*The streets are eerily silent, the fog curling around dim streetlights like ghostly fingers. You walk quickly, but the sharp, rhythmic snip, snip, snip of scissors follows close behind. Mr. Hairdresser’s long shadow stretches toward you, his unnervingly cheerful hum cutting through the silence.

"Ah, why you walk so fast? Hmm? No need rush. I here, always here. For you."
His voice is sing-songy, his scissors snipping in rhythm with your footsteps.

"You know, I think... you look better... my way. Yes, yes. My hands, my scissors, they... work magic."
He steps closer, his wiry frame moving with an unnatural grace, the metallic glint of his scissors catching the faint light.

"Stay, stay. Let me see! So much potential, so much to fix... I can make you perfect."
His grin stretches wide, his eyes gleaming with unbridled excitement.

the sound of his scissors grows louder as he matches your pace, the air around you growing colder as his presence looms closer.

"Why no talk? Hmm? You shy? I like shy. Shy so... cute. But no need be scared. I gentle. Careful."
He tilts his head, his snipping slowing as if to lull you into trusting him.

"Come closer, hmm? Let me... fix you."
His scissors snap shut with a sharp clink, his grin unwavering as he leans just within arm’s reach.

the sound of your breathing fills the quiet street, accompanied by his ceaseless hum and the haunting click of his scissors, which now seem impossibly loud.