HorrorHead
04-07-2009, 10:16 PM
At the age of twenty-one Dave Grotowski was not, unlike a large number of his friends and colleagues, interested in growing a beard. He observed with distaste his friends’ attempts to cultivate the sparse growths that could be persuaded to take root on their faces, spending far too much time comparing notes and sizes when there were more profitable pastimes to be engaged in. He thought that as a rule they looked scruffy and altogether too much work to be bothered with. So he wasn’t exactly pleased when he awoke one fine May morning to discover that a scrubby, spiky little goatee beard had sprouted on his face over night. Confused but not pleased.
Dave was not what you would call a morning person and the process that was begun by a brilliant sunbeam creeping across his face, a process that normally would have taken at least five luxurious and lazy minutes of stretching, yawning, grunting and otherwise avoiding the tedious transition to ‘awake’ was interrupted as his hand passed over the unusual growth on his chin. There was a moment of stillness followed by a tentative exploration.
Springing from the bed, he dashed for the bathroom. What he saw in the mirror was as unmistakable as it was inexplicable. Spiky and sparse, it nonetheless represented at least two weeks of growth. Stranger still was the colour – a dark brown with glints of green where the light caught it. Dave was very blonde. He had seen other blondes with beards that didn’t match their hair but they were generally a pale ginger or brown colour. But greenish brown? The hair itself was spiky and stiff, unwilling to give way to his questing fingers.
Dave pinched himself but the beard was still there when he checked. He pinched himself again as hard as he could but it only bought tears to his eyes. This was no dream. Dave peered at his reflection for a moment and then sighed. It was too early in the day for him to consider the implications too deeply. It was too early period. The only fact he could focus on was that he had a beard that he didn’t want and there was only one way to resolve that particular problem.
When the razor made contact for the first stroke Dave felt a sense of satisfaction. He may not have been able to understand or explain what had happened but at least he was taking control of the situation. When the pain hit him he shrieked more out of surprise than anything else. He hurried to inspect his reflection but there was no blood. Tentatively he tried again.
This was an agony that he had never experienced before. It was as if each hair was a limb. He had only cut half a dozen hairs, but the razor dropped to the floor from numb fingers as he struggled to remain upright on knees that would no longer support him. A white haze filled his vision and he tried desperately to hold onto the sink. The haze faded to reveal a pale green version of his face. He threw up without warning just as his knees finally buckled.
It seemed that the beard had no intention of being removed. What a stupid idea, he thought as consciousness slipped away, like a beard has feelings.
----
He spent the rest of the day in a dull haze that had a hallucinatory quality to it. He half expected strangers to stop and point at him as he made his way across campus and when they didn’t his sense of unreality only deepened. How could they not notice this strange, this alien growth on his face? His friends and classmates did him the courtesy of noticing the beard but instead of asking how it could have grown so quickly they admired its thickness and length with varying degrees of envy.
It was a long day and after three classes where the same response was repeated Dave felt like he had woken into an alternative reality where everything that was familiar had been turned inside out in some inscrutable fashion. His legs carried him from one location to another without any conscious instruction from his brain, which was just as well since he wasn’t capable of any real degree of concentration. He had never felt so trapped inside his own head, so completely disconnected from everything else. Over and over he resisted the temptation to simply believe that this was all a dream and that he would wake up any moment now.
When he got back to his flat he went straight to the bathroom. The beard was still there. He glared at its reflection, feeling that somehow it was mocking him. Was it his imagination or was it noticeably longer? He eyed the razor but images of vomiting over himself swam into his mind’s eye. He left the bathroom feeling that a battle had been lost, although he had no idea what the war was about.
----
Over the following week Dave was able to regain some of his sense of normality although it required a little effort and a few changed habits. Hardest of all was simply learning not to spend all of his time obsessing over the beard. He went to classes, took notes, ate, slept and drank with his friends. He maintained his daily routines as much as possible but avoided spending too much time around mirrors as he didn’t care for the stranger he saw in the reflections.
He found that the beard didn’t bother him too much so long as he didn’t try to cut it off. However he quickly found that the beard required him to wash his face far more often – it didn’t matter how carefully he ate or drank, something of what he ate would always end up stuck in the beard. Not on it, in it. He tried everything he could think of to avoid it, even covering his chin with one hand as he ate, but to no avail. He had to wash two or three times after every meal to get the detritus out of the beard which seemed reluctant to let go of the food. The beard grew longer slowly but noticeably day by day and by the end of the week some of its sparseness had begun to fill out.
