Though the tufts of hair that lay on Allister's pillow were most certainly a surprise, to have called the whole affair premature, would be to ignore his age and his candor which were noticeably mature, though not so mature that one could say he was beyond mature. In terms of degrees, he was goldilocks' third bear mature-that is to say, "just enough".
And, no matter where you stand in the maturity chain, your hair should not naturally fall out in tufts. Allister knew this to be true and was told this to be true by all those who knew just as well. But, there were patches of naked nothing that remained lacking in clarification. Stress seemed a common reason given to Allister. Though, in all honesty, the only stress in his life at the time came as a result of losing hair for no reason.
If it crept up on him, the balding slowly receding like some hairy tide, Allister could get acquainted with it. But, it did not. It lay in tresses and tufts on pillows and chairs. Patches of skin peppered his head.
In passing, a particular friend of Allister's (whose nose hooked down) made a comment that should have been taken as a joke-that perhaps someone had crafted an Allister Cromley voo-doo doll. This was not taken as a joke. Not by Allister. Questions abounded as questions tend to do when one's scalplihood is being threatened. Who would do such a thing? Why would they do such a thing? Oh, and how would they do such a thing?
The friend of the hooked nose was not prepared for more than a giggled response. Still, being a friend, he pushed his glasses back to their resting place and snagged some answers. They were, "Anyone could do such a thing," "Perhaps they were mad," and "You simply acquire a voo-doll and pull out it's hair."
Allister left the hooked nosed friend to wonder where his joke went wrong. There was thinking to be done. Contemplation of the deepest order. But, Allister could produce no immediate enemies. Perhaps someone was merely annoyed that Allister was without stress for the moment. Perhaps this was it. Perhaps so. And, though the theory was simple, it had taken him hours to get to the idea. He was exhausted. And, so Allister slept and awoke to find half his mustache gone.
And this is what Allister did next. He acquired a voo-doo doll and began pulling out it's hair. He directed his thoughts towards a friend of friend whom he knew as Benson (but whom was not named Benson). For Benson (who was not Benson) had smiled too knowingly when seeing Allister's calamity of a head. And when Allister met Benson (who was not Benson) again he smiled too knowingly back at Benson (who was not Benson), but now certainly lacked hair in patches as well.
And still it came that the night would darken the day and the day would brighten the night and Allister would wake with less hair and Benson (who was not Benson) would wake with less hair. And, though Allister did not know this until later, Benson (who was not Benson), did not pull the initial hair. But, once his hair fell victim, he too, acquired a voo-doo doll and began pulling. His balding rage was misguidedly directed at the only person whom he could surmise would do this to him and Allister-for it had to be an acquaintance of both of them. It had to be their hooked-nosed friend. And, thus, the hooked-nosed friend awoke to face piles of his own hair set free.
It was the hooked-nosed friend who finally brought the three men together as a triumvirate of irregular balding-to talk, to apologize, to sob, and to understand that not a single one of them had begun the mad pulling. Who it was was still a mystery. And when they came to a truce of pulling, a day later found not only Allister still balding in tufts, but also Benson (who was not Benson) and their hooked-nosed friend with less hair.
So, at a table in a tavern where the dust collected in a mist, the three conjured a plan. The possibilities were narrowed down to two. Both leaned towards the mystical. Someone initially had it in for Allister. Allister tugged at the present half of his mustache and longed for the absent half. It could, indeed, be someone pulling tufts free from a voo-doo doll. Or it could be a higher power. But, whom or what ever it was, was now viciously toying with all of them. With the uncertainty collecting in the haze around them, there seemed only three ways to save sanity and hair. And it was fortunate for them that, together, they were three.
These decisions were drastic. Not one of the men would deny that. But, they had been pushed to extremes by forces beyond their understanding. And that very night, as the trinity left the tavern; they buttoned their coats, pulled their collars up, and set the plan into action.
