Of Leprechauns, Elephants and Barbers by Just_Me

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Of Leprechauns, Elephants and Barbers

I recently went through my old journals, looking for inspiration for a new haircut story. I found a series of entries from March 1993 that I thought would make an interesting story. I will quote some of the entries verbatim, but I suspect I will have to remember the thoughts and feelings of that time and flesh out some of them, so they’ll make sense to you.

March 18
Good morning, diary! I woke up in a great mood, and went to stand in front of the mirror to congratulate myself. I admired my bedhead, thankful that I had enough hair to create a bedhead with.

My first thought was, "Congratulations, you handsome devil! Today is the two-year anniversary of your last attack of "Short Hair Stupidity". You should be proud of yourself. You have had no, none, zero, nadda and zilch hair ‘incidents’ in two years. That’s quite an achievement." I smirked. "At least it’s quite an achievement for you. Maybe not so much for the average Joe."

I got lost in the memory of my last hair "incident". I had fought the demons, but they won, and I wound up in a strange barbershop, and the barber gave me the worst flattop in the history of flattops. My angst over that horrible disaster threw me into a two-week migraine.

I shook the memories of that tragedy away, mentally patted myself on the back and gave a self-satisfied smile. "I think I’ve done it. I think I’ve conquered my hair demons."

I frowned at myself, knowing I had just lied. Honesty made me think, "You don’t think you’ve conquered the demons. You know they are just sleeping, and it wouldn’t take much to wake them up." I steadied my falling spirits with the thought, "You’ll just have to be ultra careful to make sure you do nothing to wake them, and inflame their insatiable appetite for hair."

My next thought was, "I wonder why I fought the demons so hard, instead of just giving into them? I know life with short hair is hard, but I think I would feel more sane if I’d just ‘fessed up to who I am, and what I like, rather than being hypocritical and lying about it. Why did I let my hair grow out? Am I insane?"

I smirked at myself. "You’re definitely insane, old buddy, but so far you’re not criminally insane, or nuts enough to be locked away in an asylum. Your job is to make sure you stay on this side of that line."

I admired my hair in the mirror a little bit more, "Your hair really is amazing. Maybe you should let it get a little longer, and really give the world something to be envious about."

I looked myself in the eye, and gave me a little pep talk. "The urge for short hair has definitely abated, and you’re in charge now. Just pray you can keep it that way." I crossed myself in an automatic reflex.

I started wondering what had made me successful in conquering my demons, and chuckled. A vision of my boss came into my head, along with the thought, "Working for Bill has really helped me overcome my desire for short hair. Seeing how ridiculous he looks with his greasy combover has kinda turned me off short hair." (Bill’s sides weren’t peeled, but they were closely clipped up to the ridiculously low part he had over his right ear. Really long hair went from the low part over his completely bald scalp. He looked like someone had buzzed his head, and then put a really weird mop of greasy string on the top of his head, trying to hide his scalp.)

To make matters worse, he obviously sprayed his few strands of hair with a lot of hairspray. One day we were outside, and the wind lifted his whole combover up, and plopped it right back into place. not a hair moved…

I shuddered, thinking, "His combover just draws more attention to his bald scalp than an overall buzz would. All the oil he put on his few strands of hair makes it even more obvious." I shook my head, and asked the universal question. "How the hell does he not see how ridiculous he looks?"

I smirked when I thought, "Some day I’m going to get brave enough to ask him who cuts his hair. I want to make sure I never visit that barbershop if my demons ever take over again."

Anyway, back to the topic at hand. The desire to get a freakishly short haircut has been greatly curbed. Heck, I am even jacking off to images that aren’t haircut related. Sure, it is still images of men, but it is men with normal length hair, beards and moustaches- -NOT shaved, flattopped, peeled or severely tapered hair…which is HUGE progress for me.

More importantly than not masturbating to images of a short haircut, I have let my beard and hair grow. Modestly keeps me from waxing lyrical about the perfection of my hair and beard, but I have to tell you that my hair is thick, and beautiful. I love the color. It’s a light brown, but the sun bleaches some great blond highlights in.

Thankfully it never turns red in the sun. No offense to anyone with red hair, but I’ve never liked red hair.

