THE WALNUT HAIR BRUSH
Micah
looked over at the display case one last time, before turning off the
lights. He winced at one of the all too common twinges of pain in his
joints. Micah sighed, if she's coming it had best be soon. He picked
up his cane, locked the door to the curio shop, and began his slow
walk home.
***
Cheryl
Albans was thrilled when her standby travel club called with a chance
to leave Los Angeles and fly to London for three days for pennies.
The club booked special deeply discounted deals for members who could
travel on a moment's notice to fill underbooked tours or charters.
She
was an interior designer and consultant. She did not have any
particular set work schedule, which allowed her to take trips
virtually whenever she wanted. She jumped at the London trip.
She had
been tracing her family roots, and had discovered that her great
grandmother, Mary Wellington, came to the United States from London
in the 1880's. Since her mother died, Cheryl was unaware of any other
living relatives. The trip to London was her chance to look for other
family. Before leaving Los Angeles, she called London and made
arrangements to view archived vital statistics. Something told her
that she had to take this trip, and that for some unknown reason,
time was of the essence.
One of the
problems with discount packages is that they did not always include
world class accommodations. But Cheryl was satisfied with her room.
It was clean and bright, and smelled faintly of lavender. She
was exhausted after a long day of travel, and had trouble falling
asleep. She kept thinking that she had been brought to London, and
that she really had no choice in the matter.
In the
morning, Cheryl set about the business of being a tourist. She went
to Westminster Abbey and the Tower of London. She lunched at a pub,
and had fish and chips and a pint. She took photographs of
everything, and had a wonderful carefree time, unburdened by any
thoughts of any deeper purpose. However, around four o'clock, she
experienced a firm conviction that she had to be somewhere in
Kensington, and that she was running late. She started to hail a
taxi, but stopped short when she realized that she had no particular
destination in mind.
She
had planned on having dinner, and then going to a show. But her need
to find something, who knew what, in Kensington left her uneasy. She
returned to her room, read for a disinterested while, then went to
bed early. Her last thoughts before, or perhaps her first thoughts
after, falling asleep were of perfume.
***
Cheryl
devoted her second morning in London to searching public records for
Mary Wellington and her kin. After several hours of hunting, she
located vital statistics for her great grandmother, but was sorely
disappointed to find that Mary Wellington was an only child like
herself. Mary's mother had died in childbirth. Mary had one child,
Cheryl's grandfather. Her grandfather had only one child, her
mother. Cheryl, in turn, was an only child, and the last surviving
descendant of Mary Wellington. She
left Vital Statistics feeling small and abandoned.
After
lunch, Cheryl decided to visit the Victoria and Albert Museum.
Wandering museums always inspired her.
Maybe she could write part of the trip off as a business expense. She
hailed a taxi, and rode to the museum. As she headed to the door,
Cheryl suddenly felt that she was close to her appointment, and that
the appointment was not at the museum. She turned and started walking
down the street, with no idea of where she was headed. she
walked for half an hour and took several turns. She had no idea where
she was at when she spied the curio shop. It had a plain well aged
brown awning out front. The front window read "Smithson's
Antiques and Gifts".
She
crossed over to the shop and opened the door. A little bell over the
door chimed brightly. Micah looked up and smiled. A young woman was
signing in the Guest Registry by the door. American, judging by her
dress. Definitely the right age, with long, silky auburn hair, Micah
was satisfied that she had come at long last. He unlocked the display
case.
Cheryl
began looking around the shop. The material was all of high quality,
and reasonably priced. Cheryl the tourist was replaced by Cheryl the
business woman. She saw two small bronzes, and a nice landscape that
she knew she could place immediately. In fact, her practiced eye
revealed that there were enough pieces, possibly, to justify the
whole vacation as a buying trip. Still, she
felt that she was missing something important. The last time she got
this kind of feeling, she picked up the thirty thousand dollar gem
from Edouord Leon Cortes that was hanging in her living room, for
four hundred dollars. She
decided to make a closer inspection of the stock.
