Shears

Van jumped out of the rolling pickup.

Nev, Mic, and Sean leaned against the old barbershop, talkin trash.

“Bout time,” Mic yelled.

“Yeah, yeah.”

The door jingled as Sean opened it.

The chair waited for him. Mr. Velum smiled. “It won’t hurt. Promise.”

Van scuffled to the seat. Something seemed to pull him into it. A buckle snapped shut.

He squeezed the armrests. “This isn’t right.” He yanked on the buckle.

“I said it won’t hurt.” Mr. Velum leered over him, silver shears in hand.

“Git me outta here.” Sean stood in the doorway, laughing. His teeth looked especially sharp.

Velum pumped the chair. Van rose, almost hitting the ceiling.

“Nev! Help!” The words choked in his throat. The tip of the shears caught a hair, but he jerked back, squirming until he slipped from the belt.

“Slippery one, eh?”

Velum reached for him, each finger a pair of scissors. Van inched back and fell.

“AHHH!”

You okay?”

Shaking, Van opened his eyes.

“Man, you fell outta the truck.”

Mic reached down to help him up.

“Ready for your haircut?” Mr. Velum called from the shop door.

Van stepped back. “Ah… No. I forgot my jacket.”

He turned and ran.