Markus thought to himself, there are so many people in this supermarket—he shouldn't encounter such a sinister ghost, right?
Old folks often say places with large crowds have strong Yang energy; ghosts dare not approach. That bald woman, though a bit strange, might just be mentally ill.
Markus resolved that if the bald woman returned, he would immediately call security. Otherwise, facing her alone made him feel uneasy.
Strangely enough, the bald woman didn't reappear that night. In fact, Markus found himself almost hoping she would—just to prove she wasn't a ghost and that he hadn't been cursed.
But things didn't go as expected. The bald woman never showed up again, and Markus couldn't find her even if he tried.
The real problem was something else entirely: Markus was losing his hair at an alarming rate. It got so bad that clumps came out when he shampooed.
Hair loss wasn't in his genes—his father and grandfather both had thick hair, and he was still young. How could he be balding so severely? Was he sick?
Anxious, Markus rushed to the hospital, but the examinations revealed no issues. He visited several hospitals, all with the same result: no disease. Why was his hair falling out so drastically? Markus couldn't make sense of it.
About a month later, Markus had become what he was now: a twenty-five-year-old bald man, with no genetic predisposition or illness to explain it. It was nothing short of a miracle.
Losing a full head of hair in a month and going bald at twenty-five left Markus deeply insecure. He started wearing a hat everywhere.
Yet, he could never figure out the cause—until one day, his mind circled back to that bald woman.
The more he thought about her, the more something felt off. The more he dwelled on it, the more bizarre it seemed. Maybe the problem lay with her. But she was nowhere to be found. Markus could only cling to hope, praying day and night that the bald woman would reappear.
As if heaven answered, one night, she finally did. This time, instead of her seeking Markus, it was he who approached her.
Markus hurried over and blurted, "Holy shit, you finally showed up! Who the hell are you? Did you do something to my hair?"
As he spoke, he yanked off his hat, revealing a shiny, bald head.
The bald woman stared, then suddenly let out a strange, halting laugh. Her smile was eerie—like something out of The Walking Dead. Stiff, unnatural, and far more terrifying than any ghost.
Markus recoiled, stumbling back a few steps. What was she—a ghost? A human? Was she insane, or was this some twisted game?
But he didn't even know her. Even if she were a ghost, why would she haunt him?
Don't they say there's a debt for every wrong and a wrong for every debt?
"What are you laughing at?" Markus demanded.
The bald woman didn't answer. Instead, she asked, "Do you have a comb?"
"What kind of bullshit question is that? Of course I have a comb—I use it every day," Markus snapped.
"And have you ever used a dead man's comb?" the bald woman pressed.
Markus froze. "What the hell is a dead man's comb?"
The bald woman gestured vaguely. "It's the comb given to the dead for their final grooming. Once it's been used on a corpse, it becomes a dead man's comb."
"Ugh! Why the hell are you telling me this? Cut the creepy talk—I'm alive, of course I use a living person's comb!" Markus spat, unnerved.
The bald woman muttered, "No wonder you're bald. How can you grow hair with a living comb?"
Markus cursed inwardly. This woman's a fucking lunatic! A psychopath! My baldness has nothing to do with her. Better call security and get her thrown out!
But just then, the bald woman suddenly shouted toward one of the shelves, "Found it! The comb—the comb I want!"
Markus had been about to call for help, but her outburst distracted him.
A comb? There's always a damn comb here—how many times do I have to tell her?
Grumbling, he followed her gaze—but she wasn't pointing at the hair-care aisle. Instead, she was fixated on a shelf of children's toys, yet she kept yelling about combs.
Puzzled, Markus trailed after her. It was then that he finally understood how she could vanish so quickly.
Her movements were unnaturally fast—ghostly, even. She seemed to glide, her feet barely touching the ground. At that speed, she could disappear in the blink of an eye. Markus had to sprint like mad just to keep up.
No normal person moved like that. Markus's suspicion flared again: This bald woman has to be a ghost. Only ghosts float like that, walking without their feet touching the ground.
The bald woman stopped at the shelf and crouched down, addressing a little girl. "Give your comb to Auntie, and Auntie will get something for you."
The girl wore a pink dress, her hair in a ponytail, her round face sweetly chubby.