Micah
watched Cheryl surveying the stock. She had a pen and a small
notebook in her hand. Occasionally, she would bend over and examine
one piece or another, make an entry in her notebook, then move on to
another work. He
noted that she had a good eye. With very few exceptions, she examined
only the best of his stock.
He
thought, wistfully, that if he had had a daughter, this is how she
would have turned out. Of course, for all practical purposes,
although she did not know it yet, this woman was closer to him than
even a daughter could ever have been.
Micah knew
that she was hunting. He had every confidence that she would find it
without any help. He
noted that his pulse was rising, and that he was short of breath. He
reached into his vest and located his pills, but decided that he
would be fine without them. Be
patient. She is coming this way.
Cheryl
nodded to the elderly proprietor, but suddenly turned away when she
spied a lovely Venetian blown glass vase. The piece was exquisite, as
was the price. Maybe after she sells the first shipment, she
thought.
Cheryl was
beginning to feel a little frustrated. The stock was great. There was
plenty of room for profit, but there were no apparent steals to be
found. The owner clearly knew his business. She
smiled at herself. She was acting like a spoiled child turned loose
in a candy store. Surrounded by sweets, she was fussing because she
could not find a particular chocolate. But Cheryl was certain that
that particular chocolate was, indeed, here! With a slight pang of
regret, she
put down the vase, and walked back to talk to the owner. She needed
to talk about volume purchasing and shipping.
It was
time. She had seen all she needed to see, but not what she wanted to
see. She would come back at any moment. Micah again considered his
pills, but decided that this meeting would not take very long. He
would close the shop as soon as she left. He could go home and take a
nap, and rest up for her return.
Micah rose
to greet her, "Good afternoon, I am Micah Smithson, III, at your
service." Cheryl shook his hand and introduced herself. She
started explaining that she was an interior designer, when she found
the object of her desire. She
stopped speaking right in the middle of a sentence. Naturally, Micah
was not surprised or offended. Cheryl leaned closer to the display
glass. She found
herself short of breath.
Cheryl knew
that she had found the source of all of her recent confusion. But she
could hardly believe that this piece was worth all the trouble. It
was an old fashioned wooden hair brush. The brush was well preserved.
It was a dark, hard well-polished wood. The bristles were all in fine
condition, definitely natural, probably boar.
"What
kind of wood is the brush?"
"Walnut.
It was made here in London in 1876."
"It's
lovely. May I see it?"
"Of
course."
Micah
handed her the brush, and watched. As Cheryl took the brush, she was
overcome by waves of emotion. First, she felt unconditional love. She
felt warm and content, enfolded in a sea of lavender. But just as
quickly, the brush turned icy in her hands. Cheryl cried out, then
almost fainted, overcome by fear, pain and a sense of betrayal. A
thin sheen of perspiration appeared on her forehead. She
quickly passed the brush back to Micah. She apologized to him,
saying that she just felt a little dizzy for a moment, but that she
was better. He
told her to sit for a moment, and offered her some water. She
refused, assuring him
that she was fine. In fact, she was anything but. She definitely did
not want to touch that brush again, yet knew that she could not leave
the store without it!
"How
much is the brush?"
Micah
smiled. "In many ways, the brush is priceless. I have refused
offers of up to sixty pounds. But that is because the brush was not
intended for those individuals. It was meant for you. It is my gift."
"Oh, I
couldn't! No, really, I'd be happy to pay for the brush. Please, how
much is it?"
"Then,
the price is one pound. And if you are unhappy with the brush, for
any reason, bring it back."
Micah
carefully wrapped the brush in tissue paper, and placed it in a gift
box. With great ceremony, he accepted a one pound note from Cheryl,
and placed it in his antique cash register. He escorted her
to the door, then closed the shop, and left for the day.
***
After
drying her long auburn hair, Cheryl took her expensive Crabtree and
Evelyn brush out of her travel kit to give her locks their nightly
one hundred strokes. As she was about to start, she paused and set
the brush down. She went over to her suitcase and took out the
Smithson's gift box. She sat on the end of her bed, her back
straight, her feet flat on the floor, the box held with two hands in
the middle of her lap. Sitting there barefoot and in her nightie,
trembling slightly, she
resembled a naughty little girl awaiting impending discipline. Cheryl
sat like that for several minutes, afraid to open the box, and
equally afraid to set it down. Steeling herself, she
opened the box and removed the dark walnut hair brush. Nothing
happened.