My hair is definitely my crowning glory, and it looks so good since I let it get some length to it.

Thinking back over some of my hair incidents made me remember. "Don’t forget, Thomas. Some men look really good with short hair, but you don’t. Any rational mind would tell you that you look better with long hair, no matter what your "urges" tell you."

Diary, I only have one complaint about my hair and beard. I wish my beard was closer in color to my hair, but overall, I’m very pleased with my beard too. I just wish there wasn’t quite so much black in it. It’s really quite a few shades darker than my hair.

I sent a prayer toward Heaven to thank Dad for some awesome beard genes.

March 17, 1993

Happy St. Patrick’s Day, Diary,

It was a fun day. The costume I made was a HUGE hit. [I was a costume design major, and I had made a fabulous, historically-authentic 1750’s coat out of green linen with brocade lapels. The knee britches and a green velvet vest that went with it fit perfectly. I found an awesome hat that I was able to dye to match. I borrowed period shoes from the costume department, and I even got a long clay pipe to round out the look.]

Diary, I may have screwed up this morning. I got a wild hair up my ass, and did something I may regret. After getting dressed, I was enjoying looking at myself in the mirror when I thought, "You’d look a lot more authentic if you’d shave your moustache."

Without thinking, I went and got the clippers out of their hiding place in the garage, and I have to admit, the sound of the clippers made me feel a familiar stirring in the groin. I didn’t give it much thought, and just shaved the moustache, and trimmed the beard fairly deeply, to make me look like the pictures I had collected of leprechauns.

I thought I was pretty convincing as a leprechaun…or as convincing as someone who’s 6’ 2" can be when they’re supposed to be tiny. HA

It was a cool idea, and I got lots of compliments…and a few negative comments, including "Hey, Mr. Lincoln. Going to the theatre tonight?" and "Did you become Amish?"

You know I rarely drink, but I drank a lot of green beer tonight, as well as two Irish coffees and a couple of shots of Irish whiskey. I’m still buzzing pretty hard. I think I’ll go take a leak, and sleep off my drunk.

Good night, ever-faithful friend.

March 18, 1993

Uh-oh…I’m in trouble, dear Diary. I think shaving the moustache loosed my inner demons…well, maybe that, and all the booze I drank last night.

Anyway, it was the weirdest thing. Last night I had a nightmare, and woke up. When I went back to sleep, I went right back into the same dream. This happened, over and over. It got so bad that I got up a little after 5:30, even though I didn’t go to sleep until after 3:00.

In my dream, I walked into a barbershop wearing my leprechaun costume, and an old barber pointed at the chair, and then caped me up.

He muttered a few words. I turned around. "I’m sorry. I didn’t understand you."

"Ach! ‘Tis nothing. Just an old Irish greeting."

Suddenly, a mean-looking leprechaun hopped out of the mirror, and damned near scared me to death.

More and more leprechauns kept popping out of the mirror…dozens and dozens of them. After the last one arrived, the mean-looking one (he was obviously the leader), bowed to the barber. "Fergus Bane and friends at your service. How may I be of assistance to ye?"

The old barber said, "May all the saints be praised. Thank ye kindly for answering my prayer for a wee bit of assistance."

Then he pointed at me.

Fergus (is it proper to call a leprechaun by his first name? I think I will refer to him as Mr. Bane from now on) started snarling at me, "What be the meaning of this? Are ye jesting at the expense of the little folk?"

I was quick to respond with, "No, sir. Many of my ancestors were Irish. I’m celebrating my Irish roots, and honoring the legacy of the leprechaun."

The leader frowned, and growled at me in a hideous voice. "Ye can’t hornswoggle me, ye big gobs**te. ‘Tis knowing I am that you be scoffing at the little folks with your clothes, fancy hat and beard, and I be liking it none at all."

All the leprechauns started dancing around the barber’s chair, chanting some sort of incantation. Magically, the leprechauns got tiny little ropes in their hands, and they wound the ropes around the chair, completely immobilizing me.

After I was bound, the little people turned their attention to the barber. Their incantations became louder, and seemed to erupt out of their little mouths. Whatever they were saying sounded evil, and I was scared.

