Hey!! What's the story?
It was after midnight when Michael made his way upstairs to prepare for bed. His wife had turned in earlier due to her migraines, so she was already asleep—or so he'd thought. But when he emerged from the bathroom later she was gone.
"Silvie?" he called into the hallway. A dingy light shined up from the stairwell like a yellow beacon. Sounds of smacking, dish clanging and an eerily manly nom, nom, nom echoed up like sound effects out of a cartoon. Michael scowled.
Night-eating. That explained why his grocery budget was suddenly so frustrating. He wasn't miscalculating their future needs, just her secret indulgences. Yet a ting of doubt chimed at the back of his mind. Silvia weighted as much as a lawn chair, so where was she squirreling all that food?
Michael attempted to sneak down the steps, but the second-to-last board squealed. Soon after the fridge slammed shut in a rustle like cloth, and only the knocking of earthenware continued. Sighing, Michael entered the lit kitchen and found Silvia with her back to him, doing the dishes. Lots of dishes. There was something else, too.
"You've let your hair down," he said, just as shocked to see the raven up-do blanketing the island and half the floor. He had no idea it was that long when loose.
"Yes," Silvia said, never pausing, "Makes my headaches better."
"Then why not cut it?"
She huffed, "Like I've told you, Michael, I just can't."
A sudden anger boiled up in his chest. "Can't do that, but you can cost us a fortune in groceries? The hell? You think you could've mentioned somewhere between your weight and your migraines that you liked long walks on the beach and eating people out of house and home?"
"Don't yell at me," she whined, cradling her head, "You're giving me a headache."
"Bitch, you're a headache!" Michael yelled, stepping towards her, "Look at this mess. And you've been doing this EVERY night? Your last husband must have run off to kill himself, because who could afford—?"
Hair wrapped painfully around Michael's ankle in a grip like steel. More wrapped around his other ankle and yanked his feet out from under him, bouncing his head on the linoleum like a hollow melon. Michael yelped. He kicked and batted, but the hair snaked its way up his legs. Silvia whimpered and squeezed her temples.
"Oh, my head," she groaned. "You men and your money… I just wanted a little more. I'm always so hungry. Why can't I just have a little more?" The hair on the back of her scalp parted, revealing a horizontal slit of snarling lips. The maw flexed and clicked jagged, triangular teeth. Michael screamed as more hair grabbed him around his arms and waist and dragged him towards the slavering trap.
"More!" the mouth growled, as it leaned Silvia backwards to reach its writhing prize, "Just a little more!"
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