Cheryl
realized that she had been holding her breath. She released it with
an audible,
"Whew!"
Setting
the box aside, she
began brushing her hair. The brush felt like it was made for her
hand. It was firm and strong, and separated the strands of her hair
without any pulling or tugging. The brush massaged her scalp, and
felt tremendous. As the strokes mounted, she
increased her speed and the power of her strokes. At times, she
imagined that she could hear a little girl laughing and singing. As
the nightly ritual drew to a close, she
became aware of a strong scent of lavender. With the final strokes,
she clearly heard a child's laughter, and a little girl's voice
counting with her own, "Ninety-eight... ninety-nine... One
hundred! See Miss Wellington, your hair is so pretty!"
Suddenly
Cheryl was very sleepy. She carefully placed the brush back in the
box, and went to bed wondering why a little girl was talking to her
ancestral link to London. She
slept, or least lacked consciousness. The contentment that she
experienced while brushing her hair, gave way to darker thoughts as
she entered Morpheus's
realm. She
was in a long, poorly lit hallway. She could not see to the end.
Somewhere up ahead, she could hear a little girl crying. Cheryl
called to the little girl, but the girl continued to cry. She started
to walk down the
hall,
but could get no closer to the girl.
Cheryl
cried out in her sleep. She kicked off her covers, and dug her
fingers into her pillows. She
found herself near the end of the hallway. Running just ahead of her
was a little girl, clutching an overly long night shirt. Cheryl
called out, and the little girl looked back over her shoulder in her
direction. As she looked back, she lost her grip on the night shirt.
The little girl tripped over the night shirt , and fell forward and
down a flight of stairs. Cheryl and the little girl screamed in
unison. She
awoke, sobbing and drenched in sweat.
After some
time, Cheryl became aware of someone knocking on her door. "Hello,
in there? Miss, are you all right?"
Cheryl
called out, "just a moment, please." She peeled off her
drenched nightie, and quickly threw on jeans and a tee shirt. She ran
into the bathroom, splashed cold water on her face, went to the door,
and found the Porter checking out reports of a guest screaming.
Cheryl blushed deeply, and apologized for disturbing the other
guests. She explained that she had been reading horror stories before
bed, and a moth landed on her face just after she fell asleep.
Naturally, the moth became a fierce creature of the night. The
Porter, who already knew that all Yanks had too much money, too
little common sense, and no manners or sense of propriety (but
the no bra look works for you),
just smiled and told her he understood, and was there anything he
could get her--some tea perhaps, and no--
then I'll be on my way, and good night (and
try not to wake the rest of the guests, and tomorrow read a bloody
romance novel).
Several
hours passed before Cheryl was able to go back to sleep. As she
drifted off, she swore she never touched the perfume!
***
Cheryl sees
herself sitting in a huge cathedral, with two young children, a boy
and a little girl. No, it is not Cheryl. But the woman could pass for
her sister. The little girl is poking at her brother. The woman leans
over and whispers to the girl. After several moments, the girl again
starts poking at her brother. The woman places herself between the
siblings.
Cheryl sees
a drawing room. A man in a waist coat is seated reading a newspaper.
The door to the room opens. Cheryl sees her look alike leading the
little girl by the hand. The little girl's face is red and wet with
tears. The man folds his newspaper as the girl comes to his side, and
says, "I'm very sorry that I was naughty in Church today, Poppa,
but I never touched the perfume. Really!"
***
As Micah
expected, Cheryl was waiting outside the shop when he arrived. She
held the gift box with both hands. "You knew I'd be back."
"Yes,
I did. Please come in."
Micah
opened the door and let them in, but left the blinds drawn, and the
closed sign on the door. He told Cheryl to place two straight backed
chairs by the rosewood coffee table in front of his desk, and to
place the walnut hair brush in the middle of the table. He then
walked back to his office and started boiling water for tea. When the
tea was finished, he poured two cups, and rejoined Cheryl.