I watched in horrified fascination as the barber slowly turned into an elephant. The small shop began to magically grow to make room for the elephant, and it quickly doubled in size.

Once the barber was completely transformed, the elephant picked up a pair of clippers in his trunk, and moved the clippers toward my hair.

I started crying, and looked at Mr. Bane, "Please sir, don’t take my hair. You’ll unleash all of my inner demons. I don’t think I can take it."

He gave an evil cackle. "Ye’d rather deal with all the demons in hell than deal with the wrath of little folks that be riled!"

All the other little people took up his cackling, and chills ran down my spine.

I kept pleading. "No, please. I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t cut my hair!"

More mumbo-jumbo made my hair color change into all the brilliant reds and oranges of a spectacular sunset.

Mr. Bane let out another evil cackle. "Ach aye! Pumpkins would wither on their very vines in shame rather than be compared to your glorious hair. Tomatoes would burst, rather than go through the indignity of being seen against your flaming hair. Tis a thing of rare beauty, your hair is."

I started crying, and thought, "The bastards! How dare they?! I loved the color of my hair."

That was just a start, and I had no clue how vindictive the leprechauns were going to be…

Bane nodded to the elephant/barber, and said, "Time it is to clear his noggin. Have a go at it."

Magic made my hat fly off my head, and it hung itself on a nearby hat rack. The elephant/barber picked up a comb, and very gently removed any tangles in my hair. I gave a sigh of relief, and thought, "If he’s combing it maybe it won’t be too bad."

He laid the comb down, and picked up the clippers. The elephant’s trunk brought the clippers closer and closer. I tried to get away, but the leprechauns’ enchanted ropes wouldn’t let me move.

I screamed, "NO, dammit!" when I realized he had clippers with no comb. I was afraid he was going to completely buzz my hair.

My screaming was to no avail. The clippers kept coming, until they were right over my head. Then the elephant turned the clippers on, and took them in circles above my head. The clippers were buzzing like hordes and hordes of bees, hornets and wasps, while he made circle after circle around my head. It was almost as if he collected more bees with each circle. The buzzing got louder and louder.

Diary, you know I’m not scared of much. I’ve rode bucking broncos, faced rabid dogs and jumped out of airplanes. None of that scared me as much as those bee-sounding clippers. To say the sound unleashed an overwhelming terror in me would be a gross understatement. Tears streamed down my face, I was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane and my butt cheeks clenched. I thought I was going to lose control of my bowels.

I don’t know why, but as you well know, my friend, I am petrified of bees, etc…maybe it has to do with the fact I’m allergic to them. All I know is that I would much rather face a raging, stampeding herd of bulls than a single bee.

Anyway, after hovering and buzzing around my head for what seemed like an eternity, the clippers gently landed on my forehead, and slowly made their way back to the crown of my head.

I closed my eyes, refusing to look at what was happening to me. I prayed, "Dear God, please let this be a horrible nightmare, and let me wake up!"

After the clippers reached the back of my head, the elephant trumpeted in delight, obviously liking what he was seeing. I thought, "The old barber must be a real hair-hater."

I opened my eyes just in time to see two years of hair growth fall on the cape. A tear trickled down my cheek, and I felt my anger rise. I looked at Mr. Bane, and started cussing him. "You rat bastard! I hope you burn in hell for this."

Bane grinned at me. "Naught but an evil stepmother would blame ye for saying such a thing…" His eyes turned fiery red. "Nevertheless, I blame ye. Pay for cursing me, ye shall!" He turned to the barber. "Carry on, yon man."

The barber/elephant (or maybe the leprechaun) seemed to know my worst fear. He kept buzzing the top of my head, and it seemed like hours before he turned the clippers off. Occasionally he would trumpet his joy in what he was doing, and the sound was so loud that it was painful.

After he was done with the clippers, his long trunk deftly picked up a straight razor off the counter. Slowly and methodically, he shaved where he had just clipped. I could feel his hands touching bare scalp. My bowels clenched again, and my racing heart made me wonder if it would explode from all the hard work it was doing.