His friends didn’t bother to conceal their growing jealousy of Dave’s prodigious growth, which was embarrassing enough, but by the end of the week they began surreptitiously enquiring how he managed it and how he planned on styling the beard now that it had filled out. Dave for his part had no answer for their questions. He had never even considered growing a beard before, never mind thinking of what he might do with one. He simply answered their enquiries with a shrug.
At the end of the second week Dave realised that the green highlights had faded from the beard. That was as much a mystery as anything else but at least it looked something like normal hair. He carefully avoided thinking that it now resembled human hair; not his hair of course but something that might be found on the average human rather than, say, a rock. He spent a lot of time not thinking about lichen and how it changes colour during a drought, appearing dead when it is in fact just dormant. He didn’t know why these thoughts tried to find their way into his mind but he decided it was best just to avoid them nonetheless.
More time passed and the beard grew in length steadily but only very slowly spread out across his cheeks. The moustache seemed to form a trough as it ran down either side of his mouth so that it was virtually impossible to drink without spilling at least a little. On occasions when Dave hastily attempted to wipe his face he invariably found the moustache curling into the corners of his mouth, the tips pricking at his tongue, as if it was chasing every last drop of moisture. The experience left him feeling invaded by his own face.
The length of the beard now prevented him from keeping it completely free of food regardless of how much he washed. At first he was dismayed at the thought of crumbs and scraps rotting away so close to his mouth. Until he noticed that the scraps were disappearing of their own accord, absorbed into the beard itself it seemed. After that he stopped trying to clean the beard. Its growth speeded up noticeably and at night, lying sleepless in bed as he pondered the problem, he fancied that he could feel the beard moving, waving in the night air as if sniffing.
The beard began to lighten from a rich brown, displaying hints of red that at least made it look more natural on his face. In more extreme moments he suspected that it was trying to adapt, camouflaging itself. The beard became bolder, actually snatching bits of food from his fork before it ever reached his mouth. It seemed particularly fond of bacon for some reason.
----
The beard had a side effect that Dave had not anticipated. It attracted more than the envious attention of friends and colleagues. By the time the beard extended four or five inches below his chin he found women, complete strangers, accosting him to admire the beard. It fascinated them in an inscrutable fashion, even women who admitted that beards normally repulsed them. They seemed to think of it as some kind of pet that just happened to live on his face. Invariably they wanted stoke it. Although completely surprised by this reaction he was nonetheless happy to accept the attention at first. Women so rarely noticed him.
But then the beard began to make a sound not unlike a purr when it was stroked. Sometimes thought he could feel it trying to twist its way between the fingers of its admirers. Naturally women thought he was making the sound to amuse them and he wasn’t about to shatter their illusions, but still this development alarmed him more than all of the previous strangeness combined. He began to shun the admirers, giving whatever excuse he could think of, but his reluctance only seemed to enflame their curiosity.
Dave became something of a recluse, scurrying to and from lessons as quickly as he could. He shunned all female company and only reluctantly entertained his friends. But human nature is not meant to exist in a vacuum. One night, depressed beyond his ability to cope, Dave allowed his friends to coax him out to the pub for the evening. He insisted on sitting in the darkest and most remote corner and slowly, as he realised that he wasn’t going to be harassed by strangers, he began to relax.
The drinks continued to flow and later Dave had only the vaguest of recollections. She was blonde and her name was Gill. She didn’t pay more than cursory attention to the beard, seeming more interested in Dave himself. He was aware that his friends had receded, leaving him in Gill’s care. He was happier than he’d been in months; for the first time he felt something like a normal person. His coherent memories ended in his bedroom; the last was Gill’s comment about how the beard was tickling her.
He awoke the next morning, naked and alone. The room was a mess, Gill’s clothes scattered across the room along with his own. He searched the flat but found no sign of her. In the bathroom, however, he found another shock. The beard had grown again, prodigiously. It was at least six inches longer and had now spread to the tops of his cheeks. A fringe of new growth lined his chin. The beard was now a rich auburn colour. He never saw Gill again.
----
He stopped attending classes, shunned his friends and otherwise avoided all human company. But loneliness is a very human affliction. Deep in his heart, Dave new that he couldn’t live as a hermit forever. He tried to slash his wrists in a fit of despair, but as soon as he tried to harm him self the pain struck him into unconsciousness again.
