the street.

Chad was immediately filled with shame as he noticed all the passers-by gawking at these two men in flat tops in such close quarters. He really stuck out like a sore thumb now and being seen with @MILITARYVELVETPELT just made him feel more self-conscious about his brutal haircut.

"Look boy!" the older man said as he tilted Chad’s head upwards. Chad choked back tears. The signage had been changed. No longer was this spot called Chad’s Place. It was now Dad’s Place.

"And I’m the Dad!" smirked @MILITARYVELVETPELT as he pulled Chad back inside for another session of facef***ing.

That night, the shop filled up with dozens of older, giant men with a variety of flat tops. Brutal military horseshoes like the one Chad was stuck with, big greasy flat top boogies like the one Father sported, and everything in between. Chad sulked in the corner.

"What’s the matter, boy?" asked Father.

"You took everything from me!" Chad screamed. "What am I supposed to do now?"

@MILITARYVELVETPELT looked at the sulking boy and laughed.

"Oh there’s still a place for you here, boy," he said as he handed Chad a large black case. He snapped open the case and found a large tin of black shoe polish and a brush.

"What is this?" Chad asked.

"It’s a shoeshine kit, boy. My clientele expects a certain level of polish, figuratively and literally. You’re going to be my new shoeshine boy."

Chad wanted to fight. He wanted to scream. But that otherworldly presence took him over again and he found himself falling to his knees and pulling the brush from the case as he began to work over Father’s boots. He sat there, close to the ground, the thick smoke of the cigars making him cough as he polished this dominant man’s boots. Finally, he could see his reflection in the boots, his squared away head staring back at him, tears in his eyes from all the smoke.

"What’s the matter, boy?" asked @MILITARYVELVETPELT. "You crying?"

"It’s all this nasty smoke. It irritates my contacts!"

"Well, we ain’t gonna stop smoking!" said @MILITARYVELVETPELT as he blew a thick cloud of smoke into Chad’s face. "So I guess you need to stop wearing contacts. Why don’t you run upstairs and get those birth control glasses you keep on your bedside table?" A few of the men in the shop erupted in laughter as @MILITARYVELVETPELT demeaned Chad but the dejected boy had no choice but to go upstairs, take his contacts out, and put those clunky black framed glasses on. He hated how he looked in his thick glasses, how small his eyes looked behind the coke bottle lenses. He looked meek. But then, he was meek now. His confidence had been drained by this man from the internet. And now all he could do was serve him.

He shuffled back downstairs and entered the cigar shop and the men began to hoot and holler at him.

"Look at lil jughead with his nerd glasses!" laughed one big man with a horseshoe flat and giant belly.

"Doesn’t he look like a goody two shoes!?" bellowed another.

"Not quite," said one of the men who had helped remodel the shop. He walked up to Chad and pulled something from his pocket and attached it to Chad’s glasses. With a snap, Chad felt something pressing against the back of his head.

"There you go, a nice heavy elastic strap!" the man laughed. "After all, as a shoeshine boy, you’re going to spend a lot of time with your head down and we don’t want these glasses to slide off your head."

With that, the shop erupted once more into raucous laughter.

"You can really see the strap against those white walls!" yelled one man. @MILITARYVELVETPELT walked up to Chad and snapped the strap harshly against his head.

"You look much much better son," he said. "Except…"

"Except what?" asked Chad with a sense of dread.

"What kind of shoeshine boy dresses like this?" he said. The shop began to boo Chad and throw things at him.

"It’s disrespectful!" yelled one man.

"Back in my day, shoeshine boys dressed with some class!"

"And they all knew how to use a fax machine!"

With that, @MILITARYVELVETPELT pulled Chad into a headlock and gave him a brutal noogie right down his landing strip.

"Did you hear that boy? The clients think you need a more professional look, and the client is always right!"

"But these are designer…" Chad blurted out as @MILITARYVELVETPELT took his strong meaty hands and ripped Chad’s shirt off. Chad winced and Father moved down and removed his pants before tearing them apart from the pre-distressed holes.

"I’ve got just the thing for you." He pulled Chad into the back room as the men began cheering and snapping pictures of the humiliated hairdresser in his skivvies. @MILITARYVELVETPELT made Chad stand perfectly still as he began dressing him. Chad was furious, he wanted to fight back, but he found himself unable to. Whatever had possessed him was mostly in control and it seemed to be enjoying this! @@MILITARYVELVETPELT’s strong hands moved up and down Chad’s body, pulling him into a pair of pants, buttoning a shirt all the way up, fastening something around his neck, and sliding something over his torso.