Micah sat
down painfully, and set his cane aside. He took a long sip of his tea
while he studied her.
He began slowly, "I did not know your name, of course, but I
have known of you since your conception, just as I knew of your
mother. I know that you are the last of your blood line." Cheryl
shuddered and her eyes widened, but she dutifully remained silent.
"Even though you are still young, and may yet have children and
many descendants, my bloodline dies with me. A war wound ensured long
ago that there would be no blooded Micah Smithson, IV. And my health
is failing rapidly. So it was time for you to come and break the
cycle, since I am Micah Smithson the Last. I waited for your mother,
but she never came. But God has sent you to save our souls."
Cheryl was
watching the walnut hair brush. It glowed, with an intensity that
varied with the cadence of Micah's words. She knew with absolute
certainty that whatever the old man was telling her would be the
truth. And that thought petrified her! He
paused and took another sip of his tea. She
desperately wanted to sip hers also, but was certain that her hands
would shake too much to hold the cup. Micah continued, "I am the
last direct descendant of Micah Smithson, the brother of the little
girl in your dreams." Cheryl gasped.
"Oh
yes, dear, I am quite familiar with the dreams. I have had them every
night for the last forty years since my father, Micah Smithson the
Second,
died. He was quite mad by the end. But he never knew that there is a
way out, which has saved my sanity.
"It
was shortly after the onset of the dreams, that I first became aware
of your mother. She was still too young. But her mere existence
filled me with hope! At that time, your mother was the sole living
descendant of Mary Wellington. As she came of age, my spirits soared.
But her window of opportunity came and passed all too quickly. Your
mother never came. I fell into a deep depression. Just when I thought
that I would soon follow in my father's footsteps to the sanitarium,
I saw once again the faintest glimmer of salvation. Redemption came
from across the sea, as I sensed that your mother was pregnant. I
remember that day. It was thirty years, two months and four days ago.
Yes, dear, I even remember the time of day. And your twenty-ninth
birthday brought me indescribable joy."
Micah
winced over a twinge in his hip. He paused and took another sip of
tea. "The little girl in the dreams is named Sarah. She was aged
nine. She would have been my great-aunt, had she lived. But you
already know that such was not the case.
"Sarah's
mother died in childbirth leaving Sarah and her older brother with a
father who loved them, but could not care for them. My great
grandfather took on a nanny, a twenty-year old named Mary Wellington,
to raise his small children. Mary was the only mother that little
Sarah ever knew. And they adored each other! Every night they would
brush each other's hair, one hundred strokes each."
Cheryl
heard a little girl's voice echoing "ninety-eight...ninety-nine...one
hundred!"
“Mary was
very loving to both children, but at times seemed to dote on little
Sarah which would make Micah jealous.
"My
great grandfather was a bit strict with the children. However, it
devolved on Mary to administer discipline. Mary was always fair, but
firm. As by now you've come to understand, severe infractions
received an application of Mary's walnut hair brush, which was always
received in the bare.
"On
several occasions, Mary had found a curious little Sarah playing in
her
room with her personal belongings, particularly her cosmetics. Mary
was partial to lavender. After several warnings, one afternoon she
once again found Sarah seated at her
vanity, sampling her toiletries. Although Mary admired Sarah's
perseverance, she nonetheless promptly turned Sarah over her knee for
a light smacking, but promised her a dose of the hair brush if it
happened again.
"On
the night of the accident, which was her
night off, Mary returned home late after an evening at the theater.
Upon retiring, she
discovered that her toiletries had been moved about on her vanity. In
particular, Mary observed that the stopper to her favorite lavender
perfume was setting next to the bottle. She
was shocked! Only days before, she had warned Sarah of the
consequences of playing with her
belongings without permission. Despite the late hour, Mary decided
that correction could not wait until the morning. Wrapping herself in
righteous indignation, she
stormed down the dark hallway to Sarah's room. She
pulled the sleepy and thoroughly bewildered Sarah out of her bed, and
quick marched the little girl back to her
room
to view the scene of the crime."