There was nothing he could do but wait and try to restrain himself as long as possible. But unlike the beard, he was only human.
----
By the time the last of the leaves had fallen, Dave’s beard reached down to his belt. It waved as though blown by a breeze constantly, even on the stillest of days, and was now a bright, vivid crimson.
Dave was not what you would call a morning person and the process that was begun by a brilliant sunbeam creeping across his face, a process that normally would have taken at least five luxurious and lazy minutes of stretching, yawning, grunting and otherwise avoiding the tedious transition to ‘awake’ was interrupted as his hand passed over the unusual growth on his chin. There was a moment of stillness followed by a tentative exploration.
Springing from the bed, he dashed for the bathroom. What he saw in the mirror was as unmistakable as it was inexplicable. Spiky and sparse, it nonetheless represented at least two weeks of growth. Stranger still was the colour – a dark brown with glints of green where the light caught it. Dave was very blonde. He had seen other blondes with beards that didn’t match their hair but they were generally a pale ginger or brown colour. But greenish brown? The hair itself was spiky and stiff, unwilling to give way to his questing fingers.
Dave pinched himself but the beard was still there when he checked. He pinched himself again as hard as he could but it only bought tears to his eyes. This was no dream. Dave peered at his reflection for a moment and then sighed. It was too early in the day for him to consider the implications too deeply. It was too early period. The only fact he could focus on was that he had a beard that he didn’t want and there was only one way to resolve that particular problem.
When the razor made contact for the first stroke Dave felt a sense of satisfaction. He may not have been able to understand or explain what had happened but at least he was taking control of the situation. When the pain hit him he shrieked more out of surprise than anything else. He hurried to inspect his reflection but there was no blood. Tentatively he tried again.
This was an agony that he had never experienced before. It was as if each hair was a limb. He had only cut half a dozen hairs, but the razor dropped to the floor from numb fingers as he struggled to remain upright on knees that would no longer support him. A white haze filled his vision and he tried desperately to hold onto the sink. The haze faded to reveal a pale green version of his face. He threw up without warning just as his knees finally buckled.
It seemed that the beard had no intention of being removed. What a stupid idea, he thought as consciousness slipped away, like a beard has feelings.
----
He spent the rest of the day in a dull haze that had a hallucinatory quality to it. He half expected strangers to stop and point at him as he made his way across campus and when they didn’t his sense of unreality only deepened. How could they not notice this strange, this alien growth on his face? His friends and classmates did him the courtesy of noticing the beard but instead of asking how it could have grown so quickly they admired its thickness and length with varying degrees of envy.
It was a long day and after three classes where the same response was repeated Dave felt like he had woken into an alternative reality where everything that was familiar had been turned inside out in some inscrutable fashion. His legs carried him from one location to another without any conscious instruction from his brain, which was just as well since he wasn’t capable of any real degree of concentration. He had never felt so trapped inside his own head, so completely disconnected from everything else. Over and over he resisted the temptation to simply believe that this was all a dream and that he would wake up any moment now.
When he got back to his flat he went straight to the bathroom. The beard was still there. He glared at its reflection, feeling that somehow it was mocking him. Was it his imagination or was it noticeably longer? He eyed the razor but images of vomiting over himself swam into his mind’s eye. He left the bathroom feeling that a battle had been lost, although he had no idea what the war was about.
----
Over the following week Dave was able to regain some of his sense of normality although it required a little effort and a few changed habits. Hardest of all was simply learning not to spend all of his time obsessing over the beard. He went to classes, took notes, ate, slept and drank with his friends. He maintained his daily routines as much as possible but avoided spending too much time around mirrors as he didn’t care for the stranger he saw in the reflections.
He found that the beard didn’t bother him too much so long as he didn’t try to cut it off. However he quickly found that the beard required him to wash his face far more often – it didn’t matter how carefully he ate or drank, something of what he ate would always end up stuck in the beard. Not on it, in it. He tried everything he could think of to avoid it, even covering his chin with one hand as he ate, but to no avail. He had to wash two or three times after every meal to get the detritus out of the beard which seemed reluctant to let go of the food. The beard grew longer slowly but noticeably day by day and by the end of the week some of its sparseness had begun to fill out.
His friends didn’t bother to conceal their growing jealousy of Dave’s prodigious growth, which was embarrassing enough, but by the end of the week they began surreptitiously enquiring how he managed it and how he planned on styling the beard now that it had filled out. Dave for his part had no answer for their questions. He had never even considered growing a beard before, never mind thinking of what he might do with one. He simply answered their enquiries with a shrug.