Tears rolled down my face. I knew what he was doing. He had left all the length on the sides. Hair still brushed my shoulders. I thought, "I’m going to look like a red-headed Ben Franklin."

Mr. Bane whistled to the horde of leprechauns, and they started dancing in circles around the chair, while singing at the top of their lungs. They stopped suddenly, and Bane pointed at the mirror. "Look at yerself. Our curse makes certain that bald on top ye shall be from this very day until the day ye die." He started cackling.

I refused to look. He pointed his finger at me, and a stream of what looked like electricity came out of his finger, and landed on my chin. The stream pushed my head into an upright position, no matter how much I struggled against it. I kept my eyes closed. "Open your eyes, boy. See what messing with the little folks has brought upon ye."

Despite my efforts to keep my eyes closed, he somehow managed to get them opened. I saw myself, and the sight made me want to barf. I was completely bald on top. To add insult to injury, my hair was still orange and red.

Tears of rage flooded my cheeks as I thought, "He could’ve given me a glorious flattop, or a magnificent short back and sides. I would have adored a shaved head, but no, he had to inflict shameful MPB on me."

I sighed and thought, "Well, they left my hair long on the side. I could copy Bill if I wanted to." The idea of seeing myself with a combover sent shivers up and down my spine.

I wanted to look away from the mirror, but somehow I couldn’t. The sight of my bald head fascinated me as much as it horrified me.

Diary, like I said, I had variations of this nightmare multiple times in the few hours I slept. In the last dream, Mr. Bane pointed at me, "Och, aye. Since ye want to be a little folk, I have enchanted the elephant. He is going to squishticate ye, and ye shall become one of us."

I was levitated out of the chair and made to stand in the middle of the room. A few garbled phrases from the mass of leprechauns made the elephant start growing, and growing, and growing. Even in my terror, I noticed the barbershop was expanding to accommodate his size.

Mr. Bane gave an evil grin. "Sure, and it will be grand to have ye join us little folks."

I screamed in horror, and the evil leprechaun’s eyes turned red again. "Let’s not be making such a great stramash over such a ‘wee’ thing, shall we?"

When the elephant was tall enough that he could place his foot on my head, he started pushing me toward the floor. All the screaming mass of leprechauns started chanting, and I saw waves of magic coming out of them.

I got a horrible cold sensation as I began to shrink.

Mr. Bane grinned. "TIs thinking I am that ye shall be a mighty handsome little folk. Welcome to our world!"

The elephant kept pushing on my head with his great foot. Ow! The pain! It was intense. It was excruciating. It felt like my stomach was going to explode from all the pressure. I didn’t think I could bear it, but somehow I did.

I woke up in a cold sweat, and figured out why I was in such agony. It was my stomach, but not from the elephant squishticating me. I barely made it to the bathroom before the whiskey and beer came up. I think I sat on the floor with my head hanging in the toilet for twenty minutes or more because I was too sick, and my head was hurting too much to move.

Suddenly cramps made me move. Seconds later, everything else I had consumed came out of the other end in a gush of stink.

I didn’t go back to bed after that, because I was afraid I’d sink back into the nightmare. I called out sick today, and more than once I’ve wished that the damned elephant would come step on my head to stop its throbbing.

After being sick, I stood in front of the mirror and gave myself a talking to. "You’re a f-ing idiot! You know you should never let yourself get drunk. I don’t know if the booze weakens your defenses, or strengthens your haircut demons, but you always do something stupid with your hair after indulging too much."

I felt like I was right. It seemed to me that it was normally fairly quickly after I imbibed too much that I found myself in a strange barber’s chair. I thought, "I’m too sick to process this now. I’ll have to think about that, and see if the correlation is real, or something I made up just now to give me an excuse for having awakened the demons.

Diary, I’m really scared. Was this just a one-of, or have my "urges" taken control again?

I pray it’s just a one-of. God, I don’t not want to go back to that vicious cycle of frantic haircuts, and frenzied searches for explanations as to why I got my hair chopped off, yet again!

Will my dreams return tonight?
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This story is a little off the grid both in the way I presented it, and the topic. I have ideas of ways to continue this story, but I thought I’d see what the response is before putting the work in. Let me know if you think it’s worth the effort.

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