Rapunzel

Growing up, there was a girl in my same grade whose hair was insanely long. My mother once told me that her mother never let her get it cut for “religious reasons.” No idea what that religion was, but when we were in kindergarten, her hair was down to her ankles. By the time we got to high school, she wore it in a long braid that she looped around her shoulders like a scarf. We called her Rapunzel, unsurprisingly, but she didn’t like to talk about her hair. She didn’t really like to talk all that much, period. I think her mother was pretty overbearing and it embarrassed her so much that she struggled to communicate with other kids her age.

Rapunzel and I had several classes together over the years, but we were never close friends. The kind of classmate that you know enough to say “hi” to, but you don’t sit together at lunch or see outside of school. In light of what happened later, I wish I’d taken the time to get to know her better.

I was never great at school. I flunked so many classes in my junior year that they told me I had to repeat a grade, and I was not up for that. I dropped out and went to beauty school. I wasn’t great at it, but it was better than high school.

One day I was sweeping up around the salon when Rapunzel came in. I was shocked; I didn’t think I’d ever see her there. I did some quick math and realized she must’ve just turned 18. Of course. Her mother would never give her permission, so she waited until she was a legal adult.

The instructor, Yvonne, spotted Rapunzel and asked if she could help her. Rapunzel’s voice was so quiet that I couldn’t even hear what she said, but I heard Yvonne say, “Yeah, of course, we can get you a haircut. Just a trim, or do you have a specific style in mind?”

Rapunzel pulled a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket, unfolded it, and held it in front of her like an offering. Yvonne looked at it for a moment, smiled, and said, “We can do that.”

Gently, kindly, Yvonne directed Rapunzel to my classmate Keisha’s chair. Keisha tended to gossip loudly through all her appointments, and I thought she might be a little too much for Rapunzel. I didn’t want to undermine Yvonne, though, so I let Rapunzel get settled in Keisha’s chair. I tried to catch her eye and give her a friendly smile. She looked in my direction for a moment, and I saw a brief lip twitch that might have been an answering smile, but then she ducked her head to continue staring at the floor.

“Keisha, this young lady would like a pixie cut,” said Yvonne. She showed Keisha the picture that Rapunzel had brought in. Keisha gawped.

“Are you sure? That’s a big change. You could do it in stages if you want, just go a little shorter each time and if it freaks you out, you can stop.”

Rapunzel shook her head and spoke in a quiet but firm voice. “No. This is what I want.”

“Okay,” said Keisha. Then she muttered loudly enough for everyone to hear, “Just don’t blame me if you hate it.”

The three of us had to work together to wash, condition, and blow dry all of Rapunzel’s hair. Then we twisted it back into one long braid and Keisha approached the back of Rapunzel’s head with a pair of scissors, seeming to take a moment to steel herself.

“Do you want to keep the braid after we cut it off?” Keisha asked.

“No,” said Rapunzel. “You can throw it out.”

“How about we donate it?” Yvonne cut in. “It’s virgin hair, right?”

Rapunzel looked confused and a little embarrassed.

“That just means you haven’t bleached or colored it at all,” I jumped in, knowing full well that her mother would never have let her dye it. “A lot of wig companies won’t take hair that’s been treated.”

“Oh,” said Rapunzel. “No, I haven’t. Uh, sure, I guess you can donate it. Wherever you want.”

“Great,” Yvonne beamed.

I went back to my sweeping but kept an eye on Keisha and Rapunzel. I didn’t want to make her feel self-conscious, but I had to watch this transformation. A girl I had known practically my whole life was about to become a new woman.

Keisha took one more breath to psych herself up, then took the pair of scissors and approached the braid.

The hair wouldn’t cut. I knew those scissors weren’t blunt; I had sharpened them myself just a few minutes before Rapunzel came in. They should’ve sliced through the hair without a problem, but they couldn’t seem to make a dent in the massive braid. Keisha worked her arm up and down, sawing away and still, nothing happened.

