The Evil Hairdo Read online

  O’Brien Press Memo

  From: The Management

  To: All Members of Staff

  Subject: The Forbidden Files

  You’re probably wondering why you arrived this morning to find the police searching your desks.

  The safe containing the Forbidden Files was broken into. The Files have been STOLEN.

  The stories in these Files were kept locked up and hidden away for good reason. These stories are too FRIGHTENING, too DISTURBING or just too downright DISGUSTING to be read by children.

  The police will want to speak to all of you — please give them your full cooperation. We have to find The Forbidden Files; they must NEVER see the light of day.

  For Maedhbh and her wild hair

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Title Page

  Dedication

  1 The Whole ‘Cool’ Thing

  2 I Should Be On MTV Or Something

  3 My Brother Is Such An Idiot

  4 It’s So Bad, Wayne Is Reading

  5 I Am So Dead When Mum Catches Me

  6 Split Ends Like You Wouldn’t Believe

  7 Really, My Dad Is So Cool

  About the Author

  Copyright

  1

  The Whole ‘Cool’ Thing

  I just want to begin by saying that none of this was my fault. The whole thing started with my favourite girl band: WitchCraft. They were who I wanted to be. They were beautiful. They could sing and dance and above all … they were cool. They all wore their hair the same way: long, straight and really dark, slightly metallic green that was almost black, but not quite. I had all their songs on CD; I had their posters on my bedroom walls; I had the WitchCraft schoolbag, the WitchCraft lunchbox, the WitchCraft magazines, the WitchCraft clothes and now I wanted the WitchCraft hair.

  ‘Over my dead body,’ said my mum. ‘You are not dying your hair green.’

  You can see my problem. My mum just doesn’t understand cool. I mean, I ask for one little thing that’s really, really important to me, and she acts like I want to have a brain operation or something. Anyway, that still left me without my long, straight, green hair, and something had to be done about that. My name is Melanie. I’m ten years old, and this is my story.

  ***

  Getting your hair styled is an expensive business, at least if you’re a girl. It’s cheap for boys, but then what do boys care about hair? The only time a boy cares about his hair is when he wants to look like his favourite footballer. But for girls it’s expensive and you need parents to pay for expensive things. So when a new hair stylist opened on the corner just down the road from us, I couldn’t help noticing they had a poster of WitchCraft – with their dark green hairdos – up in the window … and underneath it was a sign saying:

  Official WitchCraft Stylist. Get The Latest WitchCraft Look For Just €15!

  I sprinted home as fast as my WitchCraft trainers could carry me.

  Fifteen euros isn’t much for a cool hairstyle, but it was still more than I could afford right then. I had maybe three or four euros in my WitchCraft purse at home. I’m not very good at saving money.

  As I ran, I tried to work out how I could get some more cash. Mrs Collins next door would pay me to walk her little dog, but it was always trying to bite my ankles, and it pulled at the lead so hard all the time that it nearly strangled itself. I was worried that some day it would pass out and I’d have to give it mouth-to-mouth. I could do a charity run (I’m a good runner) or maybe stand out on the street with one of those plastic boxes: ‘Support Melanie’s Bid For New Hair’. But I didn’t think anybody would figure that me getting the latest hairstyle was a very good cause. I mean, it wasn’t like I’d actually die if I didn’t get it – although sometimes it felt that way.

  There was always the chance of making some money by selling some of my WitchCraft gear, but to be honest, I’d rather give mouth-to-mouth to Mrs Collins’s dog.

  By the time I got home, I knew there was only one thing I could do. I was going to have to ask Wayne. You see, I’m not good at saving money, but my little brother Wayne is. Believe it or not, he actually has a piggy bank. It’s shaped like a football, but it’s a piggy bank all the same. And in that piggy bank is at least fifteen euros, maybe more. The only problem was getting it out of Wayne.

  I was going to have to be really clever about this. I needed to make him think that he’d be doing himself a big favour by loaning me the money. I ran upstairs and pushed open his bedroom door.

  ‘Hey, listen,’ I said to him. ‘I’ve got this really great idea for a …’

  ‘I’m not loaning you any money,’ he snapped, without looking up from his stupid computer football game. Sometimes I forget that just because he’s annoying, that doesn’t make him a complete idiot. He can be pretty sharp when he wants to be. Being clever hadn’t worked, so I tried begging instead.

  ‘Wayne! Please! This is really important!’

  ‘So is this. I’m into the semi-finals!’ he yelled back. Wayne was no good at real football, but he was the top goal scorer in our school on a games console.

  I put my hands on my hips and waited for him to finish the match, then I hit ‘pause’ on the console.

  ‘Hey!’ he scowled.

  ‘Please, Wayne. Please, please lend me some money. I’ll give it back in, like, a week, I promise.’

  ‘So, why not just wait a week, and get it then?’ he asked.

  ‘Don’t talk to me like you’re Dad – you’re not Dad. Please lend me the money. I’ll do anything.’ I bit my lip as soon as I said that. It was a dumb thing for any girl to say to her little brother.

  Wayne grinned his nasty grin.

  ‘Anything?’