Micah
paused again for another sip of his tea. He felt a pang of sorrow for
Cheryl as he watched the tears forming in her eyes. He wanted to hold
and comfort her, but there was precious little time left!
"Poor
little Sarah was terribly confused. She cried and begged, 'Please,
Miss Wellington! I never touched your perfume. I swear it! Oh,
please, please, please, not your hair brush! I really did not touch
it this time!' But Sarah's protestations of her innocence fell on
deaf ears. Mary picked up the walnut hair brush, took little Sarah by
the ear, and pulled her over to the
bed. However, in an unheard of fit of defiance, Sarah broke away from
her
and ran from the room. Mary could have caught her easily enough had
she tried immediately, but she paused, astounded by Sarah's
insolence.
"When
Mary started after her, Sarah was half way down that long dark
hallway between their rooms. Sarah looked back to see where Mary was,
and dropped her hold on her night shirt which was too long for her.
She tripped over the night shirt. Her momentum carried her down the
stairs, where she fell, and broke her neck."
Cheryl was
crying openly now. Micah paused and reached across and patted her
hand. He handed her his own handkerchief, which she
unashamedly
filled. When she had regained some of her composure, he
concluded his story, "The Coroner's inquest ruled the matter an
accident. No one, but Mary herself, ever blamed her for anything. But
Mary could not live in that house with her memories of Sarah. She
resigned her position, and shortly thereafter moved to America.
"In
fact, of course, Sarah never touched Mary's perfume that fateful day.
It was my grandfather Micah, who craved an application of the walnut
hair brush every bit as much as poor little Sarah feared it. And that
is why Mary's walnut hair brush, the lovely brush there on the table
in front of us, serves as an anchor for Sarah's restless spirit, and
for ours as well. This hair brush was a symbol of Mary's and Sarah's
unconditional love, and the focal point of their nightly bonding
ritual, but it was also the central focal point of Mary's betrayal of
Sarah's love and trust."
Her voice
choked with tears, Cheryl asked, "B-but what am I supposed to
do?"
"In
order to release Sarah's spirit, we have to acknowledge our
ancestors' guilt, and reaffirm their love for poor Sarah. I had hoped
to accomplish this exorcism with your mother when she was
twenty-nine, the same age as Mary Wellington on the night of the
accident. But your mother never came. You are my second and last
chance."
Cheryl
suddenly understood the ultimate purpose of her trip, and her awesome
responsibilities. She rose, and without saying a word, lifted the
walnut hair brush and kissed it. She handed the brush to Micah, who
had pulled back his chair, and removed his jacket. She
started to place herself over his
lap, but Micah held his hand up. "I am afraid, dear, that the
walnut hair brush was always applied to the bare bottom."
Cheryl
blushed deeply, but dutifully unsnapped her jeans. With great
embarrassment, she pulled the jeans down to her ankles and stepped
out of them. However, she could not bring herself to lower her
panties while standing in front of the old man. Micah understood and
nodded. She
placed herself over his lap. She lifted her hips slightly to allow
him
to roll her panties down to her thighs. She
whispered, "I love you, Sarah," and nodded for him
to begin.
Micah
raised the walnut hair brush, then brought it down with considerable
force given his infirmities. The brush landed squarely across the
center of Cheryl's upturned backside with a resounding crack! The
crack was accompanied by a lightning flash of pain for both Cheryl
and Micah, emanating simultaneously from her
bottom and his
shoulder. But the pain immediately was subjugated by a sense of cold,
darkness and isolation. Cheryl could smell lavender perfume, as Micah
raised the brush to continue the spanking. Although one part of her
mind duly registered each smack, she
was barely aware that she was being spanked over the next dozen
blows. She was lost in a long dark hallway, drowning in the
overpowering scent of lavender.
Cheryl
heard her own voice as a little girl of nine, pleading over and over,
"I swear I did not touch your perfume! I swear it!" Her
own little girl pleas became a sort of mantra which she sobbed out
after each blow. Crack! "I swear it!" Crack! "I swear
it!"
