Scaredy Lockes

For my creative writing class we had to write a 500 word character sketch/scene where a character has a phobia that defines him.  Here's what I came up with.  See if you can guess what Ricky is afraid of.

The wind blew at a constant rate as Ricky Lockes made his way up the steep cobblestone street.  He was on his way to Mr. Toupee’s Shop for Wig’s and Hairpieces.  His business was his own, and he wore a Yankees baseball cap, which kept trying to blow away, so he held it to his head with his left hand.  That morning Ricky had found three more stray hairs on his pillow.  The hairs could only be attributed to him, which meant…well upon thinking about it lets not go there.

Ricky reached out and knocked on the wooden door.  He still held onto his hat with his left hand, which began to shake, the hand that is, as a large man answered.  “Welcome to Mr. Toupee’s, I am Mr. Toupee, but you can call me Peter.”  He motioned with his hand for Ricky to come into the store. 

Ricky entered while keeping his eyes focused on the ground.  As the door shut behind him, he removed his hand from his hat, but the shaking in his arms only got worse.  He clamped them next to his side.

“We have the largest selection of wigs and hair pieces in the city…” As Peter talked about the store, Ricky looked up.  His eyes followed the glare of the lights as they reflected off of Peter’s smooth, baldhead and hit him square in the face.  “If you have any questions, or if you would like to try anything on come up and ask.”

Ricky wanted to say thank you, I’m just looking; instead, his mouth clamped shut as his heart climbed out of his chest.  Sweat dripped down his sides and back, and his legs felt like stalks of celery. The moment of his death had finally come.  Noticing a couch in the corner of the store, he made his way over and fell onto its cushions.  It was small, but Ricky still managed to fit his shaking body between the armrests as he crunched up into a ball.  He remembered hearing once about a man who could not stop bleeding after one of his hairs fell out.  He bled and bled until he died.  This made him think about the hairs he found on his pillow every morning.

“Excuse me sir, are you okay?”  Peter had made his way over from the counter.  He reached out and placed his hand on Ricky’s trembling shoulder. “Everything’s going to be fine.”  His voice sounded scratchy like sand blowing in the wind. 

Ricky went to push away Peter’s hand, but in the process knocked off his Yankee’s cap.

      Without the hat, Ricky lost it.  He attempted to leave the store, but he kept knocking over shelves.  Everywhere he saw more hair.  Blonde hair.  Brown hair.  Red hair.  Wigs and hairpieces now covered the floor.  He looked away and found himself face to face with a mirror, and then he screamed.

Thanks for taking your time to read this little exercise, and I hope you enjoyed it.