Nocturne

Being a hairdresser was sometimes a lousy job, but Sybill had it down to an art form. Waking up before the sun, taking a run, returning to her one bedroom flat and treating herself with a cup of chamomile tea in a chipped cup she never replaced, getting ready, and being at her salon by the time the streets filled with the honks of cars.

This day was nothing different, except maybe for the poor cat who got hit by a car, minutes after she'd finished putting up the displays. Sybill winced- it wouldn't survive, that much was clear- and went back to her work.

The morning regulars were her favourite- chatty retirees, overworked professionals, and that occasional student looking for prom or just a trim. They didn't think before speaking, and the secrets they spilled were always tucked away in her mind like the strands of hair swept under her workstation.

The day was peak rush hour, but the crowd died down by evening, and the last client had left by eight. Pulling down the blinds, turning off most of the lights, setting down the displays, dusting off a few wigs, and she'd be done. Putting her feet up on the dressing table with her back towards the door, she plugged in her headphones and settled with a last cup of coffee. Going home could wait.

Maybe, that is exactly what she should have done that day.

The next sound to distract her from the music blasting in her ears was the unmistakable, loud sound of a mirror shattering. Turning around, she couldn’tbelieve her eyes. The kids at the end of the road wererowdy, yes, but this? This was terrorism.

One of the wall wide mirrors broken in innumerable pieces, all of which were now on the floor. Yanking out her headphones, she stormed to the door, a loud string of curses and threats already forming on her lips- to find it already open.

Sybill frowned. She remembered locking the door, and she hadn't heard it opening- but there was no on but her inside the salon.

Or so it seemed, only for a moment, before she realised the figure at the corner, nearly hidden from the light of the single bulb still turned on, did not look like a mannequin.

Cold, numbing fear began to creep up her spine. Yet, with all the ounces of courage still left, she gripped one of the shards.

"Who's there?" The question forced past her throat.

It didn't move. Cautiously, she took a single step closer.

She didn't even get the time to scream.

The last thing she ever saw was the single, lonely bulb filtering through whisps of blond hair.