Invasion Of The Molly Hairs

It was Summer, and our collie dog, Molly, was moulting. It didn’t matter where it was, on our cups of tea, on our dinner plates, or on the chairs, we all kept finding Molly’s moulted hairs everywhere.
“It’s like ‘Invasion Of The Molly Hairs’, isn’t it?” I remarked, one evening, after finding a really long, black Molly hair on my mash potato. It put me off my mash.
“I’m going to get her put down,” Mum answered angrily.
“No, don’t do that,” my sister wailed.
“Well, I’m getting sick of finding dog hairs everywhere.”
“Well, just shave her then,” Lois said.
“She’ll jut look silly then,” Mum said.
“Well, stop moaning then.”
We finished our dinners, then retired to the living-room for the evening, to watch TV and go on Facebook.
Lois had made herself a glass of milk before she came into the living room with us. Within two minutes, she’d guzzled it down. Then she started telling us about an essay she had to write for college. In the middle of a sentence, she started coughing. I smacked her on the back, thinking that would work. It didn’t. Poor Lois got steadily worse, and she started to go really red in the face. Figuring smacking her on the back wouldn’t work, Mum smacked Lois on her chest instead. But it didn’t work either. Lois got down on the floor on all floors, coughing and hacking away for all she was worth. Then something long and black started making its way out of her mouth. I grabbed it and pulled it out. It was hairy. It was a long, black Molly hair. I stared at it in horror. Then Lois fell flat on the floor, still. I went over to her, and put two fingers on her neck, feeling for a pulse, hoping she was just unconscious. But I couldn’t feel a pulse.
I looked up at Mum and shook my head. She started screaming. Molly, who had been upstairs, came running downstairs, barking, to see what the noise was.
“THIS IS YOUR FAULT!!!” Mum shouted at her. “TOMORROW, FIRST THING, I’M TAKING YOU TO THE VET TO GET YOUR HAIR SHAVED OFF!!!”

We didn’t know what to do with Lois’s body, so we left it on the living-room, and draped a blanket over it, before we went upstairs to bed that night.

The next morning, Mum was up and in the bathroom before I’d even thought about surfacing. I hung about for half an hour, got bored, and went downstairs to make myself a cup of hot chocolate. I couldn’t bring myself to go in the living room, where my sister’s body still lay, with the blanket draped over it.
I went back upstairs to see if Mum had finished in the bathroom yet. The door was still shut, so I knocked on it.
“Mum!!!” I called. “Mum, you done? I’m bursting for the toilet!!!”
No answer. I called out again, but still nothing. I opened the door, went in the bathroom, and started screaming. There, on the bathroom floor, lay Mum, her face contorted into a look of surprise. I sat down beside her and shook her.
“Mum?” I said. “Mum, wake up!!”
My first thought was that mum was too upset about Lois’s death, that she’d killed herself. But there was no medicine or pill bottles on the floor, or anywhere else in sight.
I sat there for a moment, confused for a moment. Then I noticed something black wrapped around Mum’s neck. I kneeled closer, and saw it was a black Molly hair. Shocked, I stood up, and turned to make my way out of the bathroom. Molly was stood there in the doorway. I stroked her. “It’s okay, girl,” I told her. “I’m going to get dressed. And then I’m taking you for a walk. A nice long walk to the vet. Where she will shave all your lovely hairs off.”
I pulled my hand away from Molly, and noticed it was wrapped with Molly hairs. Both black and white. My hand then suddenly felt like someone had grabbed hold of it and started squeezing it really hard. I tried to wipe the hairs off with my other hand, but they stayed there. The hand wrapped with the hairs started to go purple. I started panicking. The only thing that went through my mind was: ’What’s going on? Why are my dog’s hairs killing everyone?’ And then I knew no more.

It was half past ten by the time I turned up at the murder scene.
“Good morning, Chief Inspector,” Constable Crab greeted me.
“Good morning, Constable Crab. What have we got?”
“Three bodies, Sir. All female. One downstairs, two upstairs. There’s no way of telling how they were killed, Sir.”
“Better get a pathologist in, Constable Crab. Maybe they’ll be able to help.”
“On it, Sir.”
I went into the living-room, where one of the bodies was lying. The body was of a sixteen-year-old girl. She looked like she could be just sleeping. Lying next to her was a black and white collie dog, who sat up as I entered the room.
“Good girl,” I said.
The dog yawned and stood up. She made her way over to me and waited for a stroke. It was when I saw the extremely, abnormally long dog hairs on my hand, that I remembered I was allergic to dogs…