The Style of Karma

Martha's heels clicked against the wet sidewalk. The streetlights grew dim alongside the fog, casting shadows across the vacant street. She was making her way home from a late movie. It had been a long time since Martha had left the perimeters of her home. Now retired, she preferred to stay in the comfort and safety of her old house. What few friends she did have either moved away or passed on. She reminisced as she passed the familiar old shops.

She was surprised to see things hadn't really changed all that much; Harry Blade's Meat Shop, Hue Toner's Hardware Store, and there on the corner was Gaby's Beauty Salon where Martha had spent most of her life as a hairstylist. Memories flooded her as she peered into the window and saw the silhouettes of empty chairs and aging portraits of models decked with outdated hairdos. She had loved being a hairdresser. But it wasn't for the labor of cutting hair; instead it was the perfect outlet for her obsession of gossiping. A devious grin crept onto her face as she recalled an amusing moment she had not thought about for years. Mrs. Sharp had brought in her daughter Sally to have her hair styled the day before her high school prom. While working her art, Martha and another stylist engaged in a gossip session. Martha became so engrossed with the juicy tidbits that she had not noticed she had hacked away Sally's hair. Martha and her co-workers had later learned that Sally was the laughing stock of the prom. Some say she left town the very next day.

The fog glided in, coiling around the street corner, like a snake in pursuit of its prey. Snip-snip echoed from down the street. Martha shivered and quickened her pace. Only one more block and she would be home. Snip-snip-snip. Overcome with panic, Martha began to run. Although it seemed like she was getting nowhere, she found herself at the front steps of her house. As she fumbled with her keys, the grinding metal upon metal echoed behind her. In horror, Martha slowly turned around. Right behind Martha stood Sally Sharp, deathly white, grinning ear to ear, clutching a pair of gigantic black sheers.

Martha bolted up in her bed. It was just a dream, a horrible dream she thought. She felt disorientated and drained. It was a dark in the room, but she could still make out the beige lace curtain that swayed and receded with the breeze. Martha shuffled to her vanity table and reached for the lamp. She stared in the mirror and let out a terrified scream. Her hair had all been hacked off, and on the table laid a pair of very large black scissors.

Learn more about this author, Patricia Travers.
Click here to send author comments or questions.

---

Add your voice

Know something about Short stories: Tales of horror?
We want to hear your view. Write now!