  ‘Well, it depends.’

  ‘That’s not anything then, is it?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘That’s just something.’

  ‘Ohhh … all right then, anything.’ I clenched my fists. ‘Please will you lend me fifteen euros?’

  ‘Okay,’ he grinned again. ‘But you have to help me start up Dad’s motorbike.’

  I knew he was going to say that. Dad had a big, old motorbike – really old, like nearly twenty years or something – which he hardly rode at all. He used it to spend Sunday afternoons out in the back garden getting his hands dirty, fixing something that wasn’t broken. Or some of his friends would come around, and they’d all stand beside their oily old bikes, talking about them. They were just like boys, but older and fatter. A motorbike would have made most men a little bit cool at least, but not our dad. And however uncool Dad might be, Wayne was worse. There was no hope for him. He was just so embarrassing.

  But Wayne had always wanted a go on the motorbike and Dad would never let him, so now he wanted me to help him get it started. Dad would kill us if he caught us – but I said yes.

  You’d be amazed what I’d do for the right hair.

  Wayne got his football-shaped piggy bank down from the top of his television and opened it up. I couldn’t believe how much he had. It must have been nearly sixty euros in coins. He handed me the fifteen euro coins and put the rest back.

  ‘We start tomorrow at oh-nine hundred,’ he said.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked him.

  ‘Nine o’clock,’ he groaned, rolling his eyes back.

  ‘Then why didn’t you just say so, instead of trying to sound like an astronaut!’

  ‘Just don’t be late.’

  I took the money and charged down the stairs.

  ‘Don’t run on the stairs!’ Mum called from the sitting room. ‘You’ll fall and break your neck!’

  ‘I’m going out!’ I shouted back.

  ‘Where? When will you be back? I’m making lunch for half one.’

  She came to the door of the s
itting room.

  ‘I’ll be back then,’ I promised.

  2

  I Should Be On MTV Or Something

  Clutching the money, I ran down the street and across the main road to the new salon. I took a long, long look at the poster in the window, buzzing with excitement, and then I pushed the door open.

  The place was like something out of Mum’s magazines. It wasn’t that big, but it was really stylish, with huge mirrors, and everything was in wood and metal and curved plastic. There was one chair, which looked like it belonged on television. It had black leather and steel handles for raising and lowering and turning it. There were bottles of WitchCraft shampoo and conditioner and other stuff laid neatly on shelves. And in frames on the walls there were posters of the girls from the band, looking like goddesses in the hippest gear.

  ‘What a beautiful little girl!’ a voice purred, making me look towards the back of the shop.

  There by a door stood a woman who seemed made of wood and plastic and leather herself. She was lovely, but very thin, and very, very pale. She had white skin, light blonde hair and pale green eyes. The leather trousers, the black silk shirt with very big cuffs and the fabulously pointy shoes (also black) made her look even paler and thinner. I fingered the coins in my pocket and looked around me, suddenly feeling a bit awkward.

  ‘And what can I do for you, young miss?’ she asked, gazing right into my eyes.

  ‘I … I’d like the, y’know … the …’ I couldn’t seem to get the words out.

  ‘You’d like the WitchCraft hair,’ she finished for me.

  ‘Yes,’ I hung my head, feeling a bit silly about being shy. I’m not normally a shy person.

  ‘Take a seat.’ The pale lady waved towards the chair. ‘My name is Gail …and I am your stylist.’

  A shiver ran down my back as she said that. I’d never had a stylist before. Mum always took me to the hairdressers. And now I was in an Official WitchCraft Salon! This was just so cool! I climbed up on the chair and Gail tied up that smock they use to keep the hair off your clothes. She raised the chair so I could see myself in the mirror.

  ‘Let us begin,’ she cried, as she spun the chair around and gently tilted my head back over the sink.

  I closed my eyes while she washed my hair, but it didn’t feel like a normal hair wash. First it fizzed, then it itched, then she rinsed it off and washed it again. This time it felt a bit like there were worms in my hair and I was starting to get a bit scared. But just before I started to cry, she rubbed my hair in a towel and moved me so I faced the mirror. My hair was a tangled mess, but even though it was wet, I could see that instead of my usual brown, it was black with a green tinge to it. My heart gave a little flutter.

  ‘I shouldn’t really tell you this,’ Gail whispered, as she leaned close to my ear. ‘But before they became big and famous, WitchCraft were just cool, good-looking girls like you. They were smart though. They knew that when you’ve got all the right gear, and you’ve got the right look, you’re already on your way to being a superstar! So let’s see if we can make a star out of you!’

  I giggled like a little kid and nodded excitedly.

  She carefully combed my hair out and parted it. Then she took her scissors from a plastic jar on the counter. Once the scissors started moving, they did not stop. Even when she held them away from my head, they kept clicking as if they had a life of their own. Then they would swoop back in again like an attacking bird and I would hear them close to my ears, nipping hair and tapping against the comb. This went on for some time before the clicking suddenly stopped. She washed my hair again and then she picked up the hairdryer. When she had finished drying and had brushed away the stray hairs, Gail stepped back.