At the end of the second week Dave realised that the green highlights had faded from the beard. That was as much a mystery as anything else but at least it looked something like normal hair. He carefully avoided thinking that it now resembled human hair; not his hair of course but something that might be found on the average human rather than, say, a rock. He spent a lot of time not thinking about lichen and how it changes colour during a drought, appearing dead when it is in fact just dormant. He didn’t know why these thoughts tried to find their way into his mind but he decided it was best just to avoid them nonetheless.
More time passed and the beard grew in length steadily but only very slowly spread out across his cheeks. The moustache seemed to form a trough as it ran down either side of his mouth so that it was virtually impossible to drink without spilling at least a little. On occasions when Dave hastily attempted to wipe his face he invariably found the moustache curling into the corners of his mouth, the tips pricking at his tongue, as if it was chasing every last drop of moisture. The experience left him feeling invaded by his own face.
The length of the beard now prevented him from keeping it completely free of food regardless of how much he washed. At first he was dismayed at the thought of crumbs and scraps rotting away so close to his mouth. Until he noticed that the scraps were disappearing of their own accord, absorbed into the beard itself it seemed. After that he stopped trying to clean the beard. Its growth speeded up noticeably and at night, lying sleepless in bed as he pondered the problem, he fancied that he could feel the beard moving, waving in the night air as if sniffing.
The beard began to lighten from a rich brown, displaying hints of red that at least made it look more natural on his face. In more extreme moments he suspected that it was trying to adapt, camouflaging itself. The beard became bolder, actually snatching bits of food from his fork before it ever reached his mouth. It seemed particularly fond of bacon for some reason.
----
The beard had a side effect that Dave had not anticipated. It attracted more than the envious attention of friends and colleagues. By the time the beard extended four or five inches below his chin he found women, complete strangers, accosting him to admire the beard. It fascinated them in an inscrutable fashion, even women who admitted that beards normally repulsed them. They seemed to think of it as some kind of pet that just happened to live on his face. Invariably they wanted stoke it. Although completely surprised by this reaction he was nonetheless happy to accept the attention at first. Women so rarely noticed him.
But then the beard began to make a sound not unlike a purr when it was stroked. Sometimes thought he could feel it trying to twist its way between the fingers of its admirers. Naturally women thought he was making the sound to amuse them and he wasn’t about to shatter their illusions, but still this development alarmed him more than all of the previous strangeness combined. He began to shun the admirers, giving whatever excuse he could think of, but his reluctance only seemed to enflame their curiosity.
Dave became something of a recluse, scurrying to and from lessons as quickly as he could. He shunned all female company and only reluctantly entertained his friends. But human nature is not meant to exist in a vacuum. One night, depressed beyond his ability to cope, Dave allowed his friends to coax him out to the pub for the evening. He insisted on sitting in the darkest and most remote corner and slowly, as he realised that he wasn’t going to be harassed by strangers, he began to relax.
The drinks continued to flow and later Dave had only the vaguest of recollections. She was blonde and her name was Gill. She didn’t pay more than cursory attention to the beard, seeming more interested in Dave himself. He was aware that his friends had receded, leaving him in Gill’s care. He was happier than he’d been in months; for the first time he felt something like a normal person. His coherent memories ended in his bedroom; the last was Gill’s comment about how the beard was tickling her.
He awoke the next morning, naked and alone. The room was a mess, Gill’s clothes scattered across the room along with his own. He searched the flat but found no sign of her. In the bathroom, however, he found another shock. The beard had grown again, prodigiously. It was at least six inches longer and had now spread to the tops of his cheeks. A fringe of new growth lined his chin. The beard was now a rich auburn colour. He never saw Gill again.
----
He stopped attending classes, shunned his friends and otherwise avoided all human company. But loneliness is a very human affliction. Deep in his heart, Dave new that he couldn’t live as a hermit forever. He tried to slash his wrists in a fit of despair, but as soon as he tried to harm him self the pain struck him into unconsciousness again.
There was nothing he could do but wait and try to restrain himself as long as possible. But unlike the beard, he was only human.
----
By the time the last of the leaves had fallen, Dave’s beard reached down to his belt. It waved as though blown by a breeze constantly, even on the stillest of days, and was now a bright, vivid crimson.