Allister stopped believing in voo-doo,
Benson (who was not Benson) stopped believing in God,
And their hooked-nosed friend acquired as many voo-doo dolls as needed and pulled the hair (and eventually the arms) free from anyone within a fifty mile radius of them until their hair grew back in full.
And, no matter where you stand in the maturity chain, your hair should not naturally fall out in tufts. Allister knew this to be true and was told this to be true by all those who knew just as well. But, there were patches of naked nothing that remained lacking in clarification. Stress seemed a common reason given to Allister. Though, in all honesty, the only stress in his life at the time came as a result of losing hair for no reason.
If it crept up on him, the balding slowly receding like some hairy tide, Allister could get acquainted with it. But, it did not. It lay in tresses and tufts on pillows and chairs. Patches of skin peppered his head.
In passing, a particular friend of Allister's (whose nose hooked down) made a comment that should have been taken as a joke-that perhaps someone had crafted an Allister Cromley voo-doo doll. This was not taken as a joke. Not by Allister. Questions abounded as questions tend to do when one's scalplihood is being threatened. Who would do such a thing? Why would they do such a thing? Oh, and how would they do such a thing?
The friend of the hooked nose was not prepared for more than a giggled response. Still, being a friend, he pushed his glasses back to their resting place and snagged some answers. They were, "Anyone could do such a thing," "Perhaps they were mad," and "You simply acquire a voo-doll and pull out it's hair."
Allister left the hooked nosed friend to wonder where his joke went wrong. There was thinking to be done. Contemplation of the deepest order. But, Allister could produce no immediate enemies. Perhaps someone was merely annoyed that Allister was without stress for the moment. Perhaps this was it. Perhaps so. And, though the theory was simple, it had taken him hours to get to the idea. He was exhausted. And, so Allister slept and awoke to find half his mustache gone.
And this is what Allister did next. He acquired a voo-doo doll and began pulling out it's hair. He directed his thoughts towards a friend of friend whom he knew as Benson (but whom was not named Benson). For Benson (who was not Benson) had smiled too knowingly when seeing Allister's calamity of a head. And when Allister met Benson (who was not Benson) again he smiled too knowingly back at Benson (who was not Benson), but now certainly lacked hair in patches as well.
And still it came that the night would darken the day and the day would brighten the night and Allister would wake with less hair and Benson (who was not Benson) would wake with less hair. And, though Allister did not know this until later, Benson (who was not Benson), did not pull the initial hair. But, once his hair fell victim, he too, acquired a voo-doo doll and began pulling. His balding rage was misguidedly directed at the only person whom he could surmise would do this to him and Allister-for it had to be an acquaintance of both of them. It had to be their hooked-nosed friend. And, thus, the hooked-nosed friend awoke to face piles of his own hair set free.
It was the hooked-nosed friend who finally brought the three men together as a triumvirate of irregular balding-to talk, to apologize, to sob, and to understand that not a single one of them had begun the mad pulling. Who it was was still a mystery. And when they came to a truce of pulling, a day later found not only Allister still balding in tufts, but also Benson (who was not Benson) and their hooked-nosed friend with less hair.
So, at a table in a tavern where the dust collected in a mist, the three conjured a plan. The possibilities were narrowed down to two. Both leaned towards the mystical. Someone initially had it in for Allister. Allister tugged at the present half of his mustache and longed for the absent half. It could, indeed, be someone pulling tufts free from a voo-doo doll. Or it could be a higher power. But, whom or what ever it was, was now viciously toying with all of them. With the uncertainty collecting in the haze around them, there seemed only three ways to save sanity and hair. And it was fortunate for them that, together, they were three.
These decisions were drastic. Not one of the men would deny that. But, they had been pushed to extremes by forces beyond their understanding. And that very night, as the trinity left the tavern; they buttoned their coats, pulled their collars up, and set the plan into action.
Allister stopped believing in voo-doo,
Benson (who was not Benson) stopped believing in God,
And their hooked-nosed friend acquired as many voo-doo dolls as needed and pulled the hair (and eventually the arms) free from anyone within a fifty mile radius of them until their hair grew back in full.
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