29 A Hairy Situation

“The hairs?”

“The hairs. Hairy hair hair.”

“Oh, um, so what else did they say?”

“Follow me.”

“They asked you to follow them?”

“No, I’m telling you to follow me.”

Totally lacking any self-preservation instincts, Polly had not a single doubt in her mind stopping her from following the undeniably shady character. Though to be fair, following a suspicious figure had never turned out poorly for her, so her lack of wariness made a mite of sense.

Polly expected the figure to begin walking, but they didn’t. Rather there was some movement from within their cloak, and then moments later, a pasty, wizened hand holding a clump of white strands that looked strikingly similar to hair emerged from the dark fabric. Polly hoped to the high heavens those weren’t the hairs the figure had mentioned.

“No way,” thought Polly to herself. “They wouldn’t… that’d be too nasty…”

But they did. With a motion that even Polly had to admit was skillful, the figure released the presumed hair clump and let it fall to the once clean, unblemished, untainted, cobblestone floor.

It took all of Polly’s willpower and then some to stop her face from contorting into a grimace of pure disgust. She had already committed to following the figure after all, so she didn’t want to risk offending them.

“I see now,” muttered the figure.

And then, to Polly’s further horror, the figure reached down and picked up the hair. The small, shriveled hand disappeared back into the cloak with the strands, and despite her mighty efforts, though she was glad the possibility of the wind blowing the clump to who-knows-where was no longer an option, Polly’s mouth still twitched downwards for a fraction of a second.

“This way,” instructed the figure, marching down the literal only path in the area.

Polly plodded after them diligently, wondering what the whole hair throwing thing had been all about.

They walked long enough for the sky to grow gray and for Polly to suspect that maybe, just maybe, she had gotten a blister. Whether it was actually a blister or not, her feet were in pain and she was not having a good time. Perhaps it was divine punishment for her choosing not to wear socks with her boots today of all days.

Polly hadn’t been paying attention to her surroundings because she was pretty sure she had already walked this walk, so when the figure stopped and Polly realized they were in a totally different area than the sandy beach she had found herself in earlier, she was so shocked that you’d’ve thought she stuck a fork into an electrical outlet for the fun of it (something she had of course, never done before).

Before the two stood a building of reddish brick, another surprising sight for Polly who was pretty sure all the buildings she had seen were pastel. The building towered over them, and as Polly bent backwards so she could get a better look at the full structure, she saw a single diamond shaped window near its slanted roof.

“How did we get here? I was walking around earlier, and I could’ve sworn I followed this exact same path, but I ended up at a beach.”

“It is what the hairs foretold,” creaked the figure, just as cryptically as before.

“I see,” replied Polly, though she really didn’t.

“Do you?” returned the figure whose tone suggested they knew Polly was lying through her teeth. They did their hair throwing act again. After a brief pause following the hairs landing on the floor they bluntly stated, “No you do not.”

“You’re right, I really don’t.”

“That’s alright. Your understanding is not necessary. Perhaps later it will be, but for now it is not.”

“Ok?”

“This way.”

The shrouded one pushed open the building’s wooden doors with a single hand, and slipped inside like a lizard slipping into a crack. Polly followed hurriedly for fear of the door closing on her, because she did not think she could push open the tall panels that were at least double her height by herself. She had, after all, blown all her energy on dropping anchor.

It was dark inside the building, with the only light coming from candles placed in a chandelier far above them. Given how night had all but arrived on the island, there was not much light streaming in through the one window either. The fact that the one who had brought Polly here was wearing black wasn’t making her feel any more comfortable. In fact, at the moment, she couldn’t see the cloaked figure.

“Hello?” called Polly to the air. “Darkness my old friend? I’ve come to talk with you again?”

“Here,” said the figure.

“Where’s here,” huffed Polly mentally. She moved in the direction she thought the voice was coming from.

“No you nitwit, I’m here.”

“That wizened raisin might as well shout Marco while they’re at it,” thought Polly snarkily. “Do I look like I’m someone who uses echolocation to find stuff? Because I sure ain’t.”

“Use your ears,” snapped the voice who was starting to sound less like a creaky old door and more like a piece of old floorboard.

Polly was tempted to bust out an, “But I don’t have ears,” for the hee-hees but her better judgment said no.

“No… not your ears… your hairs... Let your hair guide you.”

“My hair?

“Yes… once you are aware of your hair… then you will see where… “

Polly never thought the first type of magic she’d be learning how to use was hair magic, she had always planned on learning something more practical and run-of-the-mill like perhaps fire magic first, but alas there was no helping it.

“How do I use my hair?”

“Feel it… you must… “

The pirate closed her eyes, though it hardly made a difference considering how dark it was, and attempted to feel something, anything. Sadly for her, she was coming up short, just like her height.

“Fethar, do you have any tips?” she mumbled.

“Unfortunately, magic of any sorts is not within my field of expertise.”

“Ah, figures. Um, nothing is happening,” said Polly to the darkness, hoping the person who had brought her here hadn’t left yet.

“They will show you… the way… “

Polly tugged at her ponytail, but still nothing happened. Deciding that spending any more effort in trying to get her hair to do something would be a waste of time, Polly took a step back. Spending the night on The Birbalinda, if she could figure out how to get back, seemed like a far better alternative to trying to convince the dead cells at the top of her head to do something magical.

Having her eyes closed had thrown off her balance, and so as she took that step backwards, Polly did not set her foot down right, and she fell. And just like anyone with good sense falling would do, Polly stuck out a bent arm to break her fall, but when she felt herself come into contact with what couldn’t be anything other than a mat of hair she screamed a scream of pure grossed out. Her scream was so loud and so devastating that the chandelier attached to the ceiling felt Polly’s disgust and came crashing down causing Polly to scream even louder.