The Barber

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by InfinityDoom

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Preface: I had a big bout of not wanting to work on comics, ended up getting really into lore and making an OC with a fanfic. This is an OC for the Fallen London extend universe, Cultist Simulator to be specific. I don’t do this very often, so I decided to just post it here, cause why not.

  There is a cabin, deep in the forest that nobody except someone like you would dare to enter; someone in The Know. A sign is out front “Haircuts in exchange for rings and hair, or best offer.” You know better than to fall for the supposed deal. What The Barber has to offer is worth far more than any mundane trinket. You brought a tome, with knowledge that was worth more to you than all the silver in the world. You would miss it, but felt it was a fair trade, knowledge for knowledge.

  You open the door to find a creature that is more moth than man at this point, his smile creeping up past what once might have been ears. The Barber asks you what type of haircut you want; you give him the tome and tell him whichever one takes him the longest to do. After briefly leafing through some pages, he takes it and wordlessly disappears into the back room.

  “A good sign” you thought as you sat down. The Barber was likely getting the good scissors. A great honour for you, if the rumours about this moth are correct. You take your seat and look up at the series of rings tied to string hanging from the ceiling. How many people came here and fell for the trick? You look towards the grandfather clock in the corner, its hands at 0, even though it was well past 2 AM according to your pocket watch. It was in reverence to The Hour that made The Barber you suppose. “The Moth’s Hour is midnight. It is the first God-who-was-blood...” An early piece of lore you read right when you first began this sullen, maddening path you are on.

  The Barber returned, and the haircut began. The haircutting was sloppy and bad; The Barber didn’t seem to have much experience cutting hair, even though it seemed like he was trying very hard. That was fine. It wasn’t the reason anyone came here. If the stories were true, this moth stood in front of the open Gates of Mansus where The Hours themselves gather, and simply turned his back. You wanted to hear him speak, so you might find a way through the gates yourself.

  The Barber recounted his story. He had traversed dreaming, through the Gates of Mansus in search of Immortality just like you. But at the moment before he grasped it, he saw a light, and wondered if there might be more in the world. He followed the light down into The Wood, and out into the waking world. You thought The Barber a fool. Though The Barber seemed to reach Immortality, anyway. He was certainly a Long, perhaps even a Name, but you did wonder why he didn’t reside in The Wood with his Hour.

  You ask The Barber how he became a moth but he cuts you off, telling you that your haircut is finished. Looking in the mirror, you see the cut is serviceable, but you want to hear more. You tell The Barber you want it shorter, and you’ll tell him when he has cut enough. The Barber is frustrated but obliges you.

  The Barber says he followed the light deep into this very forest before it disappeared completely. “At that point I thought I understood; I cried, I tore my clothes, I shaved my head, and I never returned back to town.”

  “Sounds like you went mad,” you say, not being able to help yourself.

  “It may sound that way yes, but I had just learned to shed the unnecessary things. The way a barber sheds hair from their patients,” The Barber leans forward, giving you an unnerving sniff, before whispering into your ear. “I built this place so I could help others do the same; rings, hair, the pursuit of things never meant for mortal eyes. After I finished, The Moth came to me in a dream…”

  “But that’s a story for another time, it seems your haircut is over,” The Barber says, grinning his way too large smile, brightly.

  “What! Keep cutting, I haven’t heard enough!” You protest.

  “You don’t have any more hair to cut,” The Barber replies with a chuckle. You look into the mirror, he was right.

  You keep looking at yourself in the mirror, you have come this far… “I need to hear more. Keep cutting, I’m sure you can find something that you can snip...”

  The Barber looks at you incredulous, “Excuse me! These shears were used to skin a god, I won’t sully them on your lowly blood!”

  “Then get another pair you feel more comfortable cutting me with, I’m not leaving...” You are insistent.

  The Barber puts four arms on you and moves close whispering far too intimately in your ear, “You are far stupider than most people who enter my cabin, but since you are so insistent on being cut...” The Barber’s breath is cold on your neck as he whispers to you, “I have something that will cut you deeper than any scissor I own...”

  You gulp down fear or anticipation, you’re not sure which… “What is that?”

  The Barber snips his shears playfully against the air as he whispers, “How about I stop telling you a story, and instead…” He squeezes your shoulder, “I just tell you the truth…”

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