"In exchange for what?" the girl asked innocently.
"For toys," the bald woman said, sweeping a hand over the shelf. "Pick whichever one you want."
The little girl pointed at a Barbie doll. "I want this one!"
"Good!" The bald woman nodded, then took the Barbie doll down—but instead of paying, she pulled out a lighter and set it on fire.
What the hell? Burning things in a supermarket? That's going too far! As a store employee, Markus rushed forward to stop her, shouting for security.
He stomped on the burning doll to put out the flames, but the bald woman, like a rabid animal, suddenly bit his foot to keep him from extinguishing the fire.
Luckily, the security guards arrived just then. They restrained the bald woman, preventing her from causing more chaos. Markus finally managed to put out the fire, though the Barbie doll was already half-burned.
"No! Don't put it out! The comb—my comb!" the bald woman shrieked wildly, but the four guards held her firmly, leaving her no room to struggle.
Markus felt a wave of relief. First, the bald woman clearly wasn't a ghost—the guards could see her too. Second, he'd stopped the fire before it could spread and cost the supermarket dearly.
He turned to look for the little girl from earlier, but she was already gone—vanished somewhere in the chaos.
The bald woman was taken to the police station. Later, Markus heard she was mentally ill—reportedly a nun from some convent who'd gone insane for unknown reasons and was expelled by her abbess.
After leaving the convent, she'd wandered around obsessively buying combs until complaints landed her in a mental institution. No one knew how she'd escaped recently.
So it really was just mental illness. That meant Markus's baldness had nothing to do with her. He sighed, resigned—if he couldn't find the real cause, what else could he do but accept it?
Still, going bald so young crushed his self-esteem. Outside of work, he barely left home, and when he did, he always wore a hat.
Then one night, a coworker approached him unexpectedly. "Want to grow your hair back?"
It was the same coworker who'd once accused him of talking to himself—Brzenska from the electronics department. They weren't close, just exchanging occasional greetings.
Markus knew what Brzenska was hinting at: some miracle hair-growth product. He'd long given up on those—every one he'd tried was a waste of money.
Shaking his head, Markus said flatly, "Not interested. Useless. And I'm not throwing away more cash."
Brzenska insisted, "No money. I'll give it to you—guaranteed to work."
Markus frowned. Yeah, right. Since when is there a free lunch in this world? Even if it's free, how can it be guaranteed?
Mind you, Brzenska didn't know Markus very well either. Would he really do such a nice thing?
"What is it? Show me," Markus said.
That's when Brzenska pulled a comb from his pocket. "This is it," he said. "If you comb your hair with this, I guarantee it'll grow back."
Markus froze for a moment, then laughed. He'd tried countless hair growth products without success - how could a simple comb work? Was Brzenska making fun of him?
But Brzenska looked completely serious, not joking at all.
"Don't worry. If it doesn't work, you can come find me and I'll chop off my head for you to use as a stool," Brzenska said.
Markus gave a bitter laugh. "It's not that serious. A comb is just a comb. Nothing to lose by trying it, especially since it's free."
Brzenska laughed and shoved the comb into Markus's hand before scurrying away, calling back, "Make sure you remember to use it!"
Holding the comb, Markus felt strange. What kind of person gives a comb to a bald man? Was Brzenska just thoughtless, or deliberately mocking him?
But it was free, so he might as well take it home and try it.
Actually, combs can be useful for baldness. Their function isn't just detangling hair - they can massage the scalp and improve blood circulation, which benefits hair health.
That night, Markus tried the comb. It felt cool to the touch, but when it scraped his scalp, an icy chill shot through to his cerebral cortex, making him shiver.
"Fuck!" Markus cursed. What kind of comb was this? Why did it feel colder than ice on his scalp but normal in his hand? Some special comb? Could it actually make hair grow?
The thought pleased him despite the chills. He combed a few more times, shivering with each stroke.
That night, Markus dreamed Brzenska came to him holding a knife in his right hand. Without a word, he chopped off his own head and threw it to Markus. "Your stool to sit on!"
Terrified, Markus ran, but headless Brzenska kept chasing him, clutching his severed head and shouting, "Your stool! You forgot your stool!"