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Written By shortstory1

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I dread cutting children’s hair because of their unnerving behavior.

A supposedly quick 10-minute haircut can spiral into an agonizing hour with their ceaseless fussiness.

Small children squirm restlessly, manifesting an innate aversion to the sensation of someone trimming their hair.

The parents resort to desperate measures, deploying toys and tablets to pacify their unruly offspring.

It’s a disconcerting ordeal.

Although I favor catering to adults, my anxiety spikes in the presence of scissor-wielding potential harm to a child.

Yet, I manage to suppress my growing frustration.

A break-in at the barber shop only intensified my discomfort.

Mirrors shattered, and valuables pilfered, prompting the insurance to fund replacements.

During the search for new mirrors, I stumbled upon a peculiar shop boasting unique mirrors, ones you’d find in eerie theme parks.

Engaging in conversation with the shop owner about my barber profession took a sinister turn.

Venting my disdain for cutting children’s hair, he claimed to possess the perfect mirror.

Purchasing it under the guise of ordinariness, little did I know the eerie consequences it would unleash.

Upon reopening the barber shop, a plethora of children’s haircuts awaited.

The first unsuspecting child underwent an unsettling transformation.

Tears about to flow, their demeanor abruptly shifted as they fixated on the new mirror.

A chilling stillness enveloped them throughout the entire haircut.

Parents, equally perplexed, abandoned their gadgets as the mirror held their child in an eerie trance.

The bizarre occurrence repeated with every child, each succumbing to an unsettling blank stare.

The aftermath was equally disturbing.

Parents, encountering me on the streets, revealed their children’s newfound terror of mirrors.

Homes were draped in duvet covers and towels, attempting to shield their little ones from the unsettling reflections.

Soon, complaints flooded the police about missing children, launching an extensive search.

Closing the barber shop one night, I witnessed the horrifying truth.

The missing kids, entrapped within the mirrors, desperately struggled to break free.

Oddly, I found solace in their spectral confinement, relieved from the haunting task of cutting hair for small children.

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