  ‘Well, what do you think?’ she said, holding up a mirror and showing me the back.

  ‘Wow,’ was all I could manage.

  She had done it. I had WitchCraft hair.

  ‘Wow,’ I said again. I touched it just to be sure it was mine. It was.

  ‘Your hair was perfect for the style,’ she smiled. ‘I was really able to give some life to this one. I think you look gorgeous. You should be on MTV.’

  I grinned giddily. Handing her the money, I thanked her and ran out of the salon. I was just dying to show my friends.

  As I hurried away, I glanced back once and saw Gail watching me. She had a funny look on her face – as if she had won a game or something. And she was staring at me. I didn’t give it much thought at the time. I was too happy to notice anything was wrong.

  ***

  After the salon, I went straight to Kelly’s house, smiling like a complete ninny the whole way. Kelly was my best friend. We’d known each other since we were babies. We were always around at each other’s houses, talking about our favourite bands, like WitchCraft, or what we were going to be when we were older, or having a good moan about the boys in our class. She was like a friend, a sister and a fashion guru all rolled into one, and she was my favourite person in the whole world.

  I rang the bell, and Kelly opened the door. Her eyes went really wide and she put her hands to her cheeks and screamed. She does the same thing when she’s watching horror films, but this time she was just excited – and jealous, of course.

  ‘OH MY GOD!’ she shrieked. ‘Oh my God. I am so jealous!’

  I smiled even wider, and gave her a little twirl.

  ‘You have to get yours done now,’ I said to her.

  We always wore our hair the same.

  We hugged and went straight up to her room, where she made me stand in front of the mirror, so we could see ourselves together. Her blonde hair looked really ordinary next to mine. I couldn’t wait for her to get it done too.

  I ran my fingers through my new hair, and I was sure it tingled slightly.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ she moaned, touching my hair gently. Her fingers caught in it, and she carefully pulled them free.

  ‘Tangles easily, doesn’t it?’ she said.

  ‘No,’ I said, frowning. ‘You just need to be more careful.’

  She gave me a sharp look, but then smiled and stroked it again.

  ‘It’s lovely. But how did you … I mean, I thought your mum wouldn’t let you get it?’

  ‘She doesn’t know,’ I said. ‘I got it done at this cool new place. You should see it. They’ve loads of WitchCraft stuff there! And I paid for the whole thing myself.’

  Kelly frowned. She knows me too well.

  ‘With whose money?’ she asked.

  ‘Wayne’s,’ I said.

  ‘You owe Wayne money?’ She looked into my eyes, and then she took my hands, shaking her head. ‘Oh, Melanie, what have you done?’

  ***

  When I got home, I decided to make a big entrance. So I rang the front doorbell instead of going round to the back. Mum opened the door and put her hand to her heart.

  ‘Melanie, what’s happened to your hair?’

  ‘It’s, like, the new look, Mum!’

  ‘It’s new, I’ll give you that. Where did you get this … this look?’ she asked.

  ‘At the salon down the road. I paid for it out of my own money.’

  ‘I haven’t noticed any salon down the road. Wayne, come and look at what your sister’s done to her hair. Did you know she was going to do this? And since when have you been able to save money, young lady? Well, I suppose it’s lovely, dear – it’s just a bit green for my taste, that’s all. Your lunch is “like”, on the table. Go in and sit down.’

  Dad got home at around six. He took one look at my hair, shook his head and sat down to watch the news. Dad leaves decisions about our hair and clothes up to Mum, because he’s hopeless with stuff like that. All in all, my parents were pretty cool about the whole thing … but then that was before all the trouble started.

  3

  My Brother Is Such An Idiot

  It was the middle of the summer holidays, so I had no school the next day. I got up early and hurried into the bathroom to comb my new hair. I stopped s
uddenly when I saw myself in the mirror. My hair was perfect, loose and clean as if it had only just been styled. I had slept through the night and it had not budged. There wasn’t a hair out of place. I frowned, but then shrugged and smiled. I was in the middle of brushing my teeth when Wayne peeked in the door.

  ‘Hurry up!’ he whispered. ‘We start operations in ten minutes.’

  Toothpaste caught in my throat and I coughed, spattering it all over the mirror. I’d forgotten about Wayne and the motorbike.

  I got dressed and went and found him in his room. He was wearing his rollerblade pads, his helmet and a pair of sunglasses. I was going to point out that he looked like an idiot, but I bit my tongue. I still owed him fifteen euros.

  Dad had left for work, so he’d be gone all day. Mum was taking a bath, so we had about two hours, and she wouldn’t hear a thing over the whale music she listened to as she soaked. Wayne put his finger to his lips and waved at me to follow him as he sneaked down the stairs. I sighed and walked after him.

  Dad kept the motorbike in the garage, and there was a door that went through to the garage from the kitchen. He kept the garage key in the fuse box over the door. It was much higher than Wayne or I could reach, and we were never, ever, ever supposed to go near the fuse box, because we might get electrocuted, which Dad said would really hurt. And then it would kill us.

  That was a good enough reason for me, but nothing was going to stop Wayne. He grabbed a chair and carried it over to the door.