She looked over at Yvonne, and said, “I don’t—”

Those were her last words.

The braid suddenly sprang to life and began whipping around the salon, throwing tools and chairs across the space. It grabbed Keisha by the neck first, tightening around her throat and knocking the scissors from her hand. I watched, frozen, as she struggled. Her face turned red, then white.

Yvonne rushed to Keisha, desperately trying to pry the hair away from her neck, but it was no use. The tip of the braid flicked out, leaving a nasty gash across Yvonne’s face. She reeled back, toppling over another chair and falling to the ground in the process. She held up a hand to her deeply scratched cheek, then scrambled to her feet and returned to trying to free Keisha.

I glanced at Rapunzel’s face, not sure what I was looking for. Her features were completely at ease, almost like she was sleeping. Her body was relaxed, even slightly limp. Her eyes, though, had gone completely white, as though a sheet had fallen over her consciousness. I wanted to help her, wanted to save Keisha and Yvonne, but all I had was a flimsy broom and I didn’t know what to do.

God help me, I ran. I backed out of the salon, towards the employee area, then sprinted to the rear exit. I heard screams and choking behind me, but I kept going, fear propelling me faster than I had ever run before.

When I got to the parking lot, I realized I had left my keys in my purse, which was still in the locker room, but there was no way I was going back in there. I kept running, not knowing where I was going or what I would do next. I just had to put some distance between me and that evil hair.

Once I made it a few blocks away, I bent over, putting my hands on my knees and gulping air. I’ve never been an athletic person, and that run was more exercise than I had done in years.

I looked behind me, checking to see if anything weird was visible. The exterior of the salon seemed totally normal; no cursed hair flailing or destruction or anything. The screams had stopped, too. That was probably a bad sign.

After a moment, I saw Rapunzel stumble out, her long braid coiled around her shoulders like normal. She looked stunned and confused, pausing and leaning against a lamppost for support. There was nothing of the white-eyed demon I had seen back in the salon.

I warred with myself; part of me wanted to get as far away as possible: quit beauty school, leave this town and never return. But another part of me felt bad for Rapunzel. Before that horror show in the salon, she had looked so vulnerable, so sad and shy.

I mustered what little courage and sympathy I possessed and approached her.

She didn’t see me coming at first, so she started when I said, “Hey, Rapunzel. Are you okay?”

“Don’t call me that,” she said. “I hate that nickname.”

“Okay,” I said, making calming motions with my hands. “What should I call you?”

“My name is Jennifer. I bet you didn’t know that.”

I knew it; I’d heard enough teachers call it during attendance. I had just…forgotten it.

“What happened there, Jennifer? With…” I gestured vaguely at her hair.

“I don’t know!” she wailed, tears leaking out of her eyes. “This is the fourth salon I’ve been to and every time I black out and wake up with all…this!” she grabbed at her braid, “still there! And the stylists are all gone, and I don’t know what’s going on!”

“Wait, the stylists are just gone?” I said, looking past her into the salon.

“Yes!” she said. “You’re the first person that I’ve actually seen again when I wake up!”

She was agitated and I tried to calm her down. “Okay, okay. Let me just…peek inside the salon and see if I can figure out…”

I edged towards the salon door, then paused and turned back to her.

“Don’t go anywhere,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

She nodded, still crying.

I walked into the salon and saw…nothing. Everything was fine, perfectly clean and organized, no signs of a struggle. I looked for blood drops where the braid had sliced Yvonne’s face, but there was nothing. The chairs and tools that had been knocked over in all the commotion were exactly where they had been before Rapunzel came in, but the salon was completely empty.

I checked the back, but there was no one there, either. Where did Keisha and Yvonne go? Or where did their bodies go?

I walked back out to where Rapunzel—sorry, Jennifer—was waiting.

“Umm,” I said. “So, I don’t know exactly what’s going on, but I know one thing. You can never get your hair cut.”