"Oh this is much better. The guys are going to love this!" He marched Chad back out to the shop and for a moment, it was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Then the cheering started!

"He looks incredible!"

"Now that’s a good old fashioned shoe shine boy!"

"Finally, he’s dressed respectably!"

Chad could feel himself blushing and desperately tried to find a mirror to catch his own reflection, but there were none to be found. @@MILITARYVELVETPELT pulled Chad’s phone out and snapped a picture before typing furiously.

"Here you go!" He handed the phone back to Chad and Chad nearly fainted when he saw was what was on his screen. @@MILITARYVELVETPELT had posted a picture to Chad’s Instagram in his new outfit. The picture showed Chad, but he looked totally different. His brutal flat top looked extra flat in the picture, with a nice bit of scalp showing through the landing strip. His ears had turned red from shame and looked extra large courtesy of the extremely short haircut. His eyes looked tiny and watery behind the thick lenses of the clunky black plastic frames. But the outfit… the outfit was the worst. Whereas Chad had always been a fashion plate, now he looked like something straight out of the 1950s. A large black bowtie sat around his neck, peeking out from the collar of his starched white shirt. A grey and blue argyle sweater vest covered up his torso and any hint of Chad’s muscular body. A pair of black highwater slacks adorned his legs, topped off with a pair of bright white socks and extremely shiny black penny loafers. He looked like a total nerd.

"You look like a total nerd!" yelled one of the men.

Chad stared in horror at the instagram post as he read the caption: "Finaly starting my dream jobat Dads’ Place! I am now Chadwick the Shoe Shine Boy please com eon by and I will shine yuor shoes,, !!" And to add insult to injury, Father had changed his Instagram handle to @CHADWICKTHEFLATTOPPEDSHOESHINEBOY.

"You’re going to wear this every day, whether at work or at home. Now, don’t you think you need to get to work?" @MILITARYVELVETPELT whispered in Chadwick’s ear. He shoved the boy towards the eager crowd and set him to work. Chadwick wanted to fight back, but he found himself powerless. He went from man to man, shining their shoes, as they rubbed their big hands on his smooth landing strip, and rubbing the bristles of his hair. Every time he completed a set of shoes, he was forced to look at his embarrassing, nerdy, flattopped appearance and he blushed. After staring at Chadwick’s brutal shoe as he polished their boots, the men would "tip him" by pulling out their dicks and letting Chadwick polish something more than their shoes. And almost without fail, they would pull out at the very last moment, spray all over Chadwick’s hair, and rub it into his flat top to dry before sending him to the next man in need of a shoe shine and some extra service.

It was like this every night from then on out. Chadwick would report to the cigar shop an hour before opening so that Father could freshy shave his landing strip and ensure that the horseshoe was perfectly crisp. And then began another shift of shining these brutal men’s shoes, being used and abused as they rubbed his flat top, gave him noogies, and laughed in his face.

One night, after sending some faxes, Chadwick returned to the front of the shop. Father was sitting with another flattopped friend of his as he beckoned Chadwick to come kneel at his feet and start polishing his boots. As Chadwick worked, Father rubbed the boy’s landing strip.

"This place looks so familiar," Father’s friend noticed.

"It’s the old Barber Fred spot!" laughed Father. "Funny story, Chadwick here tried to turn it into a blow out bar but that just didn’t work out, did it boy? Nope, now he’s got a brighter future as a good old-fashioned cleancut shoeshine boy!" The two men roared with laughter as they blew cigar smoke into Chadwick’s face.

"I always liked that Barber Fred," opined Father. "And I could tell he liked me back. I should have taken advantage of that when I had the chance. But now, it’s almost like Chadwick is fulfilling that destiny for him."

Chadwick gulped as he felt ghostly fingers rub the bristles of his head as he heard that familiar laugh once again. The ghost of Barber Fred had not only gotten revenge, but was also using Chadwick’s body to fulfill his wildest fantasies. Chadwick was powerless to resist. All he could do was stare at his embarrassing reflection in Father’s boots as he felt another of Father’s loads spray across his flat top. He heard the sound of a phone camera going off as Father took a picture of his cum on Chadwick’s landing strip before posting it to Chadwick’s Instagram. The account had swelled with popularity after Father began posting regular pictures of Chadwick’s new appearance, his perfect flat top, and the ways that the different men had used it. After all, what good was a shoeshine boy if he didn’t advertise on Instagram?

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