Micah was
not counting, because he knew that he would sense when it was time to
stop. Sweat soaked through his shirt and vest. The pain in his
shoulder felt like a hot poker. He
was certain that he had torn something that would have taken months,
if he had had months, to heal.
Micah
feared the strain on his heart, and for the briefest moment
considered stopping. But this pain was only temporal, while damnation
was eternal! So ignoring the telltale signs of an impending coronary
event, he
continued to raise the walnut hair brush again and again, only to
send it crashing once more down onto Cheryl's crimson mounds.
After
thirty or forty cracks, Micah's arm lightened, and the blows started
falling in a natural rhythm. He felt a kind of bond with Cheryl as if
they were sharing something special. He even imagined that he heard a
little girl's laughter! However, after several more whacks, that
sense of closeness was supplanted by feelings of anger and
disappointment. He
became aware of her
chanting.
Crack! "I swear it!"
Although
she did not know exactly what Micah was experiencing, Cheryl could
tell that something had changed by the sudden increase in the
intensity and rapidity of the smacks. In addition, she had
experienced a similar shift in her perceptions. For the briefest
period, she
imagined that she heard a little girl laughing. She felt incredibly
close to him,
almost as if they were lovers. During these periods of virtual
respite, Cheryl found herself raising her bottom up meet the next
kiss of Micah's brush, then crashing back down to grind her pelvis
against his leg. But all too soon, those periods would dissipate, and
the laughter would turn again to cries of sorrow and repentance. Her
mounting pleasure would once again turn to shame and embarrassment,
and an instinctual desire to flee.
There came
a point as the spanking drew to a close, where Micah's and Cheryl's
separate visions coalesced into a single reality. The smell of
lavender filled the shop. An overall sense of comfort and well-being
filled both Micah and Cheryl. She
sobbed openly, tears spilling down her cheeks, both as a result of
the extraordinary pain radiating from her scorched bottom, and as a
result of a sense of immense pride at having fully discharged her
ancestral debt to poor Sarah. The little bell over the door started
ringing, and the Venetian vase resonated harmonically. The shop was
filled with a little girl's laughter.
Crack!
"Ninety-seven."
Crack!
"Ninety-eight."
Crack!
"Ninety-nine."
Crack! "One
Hundred!"
Micah set
down the walnut hair brush. The back of the brush was hot to the
touch. The fullness of the little girl's laughter bounced around the
shop, then slowly faded away. Cheryl smiled through her tears, and
sobbed, "Good-bye,
Sarah! We love you!" He
lifted her up and held her while she cried.
***
Poor
Cheryl's bottom was too sore and swollen for her to squeeze back into
her jeans. So Micah gave her a lovely antique 1880's floral dress,
which fit her perfectly. Cheryl looked at Micah who smiled and said,
"Of course, it was one of Mary's favorites. But now, it is time
for you to return to America."
Cheryl
shuddered at the thought of sitting on the long flight home. Micah
carefully wrapped the walnut hair brush, and packed it in a new gift
box. At the door, he took her face in his hands and kissed her on the
forehead. As he closed the door behind her, he felt in his coat
pocket for the paper with the name of his Solicitor who held his
final will signed yesterday afternoon, designating his God-niece
Cheryl Albans of Los Angeles, California, United States of America,
with her full name and address carefully copied from the Guest
Registry, as his sole heir.
Micah
locked the door to his shop for the last time. He could no longer
see, but it hardly mattered. Instinctively, after fifty years of
practice, he turned off the shop lights and made his way slowly back
to the rosewood coffee table. Settling himself in his chair, he
felt for his tea cup. He took a sip, then carefully found the saucer
and replaced the cup. His last thoughts were of his love for Sarah
and Cheryl, that the tea was cold, and so was he.
KC Copyright 1997
***************
You can find "The Walnut Hairbrush" in
![WICKED MYTHS, FAIRY TALES, AND THINGS THAT GO WHACK IN THE NIGHT by [Charles, Ken]](https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51e85FJGyhL.jpg)
